In the Shadow of Auschwitz: German Massacres against Polish Civilians, 1939–1945 9781800730908

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In the Shadow of Auschwitz

In the Shadow of Auschwitz German Massacres against Polish Civilians, 1939–1945

Daniel Brewing Translated by Alex Skinner

berghahn NEW YORK • OXFORD www.berghahnbooks.com

Published in 2022 by Berghahn Books www.berghahnbooks.com English-language edition © 2022 Berghahn Books German-language edition © 2016 Wissen Bildung Gemeinschaft Originally published in German as Im Schatten von Auschwitz: Deutsche Massaker an polnischen Zivilisten 1939–1945 The translation of this work was funded by Geisteswissenschaften International – Translation Funding for Work in the Humanities and Social Sciences from Germany, a joint initiative of the Fritz Thyssen Foundation, the German Federal Foreign Office, the collecting society VG WORT and the Börsenverein des Deutschen Buchhandels (German Publishers & Booksellers Association). All rights reserved. Except for the quotation of short passages for the purposes of criticism and review, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without written permission of the publisher. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Brewing, Daniel, author. | Skinner, Alex, translator. Title: In the shadow of Auschwitz : German massacres against Polish civilians, 1939-1945 / Daniel Brewing ; translated by Alex Skinner. Other titles: German massacres against Polish civilians, 1939-1945 Description: English-language edition. | New York : Berghahn Books, 2022. | Originally published in German as: Im Schatten von Auschwitz: Deutsche Massaker an polnischen Zivilisten 1939-1945. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2022008121 (print) | LCCN 2022008122 (ebook) | ISBN 9781800730892 (hardback) | ISBN 9781800730908 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: World War, 1939-1945--Atrocities--Poland. | Massacres--Poland--History-20th century. | Poland--History--Occupation, 1939-1945. Classification: LCC DK4410 .B74 2022 (print) | LCC DK4410 (ebook) | DDC 943.805/3--dc23/eng/20220225 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022008121 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022008122 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN 978-1-80073-089-2 hardback ISBN 978-1-80073-090-8 ebook https://doi.org/10.3167/9781800730892

Contents

Preface

vii

Introduction1 Part I. The Setting of Massacres: Prehistory, Enemy Constructs and the Order of Violence33 Chapter 1. Continuities and Ruptures: Germans and Poles before 193935 Chapter 2. Occupation as a Framework for Action: Ideology, Politics and Violence

58

Part II. ‘Polish Bands’: War, Occupation Policy and the Logic of Massacres117 Chapter 3. Beyond the Border: The War in September 1939

127

Chapter 4. Initiation and Practice: ‘Hubal’ and the Beginnings of Counter-Partisan Operations

162

Chapter 5. Removal of Constraints: Fighting Partisans through a ‘Small-Scale War’ in 1942

180

Chapter 6. Losing Control: Escalating Crisis and the Dynamics of Violence in 1943

210

Chapter 7. Authority amid the Death Throes: The Final Phase of German Rule, 1944–45

228

Chapter 8. Transfer and Culmination: The Quelling of the Warsaw Uprising in 1944

252

vi • Contents

Part III. Coming to Terms with the Past after 1945273 Chapter 9. Extradition and Punishment: Poland, the Allies and German Perpetrators

277

Chapter 10. Prosecution and Suppression: Massacres and German Justice286 Conclusion295 Bibliography307 Index340

Preface

Looking back over an intensive and formative research journey, it is a great pleasure for me to acknowledge all those who have lent me their support in various ways. My thanks go first of all to Klaus-Michael Mallmann. He is the kind of scholar that you rarely come across nowadays. Having inspired this study, he accompanied it through its various stages with great commitment and unshakable confidence – exerting ‘gentle pressure’ at just the right moments. I thank him wholeheartedly for our period of collaboration and for the opportunities that he has opened up for me. My research was supported by generous grants from the German Historical Institute Warsaw, the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Washington, DC, and the Fondation pour la Mémoire de la Shoah. As representatives of these institutions, I would like to thank Eduard Mühle, Suzanne Brown-Fleming and Dominique Trimbur. For the opportunity to present my study in draft form and discuss the first findings in advanced seminars and colloquia, I thank Stefanie Schüler-Springorum, Norbert Frei, Peter Brandt, Armin Heinen and Beate Fieseler. Over the years, many friends and colleagues have helped me by exchanging sources and reading texts – or simply by being there at key moments. I am particularly grateful to Jochen Böhler. Since we first met over ten years ago, he has been a benevolent and selfless source of advice and support. Jacek Młynarczyk opened doors in Warsaw that might otherwise have remained closed to me. Włodzimierz Borodziej and Jörg Ganzenmüller both furnished me with generous support in the initial stages of this project. Discussions with Jürgen Matthäus greatly enriched my time in Washington, DC, while Christian Ingrao was always there when I needed his help. Wolfram Pyta’s comments were extremely helpful in shaping my argument. I also thank my sister, Inka Merhi, and Thomas Dieter, Robert Fuchs, Dieter Konold, Barbara Manthe, Olena Petrenko, Max Ruland, Johannes Schwartz, Frauke Scheffler, Thomas Strobel, Mia Spiro, Katrin Stoll, Christian Tischer, Pascal Trees, Philipp Tribukait, Stefan Wiederkehr and Patrycja Pieńkowska-Wiederkehr – each of whom contributed to the genesis of this study in their own way.

viii • Preface

This edition of my book would not have been possible without the generous financial support of the Börsenverein des Deutschen Buchhandels. That the Börsenverein selected my book for its Geisteswissenschaften International translation funding programme is a great honour. Alex Skinner did an outstanding job translating the German manuscript into English. Working with him was a pleasure: I am deeply impressed by his accuracy and speed. At Berghahn Books, Chris Chappell, Sulaiman Ahmad, Marion Berghahn and Caroline Kuhtz patiently guided me through the editorial and production process. This was a wonderful experience from start to finish. I owe a special debt of gratitude to my parents, Christiane and Friedo Brewing, who made my studies possible and who have always been there for me with their love and curiosity. This book is for them too. It was my tremendous good fortune to meet Stefanie Coché in the library of the German Historical Institute Warsaw. Without her, this book would never have been written. I dedicate it to her with love and gratitude. Our two wonderful daughters, Ella and Ada, were born after the German edition was published. They couldn’t care less about this book. But I hope that someday they might be interested in reading what their father had to say about the terrible past explored in its pages. Aachen, August 2021

Introduction



In the spring of 2008, the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung published an article on a dark chapter in German–Polish history, one supposedly over and done with. Konrad Schuller, the newspaper’s Eastern Europe correspondent, related the story of Winicjusz Natoniewski, a 72-year-old Polish pensioner who had recently brought a lawsuit against the Federal Republic of Germany at the Gdańsk District Court.1 Natoniewski demanded one million zlotys as compensation for lifelong suffering, for the severe disfigurement and mutilation of his body. ‘When I first saw Winicjusz Natoniewski,’ Schuller noted, ‘my eyes lingered on his facial burns before taking in … his ruined ear, his remaining hair, carefully combed over the burned areas of his head, and the swollen, flaming red balloons of his hands, terminating in the knobbly remnants of his fingers’.2 These wounds were inflicted on Natoniewski as a five-year-old boy living in the village of Szczecyn, southeast of Lublin. On 2 February 1944, German troops led by Konrad Rheindorf, commander of the Ordnungspolizei3 (Kommandeur der Ordnungspolizei or KdO), the Nazi police force in Lublin, carried out a massacre of the villagers. This occurred in the context of the Nazi ‘combating of bandits’. Rheindorf suspected that a ‘600-strong Bolshev. band’4 were hiding out in the densely wooded environs of Szczecyn, a group he was eager to crush in a ‘major operation’ involving a ‘substantial force made up of the Truppenpolizei [Order Police], Wehrmacht and Sicherheitspolizei [Security Police]’.5 It was the spatial proximity between the village and the presumed whereabouts of a supposed unit of Bolshevik partisans that, from

2  •  In the Shadow of Auschwitz

Rheindorf ’s perspective, aroused well-founded suspicions – namely, that the residents of Szczecyn were cooperating with this group in various ways to the detriment of the German occupiers. This accusation turned the village into a ‘nest of resistance’6 and thus a legitimate target for a ‘clean-up operation’.7 Against this background, German troops encircled Szczecyn in the early hours of 2 February 1944 and shelled the village with mortars.8 The thatched roofs of the houses were quick to catch alight and the entire village soon went up in flames.9 Panic broke out. As the mortar fire continued, the residents tried to flee the burning village, but were shot when they reached the security cordon. When the shelling had stopped, units of the KdO Lublin entered the village and killed men, women and children indiscriminately. A scenario of excessive violence unfolded. The German troops whipped people with bull pizzles; shot them at point-blank range with carbines and machine guns; and forced old people, children and the injured into houses before burning them alive.10 The KdO Lublin stated in its situation report that ‘around 480 bandits and suspects [were killed] in the firefight or while fleeing’11 in Szczecyn and the surrounding villages that day. The German units had suffered no ‘losses of our own’, according to Rheindorf.12 This phase of unfettered violence was followed by a slower pace of action. The survivors were rounded up and underwent selection in accordance with their ability to work. The younger and stronger were obliged to carry out forced labour,13 while all others – that is, women, the elderly and children – were left behind in the village, which had burned to the ground. Winicjusz Natoniewski, five years old, was one of them. When the first mortars hit, he had tried to run out of his parents’ burning house and hide but, in his terror, he had failed to notice that his entire body was already on fire. He wandered ablaze through the village before his father discovered him and managed to douse the flames in the cold mud of a puddle.14 He survived the massacre as a child with severe burns who would remain scarred for life. His claim for compensation from the Federal Republic of Germany was dismissed in 2010 by the last-instance Supreme Court in Warsaw on grounds of state immunity.15 The story of Winicjusz Natoniewski, the destruction of the village of Szczecyn and the murder of its inhabitants leads us into the complex history of Nazi massacres of Polish civilians in the context of the drive to crush partisans. It shines a light on the complexity of a violent event that continues to reverberate into the present day, underlining a number of aspects of relevance to the analysis of massacres; brings out the diverse constellation of actors involved and points up the wide spread of responsibility for the planning and carrying out of massacres; highlights the integration of massacres into the objectives and practice of occupation policy, which constituted a framework for action that determined the pace and extent of massacres, provided opportunities to carry them out and created the prerequisites for

Introduction • 3

their occurrence – thus providing the ‘good reasons’ through which massacres were legitimized; and illustrates the cruelty, excess and unfettered violence entailed in the practice of the massacre – thus indicating that there is more to massacres than their apparent objectives. Finally, this story reveals both the disastrous consequences of massacres for survivors and how post-Nazi Germany has dealt with this specific legacy of violence. I consider all these aspects and dimensions in the present study, which is dedicated to German massacres of Polish civilians during the Second World War. I work on the assumption that the use of violence in occupied Poland was not fundamentally a deviant form of action.16 In the words of Norbert Elias, the German occupation was based on a massive increase in the ‘level of violence from person to person’.17 The zone of the permitted and required use of violence was massively expanded in occupied Poland: what was forbidden in the ‘Old Reich’ was allowed there. To put it bluntly, new spaces for the acting out of violence opened up in occupied Poland, which actors in situ could exploit. Against this background, my core interest is in what conditions, circumstances and configurations fostered massacres; how and why certain actors in specific circumstances decided to carry them out; what patterns of legitimation underpinned their decisions; to what extent massacres altered the various constellations and contexts; why the practice of massacres always produced an excess of violence; what this says about the various actors; and what factors shaped the social and political approach to these massacres after 1945. I thus take up Richard J. Evans’s proposal: ‘What we need is to understand why the murder of Poles took place and how people could carry it out.’18

Concept and Approach My analysis is centrally informed by the concept of the massacre. This conceptual decision delimits the present study in two respects. First, it rejects the category of terror, which foregrounds the indiscriminate use of violence for the purpose of intimidation.19 Through this implicit presupposition, the category of terror determines in advance the motives that in fact require investigation and analysis, forcing all acts of violence into a single motivational structure. Second, this study breaks away from the category of genocide, which implies that cases of collective violence are always planned and intentionally executed sequences of action.20 This premise, as Birthe Kundrus has stated, makes the term ‘an obstacle … to research’,21 since it demands a teleological perspective that can only lead us astray if our goal is to analyse. Such a premise causes us to lose sight of ‘inconsistencies, improvisations and contingencies’22 – that is, fundamental elements of collective violence, which

4  •  In the Shadow of Auschwitz

must surely be understood as a process characterized by happenstance as well as by actors’ enduring improvisations.23 Against this background, the category of the massacre undoubtedly has advantages. Conceptually, it does not reduce collective acts of violence to a single motive, and it does not understand excesses of violence exclusively as centrally organized acts based on long-term, anticipatory planning.24 In order to distinguish the massacre as a specific form of collective violence from other forms of violence, it is vital to clarify and operationalize the term. The following observations aim to develop an ideal type of massacre that provides us with a concept specific enough to be used in the subsequent analysis. In the first instance, as Peter Burschel has emphasized, the semantic field of the term ‘massacre’ relates to the ‘world of abattoirs’.25 In French, the word ‘massacre’ originally referred to a slaughtering block.26 Hans Medick has shown that the term’s semantic link with the slaughtering of animals persisted until the sixteenth century.27 It was the experience of violence in the French wars of religion that led to a conceptual shift. Subsequently the term massacre referred primarily, though not exclusively, to the mass killing of people, the ‘collective extermination of non-combatants’.28 Since then, the massacre has denoted a ‘one-sided, extreme form of violence in which a relatively defenceless group of people is killed or slaughtered by other people’.29 This deadly violence is carried out ‘by perpetrators with the resources to use deadly force without endangering themselves’.30 From this definition of the term – commonly used by researchers31 – we can develop core aspects of an ideal-typical model of the massacre. In contrast to genocide, the massacre has the character of an event; is by no means aimed at the destruction of entire societies; and remains tied to certain situations, to specific spaces and times.32 Massacres usually feature specific spatial structures: they are carried out in a particular location that has been surrounded and cordoned off. The massacre requires ‘enclosed places’33 that make it impossible for the victims to escape. In this demarcated space, the violence of the massacre unfolds without adhering to a characteristic temporal rhythm. The massacre may occur at a fast pace and result in the rapid killing of all victims.34 But it may integrate frequent moments of deceleration if the perpetrators take their time and drag the killing out.35 However, by no means are all residents necessarily killed. Sometimes survivors are desired as a source of forced labour or are simply left behind so they can relate the horrors of the massacre to others.36 In sharp contrast to the situation of an execution, killing in the context of a massacre is not shaped by specific rituals, although a massacre may certainly entail elements of ritualization – for example, in the form of firing squads that kill their victims at graves dug in advance. Nevertheless, a massacre differs from an execution with its precise regulations. It is more savage and

Introduction • 5

more unbridled, an event in which ‘the passions can be given free rein’37 and ‘the creativity of human bestiality … takes on untrammelled form’.38 The massacre forces its victims into a world of violence in which everything is allowed. Excess and cruelty are its defining elements, which demolishes the boundaries of the permissible in a given situation. The violence of the massacre is characterized by the close proximity between perpetrators and victims. What we find here is not murder at a distance but rather ‘face-to-face killings’, a physical form of killing and the bloody infliction of injuries at close quarters.39 The excessive nature of the violence is not deviant behaviour in the context of the massacre. As a form of collective violence, the violence of the massacre takes place ‘in accordance with the behavioural norms of a superordinate collective’.40 The massacre opens floodgates and offers spaces for action in which excess violence is congruent with collective behavioural expectations.41 At the same time – and closely bound up with this – the massacre is public violence. It does not take place covertly, like torture; the killing is done in plain sight. In contrast to the pogrom, however, the massacre does not depend on the approval of spectators.42 The concentration camp, meanwhile, is linked with the massacre by a comparable ‘spatial order of violence’.43 Just as the scene of the massacre is surrounded by troops, barbed-wire fences mark off the concentration camp from the outside world. In the concentration camp, however, the excess is enduring. This is ongoing rather than situational violence: permanent excess. The massacre, conversely, is a situational form of excess that does not take place ceaselessly. Against this background, sociologists have debated how best to classify and evaluate the massacre. Trutz von Trotha assigns it a specific role in the enforcing and securing of occupation.44 The massacre appears here as a purposeful instrument of the conquest of foreign territories. It is intended to bloodily demonstrate the conquerors’ superiority and lay the ground for the establishment of a new order. As von Trotha sees it, after the completion of this process the massacre serves to maintain this order within the framework of foreign rule, which always essentially means the rule of the few over the many: ‘The massacre creates order because the overwhelming violence simply convinces on its own, because it clarifies or at least tries to clarify the prevailing balance of power.’45 Wolfgang Sofsky, meanwhile, questions this assumption of pure functionality, conceptualizing the massacre as independent of any regime’s objectives: ‘The purpose of destruction is destruction itself, not reconstruction, not a tabula rasa for a new beginning’.46 From this perspective, the massacre is a ‘collective excess of action’,47 which has become detached from all ‘political, social and cultural contexts and orders’.48 The aim of the massacre, according to Sofsky, is ‘not victory and power, but the festival of blood, the fireworks of the explosion’.49

6  •  In the Shadow of Auschwitz

Sofsky highlights the momentum that builds in the concrete situation of the massacre, in which the exercise of violence may become detached from the factors that initiated the event. The massacre generates its own motives; the actors involved, free of all normative limitations, may unleash their full potential for violence. Wolfram Pyta has pointed out the analytical pitfalls of Sofsky’s perspective, which runs the risk of the massacre ‘taking on a life of its own as an ahistorical category’50 that ascribes to ‘the act of violence its own semantic logic’,51 through ‘which violence ultimately becomes a self-generating phenomenon that engenders, by itself, an infinite chain of violent acts’.52 Nevertheless, there is no reason not to combine the two perspectives. We can conceptualize the massacre in light of its goal-orientation, its relation to power interests and in terms of its own dynamics in specific contexts of practice. The key point is to analyse massacres against the background of their political and cultural circumstances, in other words to embed them in particular constellations while maintaining an awareness that massacres are not wholly a matter of rational calculation, but – detached from their original goals – may entail elements of excessive violence. In what follows, then, I understand massacres as locally bound excesses of violence with their own special dynamics: events that are characterized by highly asymmetrical power relations but are in many ways context-dependent with regard to their conditions of possibility and capacity for legitimization. It is in light of these considerations that the present study seeks to analyse German massacres of Polish civilians. I draw on groundbreaking findings from recent research on the Holocaust and on genocide that have enhanced our understanding of the development of large-scale processes of violence in key ways. Three aspects stand out here. In combination, they define the present study’s analytical framework. (1) Massacres are not isolated events. In his seminal study on the political dimension of massacres, Jacques Sémélin emphasizes that the massacre must ‘be understood as a form of extreme violence … in the context of a comprehensive trajectory of violence that precedes and goes hand-inhand with it’.53 What Sémélin is pointing out here is that massacres arise out of a specific set of circumstances formed by ‘the coming together of a political history, a specific cultural area and a particular international context’.54 In light of this, it will be crucial to contextualize massacres of Polish civilians as broadly as possible. A triad of superordinate contexts is particularly important when it comes to integrating massacres into a setting of violence characterized by a multitude of interwoven elements: the prior history of German–Polish relations, German occupation as a specific order of violence and the overarching development of the Second

Introduction • 7

World War with its shifting fronts and alliances. Considering these structures is vital to achieving a deeper understanding of massacres. (2) Massacres are closely bound up with a specific representation of the other. Crucial here is the key role of enemy constructs, public discourses and propaganda in establishing a ‘semantic matrix … that lends meaning to the growing momentum of violence, which then becomes a springboard for the massacre’.55 What Sven Reichardt brings out here is that constructs of the enemy are patterns of perception ‘characterized by a clearly derogatory attitude or negative charge’56 and are created and inculcated through a social process. ‘[A]s totalities of perceptions, ideas and feelings’, Reichardt continues, constructs of the enemy reduce ‘the variety of possible world views to a strict and one-dimensional friend-enemy relationship’.57 Enemy constructs are conveyed through propaganda and public discourses, which are relevant to the execution of massacres in two respects. First, they furnish a ‘reading of a situation’,58 so they are not just abstract dogma, but must be understood, with Mark Roseman, as a lens that influences the perception and assessment of specific situations.59 Second, they are important providers of legitimacy for the ‘unleashing of increasingly radical violence against a stated enemy’60 in that they incite violence and engender a ‘climate of impunity’.61   In order to analyse massacres of Polish civilians, it is thus crucial to shed light on the specific structures underpinning enemy constructs and the propagation of these structures in public space – both of which underlay the anti-Polish violence considered here. Of particular relevance is Sémélin’s reference to a ‘rhetoric of threat’, which often shapes public discourse in the run-up to massacres, generating feelings of insecurity: ‘Those poised to become murderers’, Sémélin explains, ‘present themselves as victims … , [so that] their work of destruction [appears] as a preventive measure’.62 Against this background, the present study will show that the construction of a specific Polish affinity for violence was a key resource used to legitimize massacres of Polish civilians. This is a trope centred on Germans as victims of foreign violence, such that countering this threat with their own violence – in order to protect, prevent or avenge –seemed not only justified but imperative. Such a construction made it possible for the Germans to interpret their own practice of violence as a defensive response to Polish acts of violence.63 (3) The specific way in which a massacre unfolds cannot be understood in terms of a top-down model of political control. One key finding of numerous studies on the concrete implementation of the Holocaust – in different areas of German-occupied Europe – is that processes of mass violence do not follow a rigid trajectory; in no way are they based on a coherent plan of action featuring a central authority issuing commands.64

8  •  In the Shadow of Auschwitz

Instead, the dynamics of the murder of the Jews developed through a complex interplay between the interpretations and options for action provided by central authorities and initiatives at regional and local level.65 This insight is undergirded by a specific understanding of action within hierarchical structures. In the case of the Holocaust, this action was by no means based on unambiguous and clearly formulated commands that were implemented on a one-to-one basis on site.66 Instead, actions were guided by overarching orders, which were often vague and ambivalent and mostly involved substantial scope for interpretation.67 Hence, in the words of Michael Wildt and Alf Lüdtke, they created ‘a terrain of possibilities for violence’68 that massively expanded the sphere of permissible violence.   In this configuration, it was the commanders on site who, on the basis of their interpretations of the situation and their specific experiences, adapted these overarching orders to specific local requirements and conditions.69 For this study, these observations mean that ‘we must conceptualize the massacre simultaneously from “above” and “below’’’.70 Hence, an exclusively ‘hierarchical perspective’71 focused on the central authorities is just as unhelpful as a one-sided focus on local actors. Only coupling the two levels will get us to our analytical goal. The overarching orders issued at the leadership level created opportunities, provided models of legitimation and opened up options for initiating violence that could be utilized on site. The present study renders these three aspects fruitful for an analysis of German massacres of Polish civilians. I aim to broadly contextualize these massacres, reconstruct images of the enemy and public discourses, and sound out the relationship between intention and situation in the planning and implementation of massacres. It is the analytical linkage of these aspects that promises to provide new insights.

The Current State of Research Against this background, we can link massacres of Polish civilians to ongoing scholarly debates in light of two major sets of questions: those concerning the connection between prevailing circumstances and massacres, and those pertaining to the mechanisms of escalation, actor constellations and concrete practices of violence.

Introduction • 9

Historical and Occupation-Related Parameters My first step is to examine the relationship between various parameters and massacres of Polish civilians under German occupation. These parameters include the prior history of German–Polish relations since the nineteenth century, the war, specific policies pursued by the German occupation regime, the structures of the occupied society and the ideological foundations of German rule. The first questions that arise here concern historical continuity. In which broad contexts of the preceding history can we meaningfully place the Nazi history of violence?72 According to Dieter Pohl, the research is typified by ‘a certain arbitrariness’73 on this point. In recent years, authors have drawn quite different lines of continuity, encompassing – and here I make no claim to completeness – attempts to combat French francs-tireurs in 1871;74 the supressing of the Herero and Nama uprisings between 1904 and 1908;75 the mass shootings of Belgian civilians in 1914;76 and the activities of German Freikorps, or volunteer corps, after the First World War.77 The present study will address certain elements of these academic debates. But to analyse German massacres of Polish civilians, it seems more productive to examine the chequered German–Polish relationship from the nineteenth century onwards.78 The key question here is to what extent the massacres carried out between 1939 and 1945 are interwoven with a potent prior history. It is crucial to tease out the many layers of this history, which was shaped by ruptures, reversals and ambivalences. It is not my intention to produce an airtight narrative centred on the assumption that this prior history inevitably culminated in the massacres of the Second World War. In the context of an analysis of German massacres of Polish civilians, we need to consider both continuities and disjunctures if we are to grasp how massacres were embedded in longer-term structures and processes, and identify the specifically new features that pertained between 1939 and 1945. The German occupation of Poland during the Second World War – the second relevant context – has been analysed from a wide range of different perspectives.79 The present study can build on this in a number of ways. Martin Broszat, Gerhard Eisenblätter and Czesław Madajczyk have produced important structural-historical overviews.80 In addition to valuable sourcebooks,81 numerous studies have also appeared on the structures of the German apparatus of occupation82 and, above all, on individual policies pursued by the occupation regime. For example, foundational studies have now appeared on economic exploitation,83 the new racial order,84 the policing of the occupied Polish territories,85 and Nazi cultural and educational policy.86 In this context, Hans-Jürgen Bömelburg has identified three spatial foci,87 particularly with respect to the older Polish research: the Reichsgau

10  •  In the Shadow of Auschwitz

Wartheland;88 German policies in the Zamość region;89 and the fate of the capital Warsaw, particularly during the Warsaw Uprising of 1944.90 These studies are of great relevance to the analysis of German massacres of Polish civilians: the key parameters of these events were largely determined by the practice of occupation policy in general. In order to systematize this research, some years ago Ulrich Herbert suggested foregrounding the different temporal and action-related perspectives involved. According to Herbert, the occupiers wished to achieve a ‘new ethnonational order’ (völkische Neuordnung) in the occupied territories over the long term and exploit them as much as possible over the medium term, while responding on an ad hoc basis to the shifting pressures of the military situation, the war economy and security policy over the short term.91 This observation is a productive one for the present study. The pace and extent of massacres, the opportunities to carry them out and their preconditions were largely determined by the objectives of overarching occupation policy. This raises questions about the concrete ways in which different policy fields were interwoven with the practice of massacres in specific circumstances. How and why did the lattice of long-, medium- and short-term goals mutate over time and what consequences did this have for the practice of massacres? In what way did certain policies foster massacres? How did they legitimize them? But countervailing tendencies are also of key importance. In which situations and contexts did certain policies have a de-escalating effect and slow the pace of violence? Finally, the present study also sheds light on the reverse effect. What influence did massacres have on the practice of general occupation policy? In addition, the present study draws on studies of society under German occupation. Alongside investigations into everyday life,92 the most interesting contributions in this context have been recent studies that overcome the rigid dichotomy between occupiers and occupied by exploring zones of cooperation. Noteworthy here are the studies by Barbara Engelking93 and Jan Grabowski,94 which sparked heated debates.95 Both are dedicated to the fate of Polish Jews in hiding. They not only raise questions about preconditions for evading the occupiers but also point out that the Schutzstaffel (‘Protection Squadron’, or SS) and police would not have been able to track down those in hiding without the active assistance of Polish denouncers. What both studies have in common, to quote Ingo Loose, is that they paint a picture of everyday life under occupation that ‘was quite evidently more complex than is generally assumed’.96 What we see emerging here is an image of an occupation society that no longer revolves exclusively around the rigid contrast between occupiers and occupied. We begin to discern a more differentiated reality in which there were interactions, at least in certain cases, between Germans and Poles in certain fields of action. In this context, the role of the former German minority is also of great significance.97 The ethnic

Introduction • 11

Germans were that group of the pre-war Polish population that became a central element of the German system of violence when the German occupation began through the various means of participation that opened up to them. Here, the research has highlighted different forms of participation – encompassing both institutional integration into paramilitary formations and individual involvement as interpreters, translators, scouts, informants and denouncers.98 Particularly in the context of German massacres of Polish civilians, these findings may indicate a flexible system of violence under German occupation and options for participation for certain groups within the Polish population. To what extent does the evidence point to similar structures of interaction in the planning and implementation of massacres of Polish civilians? How did the parameters of the German system of violence change over time? Which shifting constellations of actors were granted licence to commit violence? What were the root causes of this integration of certain groups within the Polish population into German violence? Finally, the present study builds on research that explores ideological foundations and specific enemy constructs. In this context, a wide range of historians has highlighted the significance of Nazi anti-Slavism, which both shaped relations between the ‘Third Reich’ and its eastern neighbour and influenced key actors in the German occupation regime.99 However, John Connelly has shown that the catch-all concept of anti-Slavism is an academic smokescreen that obscures our view of the complex, often fractured and contradictory relations between National Socialism and the countries of Eastern Europe.100 More promising in the context of the present book are works that have begun to outline a specifically anti-Polish enemy construct. The ethnic Germans clearly played a key role in this regard: Doris Bergen and Miriam Arani have produced the first significant investigations to analyse the Nazis’ ‘atrocity propaganda’ in the run-up to the German invasion and in the context of ‘Bloody Sunday at Bromberg’.101 The present work builds on these studies and scrutinizes the preconditions for the formation of an anti-Polish enemy construct, the specific forms it took and its potency in specific situations. Which traditions could the Nazis draw on? Which elements did they add to existing ones? How was this enemy construct communicated and how was it linked with the massacres of Polish civilians as a practice? Actor Constellations, Escalation Mechanisms and the Practice of Massacres In a second step, I turn to the actors, escalation mechanisms and practices involved in massacres. Here, the present work can draw on important Polish studies. Having initially concerned themselves, before the war was over, with

12  •  In the Shadow of Auschwitz

various forms of violence under the occupation regime,102 after 1945, Polish historians steadily compiled meticulous accounts of numerous massacres in individual villages, towns and regions.103 It is these countless individual studies, as Hans-Jürgen Bömelburg has rightly emphasized, that continue to provide the basis for any study of acts of violence under the German occupation.104 While the reading of these early studies – with their long lists of the scenes of murder, perpetrators and victims’ names – is a sometimes strenuous task, their merits are obvious. It was this comprehensive, detailed work that made it possible to reconstruct the world of violence under German rule. However, these studies require revision for several reasons. First, they presented only snippets, providing descriptions of what happened but generally forgoing analysis. These, then, are primarily descriptive studies that said virtually nothing about decision-making processes, actor constellations, escalation mechanisms, practices of violence or the incorporation of massacres into occupation policy. Second, these studies were children of their time. They were produced under the specific circumstances of the Cold War and reflected the views of the communist rulers, leading to peculiar distortions over the course of time. They tended to flatten out the fundamental differences between the Polish and Jewish experience of occupation, implying that Poles and Jews were affected by German violence in the same way. In this context, Polish historians always referred to the supposed parity in the number of victims, comparing the three million murdered Polish Jews with the fictitious figure of three million murdered Poles as determined by the communist security apparatus.105 Furthermore, practising a form of ideological self-censorship, Polish historians often drew a distorted, dichotomous picture of Nazi rule that was free of grey areas or ambivalences and, in particular, largely ignored the involvement of certain groups within the Polish population.106 Zygmunt Mańkowski summed up the results of Polish research in sobering fashion: ‘This problem has yet to be dealt with coherently, comprehensively … and using the latest historical methods.’107 In Western research, meanwhile, the focus on the persecution and extermination of the Jews has undoubtedly overshadowed other contexts of oppression. It is true that in recent years a number of scholars have managed to produce a clearer image of the ‘German East’108 by elucidating its specific level of antisemitic violence.109 But this focus has obscured other situations of persecution. Western research on German massacres of Polish civilians is, therefore, a far from vast field. Richard C. Lukas deserves credit for having presented Polish suffering to a Western audience for the first time.110 Lukas’s objective, however, was not really to analyse the structures, practices and actors involved in mass violence against Polish civilians, with these topics making up a negligible portion of his book.111 His study is in fact a polemical contribution to the debate on rival Polish and Jewish claims of victimhood.112

Introduction • 13

Otherwise, all we have to go on is a short essay by Werner Röhr113 and a spatially limited study by Robert Seidel on the district of Radom,114 which evaluates the older Polish literature on German ‘terror’, partially reproducing the haziness of the Polish historiography. Only recently has a powerful narrative been presented – by Timothy Snyder – that gives Polish suffering due coverage within a comprehensive history of violence in East-Central Europe.115 Snyder’s achievement, however, lies primarily in his vivid description and presentation of selected events. His analysis, meanwhile, centres on the intentions of German leaders.116 The present book can build on all these studies, enlarging upon them by analysing the dynamics and the processual nature of Nazi violence; examining the differing interests of a variety of violent actors; illuminating legitimation strategies and contexts; and by providing a close-up view of the specific ways in which massacres were executed. But the present study does not exist in isolation. It builds on three strands of research that have provided key findings on the history of Nazi violence. (1) The more recent research on perpetrators has sought to illuminate the motives and biographies of ‘ordinary men’117 from the middle and lower levels of the military, civil and police apparatus.118 In this regard, studies on the civil administration,119 the SS and police apparatus,120 and the Wehrmacht121 are of particular importance to the present book. The research has shown convincingly that quite different actors with different biographical backgrounds and institutional affiliations were responsible for initiating and implementing the ‘final solution’: no generational cohort, social or ethnic background, confession, educational class or gender proved resistant to involvement in violent measures. In addition, research has demonstrated that the perpetrators were by no means actors devoid of a will of their own under the control of abstract structures. In fact, they showed a high degree of initiative; had considerable freedom of action; and pursued a multitude of different interests, desires and goals.122 However, the findings of recent research on perpetrators relate chiefly to persecution in the context of the ‘final solution’. Other contexts of Nazi persecution have as yet barely been examined using the methods of perpetrator research. Here, the present study can supplement the existing research in important ways by identifying similarities, but also differences, in the practice of violence.123 (2) There are also important points of connection with recent studies dealing with the war and the first two years of German occupation. A number of studies are now available on this formative phase in the history of Nazi violence, whose common finding is that the dividing line between soldiers and civilians became increasingly blurred.124 Here, the research

14  •  In the Shadow of Auschwitz

has painted a picture of a war characterized in significant part by numerous massacres of Polish and Jewish civilians by soldiers of the Wehrmacht and members of the Einsatzgruppen (task forces). Explanatory approaches diverge considerably, foregrounding widespread racism and antisemitism,125 the fear- and stress-based responses of inexperienced troops,126 the boundless need for military security127 and the ‘lack of any external control’.128 These studies provide us with comprehensive findings on the early phase of German occupation. But their investigation is limited temporally, with a veil of obscurity still hanging over four years of the German occupation. The present study can, therefore, build directly on these studies, analysing massacres of Polish civilians over the entire period of German occupation. (3) Finally, the present book follows up on studies of German efforts to crush partisan groups. In recent years, this has been identified as a key context of action, in which massive violence was carried out against civilians.129 On a broad empirical basis, a new, nuanced overall picture of anti-partisan activities has emerged, demonstrating the need to revise ideas – in circulation for decades – about supposedly legitimate forms of self-defence against ‘perfidious bands’, ‘treacherous saboteurs’ and ‘cowardly snipers’.130 Analytical attention has turned to the increasingly hopeless situation of the civilian population in the occupied territories, which was caught in the middle of the military conflict between partisans and the German occupying power. They became the defenceless victims of an ever more radical and brutal German push to combat partisans. Without making recourse to the simplistic trope of a ‘partisan struggle without partisans’,131 a notion whose exponents denied the very existence of a partisan movement and interpreted supposed German anti-partisan activities as a mere pretext for the implementation of racial objectives, researchers have almost unanimously underlined the disproportionate use of force in the context of ‘band-fighting operations’, which chiefly affected the local civilian population.132 Although this finding is largely undisputed, there is some considerable divergence between the various explanatory approaches to this specific form of ruthless violence against civilians. At its core, the debate revolves around cultural, intentional and situational factors and their weighting, and the relationship between ‘anthropological constants’,133 world views informed by racial biology, occupation policy strategies and ‘military necessities’. A number of scholars have also analysed connections with analogous complexes of violence and probed interrelationships with policies centred on the war economy in the context of a prolonged conflict. In sum, these factors indicate that the effort to crush partisans was characterized by a fundamental multifunctionality that went beyond achieving security.134

Introduction • 15

However, this advance in the research contrasts with a spatial narrowing of relevant studies to the occupied territories of the Soviet Union and the Balkans, a limitation that is no doubt legitimate given the dimensions of the partisan war in these regions but that leaves much of occupied Europe largely untouched. It is true that these approaches have recently undergone an expansion in their spatial perspective: individual studies have analysed the transfer and adaptation in Western European regions of methods for combating partisan bands first used in occupied Eastern Europe.135 But occupied Poland in particular has attracted virtually no attention from this point of view. The only relevant studies are the predominantly descriptive ones by Czesław Madajczyk136 and Józef Fajkowski,137 but as yet no one has built on them. Questions about the actors involved in, and the functions and forms of massacres in the context of, efforts to crush the Polish partisan movement have yet to be answered.

Scope, Structure and Sources This is not a complete overview of Nazi violence against Polish civilians. By focusing on the category of the massacre, I disregard many forms of violence that would be indispensable in a comprehensive history of violence and suffering in occupied Poland. It is here that the limits of the present study come into view, along with the opportunities it opens up. Under German rule, Polish civilians were subject to acts of violence of many different kinds. They suffered a variety of forms of everyday violence: being struck, kicked and humiliated. They had to perform forced labour and were subjected to sexual violence. Polish civilians were also forcibly evicted and deported in cattle wagons. They were transported to countless detention centres, where they were tortured en masse in the ‘interrogation rooms’ of the SS and police and, particularly if they were members of strata vital to the state,138 were often put to death before a firing squad either in these centres or elsewhere. All these manifestations of German violence in Poland are only of interest to the present study if they are connected analytically to massacres – that is, if they help to illuminate the specific context of a massacre or if they represent a form of violence involved in one. I do not, however, provide a separate analysis of these different violent practices. This applies to the violence in the concentration camps as well. Auschwitz, the ‘largest slaughterhouse in human history’,139 is not the subject of the present study. Particularly in the West, Auschwitz’s dual role within the camp system is often overlooked. It was not only an extermination camp for more than a million Jews from all over Europe but also a concentration camp in which, among others, around 140,000 Polish civilians were imprisoned. No

16  •  In the Shadow of Auschwitz

less than 70,000 of them did not survive, being shot or perishing due to the wretched living and working conditions in the camp.140 But Auschwitz can be clearly distinguished from massacres as an institution of violence. In a space fenced in with barbed wire, a specific group of perpetrators carried out a range of violent practices with no time limit – eventually resulting in the deaths of countless people. This book is an examination of the specific form of violence that is the massacre; no lexicon, it is essentially a qualitative analysis. Its empirical focus is on massacres in the context of German anti-partisan efforts. Mark Levene has emphasized the fact that the massacre as a specific form of violence is rarely carried out in situations of undisputed power and secure relations of domination. Massacres, he contends, are usually undertaken by a state ‘whose power is diffused, or fragmented, or [a state that is] unsure of itself, or frightened of the fact that the power it thinks it ought to have is illusory or slipping out of its control’.141 Hence, massacres are typically committed by states in the context of threatening scenarios that lay bare their own vulnerability and the fragility of their claims to power.142 The present study takes up these observations, foregrounding the German effort to combat partisans. It was the presence of Polish partisans that aroused feelings of fear and perceptions of threat among the German occupiers, a trend that gradually led to the idea of a wholesale crisis. This produced a sense of urgency, fostering countless massacres. My decision to focus on anti-partisan activities allows me to do two valuable things. First, I can forge direct links with current research on the first phase of the German occupation. In this context, German soldiers’ and police officers’ propensity for violence was attributed, among other things, to the ‘underhand’ fighting style of the supposedly ubiquitous Polish partisans. But Jochen Böhler has shown that it was a virtual war that was being waged here. According to him, there was no organized Polish partisan movement in September 1939. Nonetheless, Böhler tells us, the illusory notion of an omnipresent enemy influenced German conduct and helped bring about massacres of Polish civilians.143 An investigation of massacres in the context of the fight against partisans can update existing studies and analyse how the German occupiers reacted to the real partisan movement. The findings of important research produced over the last few years can thus be used to illuminate the entire period of German rule. Second, I have the opportunity to help provide something that scholars have long identified as a key desideratum. ‘A truly exhaustive work on the “pacification” of Polish villages’, as Włodzimierz Borodziej once put it, ‘does not exist. [This complex of violence] is an unwritten history’.144 Here, the German fight against partisans in occupied Poland deserves special attention for a number of reasons. Its geographical location made occupied Poland

Introduction • 17

the most important transit country for the war against the Soviet Union. The vast majority of rolling stock had to pass through the area on its way to the Eastern Front and was thus exposed to potential attack. In addition, occupied Poland served Wehrmacht troops as an important ‘haven’ to which they were sent from the theatres of war on the Eastern Front to rest and replenish their energies.145 Furthermore, within the overall structure of the war economy, the area occupied an increasingly prominent position as a huge reservoir of forced labourers and an important supplier of agricultural products. Finally, occupied Poland was at the intersection of various, often intertwined strands of persecution and extermination in German-occupied Eastern Europe, which made it the setting for the mass murder of Jews and Soviet prisoners of war. These factors made occupied Poland an important area in terms of military strategy and the war economy. Its stability had to be guaranteed at all costs. Having detailed my empirical focus, I can now specify the main territory analysed in the present book: the central Polish region under the General Government. I foreground this area because the vast majority of Polish partisan organizations operated there. The districts of Radom and Lublin in particular offered the partisans comparatively favourable topographical conditions and were key arenas of German efforts to crush them.146 In the annexed territories, however, there was virtually no activity by Polish partisan units during the entire period of occupation.147 Nevertheless, I include certain developments in the new Reichsgaue (Reich districts) in my analysis in order to contextualize massacres as broadly as possible. The eastern Polish ‘Kresy’ (borderlands), on the other hand – with their complex, near-indecipherable civil wars – are not discussed. This is regrettable but unavoidable because the character of German rule, from 1941 onwards, was completely different in this multi-ethnic, conflict-ridden region. The specific problems of German rule in eastern Poland require bespoke research. The concept of the massacre provides the guiding thread for the present study, and I present my analysis in three steps, which are reflected in the structure of the book. In Part I, I examine the ‘setting of massacres’, first scrutinizing the prior history of German–Polish relations in terms of continuities and ruptures. I then analyse the various temporal and action-related perspectives of German occupation policy in general as the foundational contexts of massacres. The focus of this section then shifts to constructs of the enemy, which are closely linked with the victimization of ethnic Germans and the notion of a specific Polish affinity for violence. Finally, I examine German efforts to install a system of violence in occupied Poland. This was bound up with the tendency to grant the ethnic Germans carte blanche to use violence, and went hand in hand with countless massacres of Polish civilians.

18  •  In the Shadow of Auschwitz

Part II analyses the practice of massacres and the nexus of resistance, war and massacres. In light of an analysis of the early stages of the German occupation, I then consider massacres in the context of efforts to stabilize and maintain German rule. Here, I investigate the development of massacres in the context of anti-partisan activities from 1940 to 1945, highlighting the actors, functions, practices and legitimacy of massacres. In the shape of the putting down of the Warsaw Uprising in 1944, I consider how the German fight against partisans shifted from rural areas to an urban centre. In addition, I probe the involvement in massacres of specific groups within the Polish population. Polish civilians were given free rein to use violence in certain contexts. This aspect of my study can thus be linked with the structures, elaborated above, of the system of violence in occupied Poland – a system that proved flexible. This section also examines how massacres of Polish civilians were connected with parallel complexes of violence as well as with the objectives of occupation policy. Part III analyses how post-Nazi Germany and Communist Poland dealt with these events. The research presented here is based on a variety of source materials from German, Polish and US archives. In order to analyse massacres as comprehensively as possible from a range of perspectives, it draws on contemporary German sources, reports and statements by survivors as well as files generated by the judicial processing of Nazi crimes. I have evaluated contemporary sources produced by the German occupation apparatus at the Federal Archives Berlin-Lichterfelde. The central holdings of the German civil administration are stored there, including the complete official diary of Governor General Hans Frank, which is a key source for the present study. The same archive contains the holdings of the subordinate departments of the civil administration, which provide insights into the regional contexts of massacres, as well as key collections of the SS and police apparatus that were of tremendous relevance to this study: the files of the Personal Staff of the Reichsführer-SS, various police stations, the Main Office of the Ordnungspolizei as well as the latter’s troops and academies. Similarly important are the holdings of the Federal Archives in Ludwigsburg, which cover the judicial processing of Nazi crimes in its entirety – that is, preliminary proceedings, indictments and verdicts. A plethora of preliminary investigations deal with massacres of Polish civilians as well. Also worth mentioning is the voluminous document collection, which contains a valuable selection of important sources of Eastern European provenance. The Federal Archives-Military Archive Freiburg im Breisgau was also of much value. I was able to examine in their entirety the key holdings of relevance to the apparatus of military occupation – that is, military commands (Militärbefehlshaber) in the General Government, the Armaments Office (Rüstungsinspektion) and armaments teams (Rüstungskommandos). The

Introduction • 19

war diaries of the assigned reserve units – namely, the 154th and 174th infantry divisions – are also of tremendous relevance. Finally, the archive’s holdings provide valuable records that parallel and occasionally substitute for gaps in the SS and police files. The archive of the Instytut Pamięci Narodowej (Institute of National Remembrance) in Warsaw was also important to the present study. Its extensive holdings are an exceptional source for the investigation of German occupation policy. There, I was able to view key collections of contemporary source material, mainly produced by the SS and police apparatus. Holdings relating to the gendarmerie (one of the two subdivisions of the Ordnungspolizei – the other being the Schutzpolizei, or Protection Police) commanders in particular allow important insights into the practice of massacres. In addition, I viewed some fragmentary documents generated by the civil administration and the Wehrmacht. Poland’s Archiwum Akt Nowych (Archives of New Records) stores the files of the Central Agricultural Office, the Department of Food and Agriculture and the Niemieckie władze okupacyjne (German occupation authorities) collection, which contains a large number of different holdings – particularly, documents produced by the civil administration. Finally, I evaluated the holdings of the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, which houses microfilm copies from all the larger and smaller archives in Eastern Europe. There, I analysed files from regional Polish archives as well as key sources produced by the SS and police apparatus, which are difficult to access in Poland. The analysis of each of these source materials raises specific problems. The contemporary German sources can be considered authentic in a special sense and provide valuable insights into the practice of German rule in Poland. However, it must constantly be remembered that there may be gaps between decrees, orders and practices: they do not always reflect what actually occurred, with events sometimes unfolding in a completely different way than originally intended. Often, then, the contemporary sources offer only imprecise information about the actual practice of violence. The testimony of Polish survivors of or witnesses to massacres provides a valuable supplement in this context. But this type of source has its own problems. Survivors and witnesses were generally unable to identify the German units involved for understandable reasons. What they experienced was an indistinguishable mass of ‘Hitlerists’ who inflicted massive violence on them and their families. Still, such testimony can be regarded as an important supplementary source that, together with other materials, offers valuable insights into the dynamics of violence. The files arising from the judicial processing of Nazi crimes, meanwhile, provide an opportunity to answer questions that are virtually impossible to address through contemporary source material. In particular, these sources shed light on the core cultural–historical question of meaning. It should,

20  •  In the Shadow of Auschwitz

however, be borne in mind that the statements they contain were made in the context of judicial investigations. The legal focus on prosecution differs markedly from a historiographical approach, which seeks to understand events in the course of their development.148 Judicial investigative procedures necessarily concentrated only on aspects relevant to criminal law, focusing on isolated offences that could be assigned to individual perpetrators. In addition, perpetrators’ statements in the context of judicial proceedings must be seen for what they were. As witnesses or defendants, their testimony was mostly guided by the imperative of refraining from providing the authorities with any evidence, usable in a court of law, that massacres had been committed against the civilian population. So they kept quiet, denied involvement or made self-serving assertions. Only a tiny number of statements refer openly and in detail to the practice of violence in occupied Poland. Overall, despite these problems, the source material facilitates a comprehensive, multiperspectival analysis of German massacres. Finally, I would like to highlight a terminological choice. The term ‘Polish civilians’ is central to the present study. This means Christian or ethnic Poles. I decided on this approach solely for reasons of linguistic simplicity. Since Jews were of course also Polish citizens, in theory we ought to refer to ‘ethnic/ Christian Poles’. My terminological choice reflects the cumbersome nature of this phrasing and in no way implies the semantic exclusion of Jews from Polish society.

Notes 1. Konrad Schuller, ‘Als Winicjusz Natoniewski um sein Leben lief ’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 2 February 2008, 3. Schuller expanded on this article to create a powerful book, which appeared a year later. See Konrad Schuller, Der letzte Tag von Borów. Polnische Bauern, deutsche Soldaten und ein unvergangener Krieg (Freiburg im Breisgau, 2009). See also Konrad Schuller, ‘Kein Haus blieb verschont’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 1 September 2009, 11. 2. Schuller, Tag, 75f. 3. The ‘Order Police’. 4. KdO Lublin, Tägliche Lagemeldung (Daily Situation Report), 3.2.1944, AIPN, GK 104/51, fol. 6. 5. Ibid. 6. Ibid. 7. Ibid. 8. See the account in Schuller, Tag, 42–48. 9. KdO Lublin, Tägliche Lagemeldung (Daily Situation Report), 3.2.1944, AIPN, GK 104/51, fol. 6. 10. See the survivors’ recollections in Schuller, Tag, 51. 11. KdO Lublin, Tägliche Lagemeldung (Daily Situation Report), 3.2.1944, AIPN, GK 104/51, fol. 6.

Introduction • 21

12. Ibid. 13. The report stated that ‘more than 300 family members [villagers] … [had been] evacuated for transfer to the employment office’: ibid. 14. Schuller, Tag, 46. 15. Nina Schulz, ‘Die eine Sache noch’, Analyse & Kritik. Zeitung für linke Debatte und Praxis 604 (21 April 2015), 30f. 16. Herbert Jäger, Verbrechen unter totalitärer Herrschaft. Studien zur nationalsozialistischen Gewaltkriminalität (Olten and Freiburg, 1967); Herbert Jäger, Makrokriminalität. Studien zur Kriminologie kollektiver Gewalt (Frankfurt am Main, 1989); Michaela Christ, ‘Die Soziologie und das “Dritte Reich”. Weshalb Holocaust und Nationalsozialismus in der Soziologie ein Schattendasein führen’, Zeitschrift für Soziologie 40 (2011), 407–31, here 424. 17. Norbert Elias, Studien über die Deutschen (Frankfurt am Main, 1989), 227. 18. Richard J. Evans, ‘Who Remembers the Poles?’, London Review of Books 32(21) (4 November 2010). 19. Dieter Pohl, ‘Nationalsozialistische und stalinistische Massenverbrechen: Überlegungen zum wissenschaftlichen Vergleich’, in Jürgen Zarusky (ed.), Stalin und die Deutschen. Neue Beiträge der Forschung (Munich, 2006), 253–64. 20. Birthe Kundrus and Henning Strotbek, ‘“Genozid”. Grenzen und Möglichkeiten eines Forschungsbegriffs – ein Literaturbericht’, Neue Politische Literatur 51 (2006), 397–423; Boris Barth, Genozid. Völkermord im 20. Jahrhundert. Geschichte, Theorien, Kontroversen (Munich, 2006); Robert Gellately and Ben Kiernan (eds), The Specter of Genocide. Mass Murder in Historical Perspective (Cambridge, 2003); Norman Naimark, Flammender Hass. Ethnische Säuberung im 20. Jahrhundert (Munich, 2004); Peter Imbusch, ‘Probleme der deutschen Genozidforschung. Eine Übersicht’, Mittelweg 36(2) (2001), 49–53. 21. Birthe Kundrus, ‘Entscheidung für den Völkermord? Einleitende Überlegungen zu einem historiographischen Problem’, Mittelweg 36(6) (2006), 4–17, here 6. 22. Ibid. 23. Peter Imbusch, ‘Der Gewaltbegriff’, in Wilhelm Heitmeyer and John Hagan (eds), Internationales Handbuch der Gewaltforschung (Wiesbaden, 2002), 26–57. 24. Jacques Sémélin, Säubern und Vernichten. Die politische Dimension von Massakern und Völkermorden (Hamburg, 2007), 353ff. 25. Peter Burschel, ‘Massaker’, in Friedrich Jaeger (ed.), Enzyklopädie der Neuzeit, vol. 8, 110–12, here 110. 26. Mark Levene, ‘Introduction’, in Mark Levene and Penny Roberts (eds), The Massacre in History (New York, 1999), 1–38, here 2. 27. Hans Medick, ‘Massaker in der Frühen Neuzeit’, in Claudia Ulbrich, Claudia Jarzebowski and Michaela Hohkamp (eds), Gewalt in der Frühen Neuzeit (Berlin, 2005), 4–19, here 15. 28. Sémélin, Säubern, 353ff. 29. Medick, ‘Massaker’, 15. 30. Ibid. 31. See, for example, the relevant definitions in Sémélin, Säubern, 353; Levene, ‘Introduction’, 5; Burschel, ‘Massaker’, 110; Wolfgang Sofsky, Traktat über die Gewalt (Frankfurt am Main, 1996), 175f. 32. Trutz von Trotha, ‘Genozidaler Pazifizierungskrieg. Soziologische Anmerkungen zum Konzept des Genozids am Beispiel des Kolonialkriegs in Deutsch-Südwestafrika, 1904–1907’, Zeitschrift für Genozidforschung 4 (2003), 30–57, here 49f.

22  •  In the Shadow of Auschwitz

33. Sofsky, Traktat, 178. 34. Trutz von Trotha and Michael Schwab-Trapp, ‘Logiken der Gewalt’, Mittelweg 36(6) (1996), 56–64, here 60. 35. Von Trotha, ‘Pazifizierungskrieg’, 49f. 36. Von Trotha and Schwab-Trapp, ‘Logiken’, 60. 37. Sofsky, Traktat, 180. 38. Ibid. 39. Ibid., 181. 40. Imbusch, ‘Gewaltbegriff’, 48; Jäger, Makrokriminalität, 11f. 41. See, for example, Klaus-Michael Mallmann, ‘“Mensch, ich feiere heut’ den tausendsten Genickschuß”. Die Sicherheitspolizei und die Shoah in Westgalizien’, in Bogdan Musial (ed.), ‘Aktion Reinhardt’. Der Völkermord an den Juden im Generalgouvernement 1941–1944 (Osnabrück, 2004), 353–79. 42. Stefan Wiese, ‘Pogrom’, in Christian Gudehus and Michaela Christ (eds), Gewalt. Ein interdisziplinäres Handbuch (Stuttgart and Weimar, 2013), 152–58, here 157. 43. Trutz von Trotha, ‘Formen des Krieges. Zur Typologie kriegerischer Aktionsmacht’, in Sighard Neckel and Michael Schwab-Trapp (eds), Ordnungen der Gewalt. Beiträge zur politischen Soziologie der Gewalt und des Krieges (Opladen, 1999), 71–96, here 86. 44. Trutz von Trotha, ‘Gewaltforschung auf Popitzschen Wegen. Antireduktionismus, Zweckhaftigkeit und Körperlichkeit der Gewalt, Gewalt und Herrschaft’, Mittelweg 36(6) (2000), 26–36, here 35f. 45. Wolfgang Knöbl, ‘Imperiale Herrschaft und Gewalt’, Mittelweg 36(3) (2012), 19–44, here 36. 46. Sofsky, Traktat, 175ff. 47. Ibid., 176. 48. Medick, ‘Massaker’, 15. 49. Sofsky, Traktat, 181. 50. Wolfram Pyta, ‘Selbstmobilisierung der Endkämpfer. Kriegerische Gewalteskalation im 20. Jahrhundert und deren kulturhistorische Durchleuchtung’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 8 May 2006, 10. 51. Ibid. 52. Ibid.; Harald Welzer once stated that such a perspective is ‘stupid’ because it ‘dwells on the horror that it purports to describe’. See Harald Welzer, ‘“Verweilen beim Grauen”. Bücher über den Holocaust’, Merkur 538 (1994), 67–72, here 72. 53. Sémélin, Säubern, 355. 54. Ibid., 356. 55. Jacques Sémélin, ‘Elemente einer Grammatik des Massakers’, Mittelweg 36(6) (2006), 18– 40, here 27. 56. Sven Reichardt, ‘Feindbild und Fremdheit – Bemerkungen zu ihrer Wirkung, Bedeutung und Handlungsmacht’, in Benjamin Ziemann (ed.), Perspektiven der Historischen Friedensforschung (Essen, 2002), 250–71, here 250. 57. Ibid., 255. 58. Sémélin, ‘Elemente’, 22. 59. Mark Roseman, ‘Ideas, Contexts, and the Pursuit of Genocide’, Bulletin of the German Historical Institute London 25/1 (2003), 65–83. 60. Sémélin, ‘Elemente’, 27. 61. Ibid. 62. Ibid., 24.

Introduction • 23

63. Stimulating in this context is Peter Fritzsche, Life and Death in the Third Reich (Cambridge, 2008), 2–7. 64. See, for example, Dieter Pohl, Von der ‘Judenpolitik’ zum Judenmord. Der Distrikt Lublin des Generalgouvernements 1939–1944 (Frankfurt am Main, 1993); Thomas Sandkühler, ‘Endlösung’ in Galizien. Der Judenmord in Ostpolen und die Rettungsintiativen von Berthold Beitz, 1941–1944 (Bonn, 1996); Christian Gerlach, Krieg, Ernährung, Völkermord. Forschungen zur deutschen Vernichtungspolitik im Zweiten Weltkrieg (Hamburg, 1998); Bogdan Musial, Deutsche Zivilverwaltung und Judenverfolgung im Generalgouvernement. Eine Fallstudie zum Distrikt Lublin 1939–1944 (Wiesbaden, 1999); Jacek Andrzej Młynarczyk, Judenmord in Zentralpolen. Der Distrikt Radom des Generalgouvernements 1939–1945 (Darmstadt, 2007); Michael Alberti, Die Verfolgung und Vernichtung der Juden im Reichsgau Wartheland 1939–1945 (Wiesbaden, 2006). For a summary, see Peter Longerich, ‘Tendenzen und Perspektiven der Täterforschung’, Aus Politik und Zeitgeschichte 14–15 (2007), 3–7; Klaus-Michael Mallmann, ‘Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde. Der Täterdiskurs in Wissenschaft und Gesellschaft’, in Klaus-Michael Mallmann and Andrej Angrick (eds), Die Gestapo nach 1945. Karrieren, Konflikte, Konstruktionen (Darmstadt, 2009), 292–318. 65. A brilliant synthesis is provided by Dan Stone, Histories of the Holocaust (New York, 2010); see also Donald Bloxham, The Final Solution. A Genocide (Oxford, 2009). 66. Jan Philipp Reemtsma, ‘Freiheit, Macht, Gewalt’, in Jan Philipp Reemtsma, Mord am Strand. Allianzen von Zivilisation und Barbarei (Munich, 1998), 125–45. 67. Wolfgang Sofsky, Die Ordnung des Terrors: Das Konzentrationslager (Frankfurt am Main, 1993), 265ff. 68. Alf Lüdtke and Michael Wildt, ‘Einleitung. Staats-Gewalt: Ausnahmezustand und Sicherheitsregimes’, in Alf Lüdtke and Michael Wildt (eds), Staats-Gewalt: Ausnahmezustand und Sicherheitsregimes. Historische Perspektiven (Göttingen, 2008), 7–38, here 22. 69. Klaus-Michael Mallmann, ‘Die Türöffner der “Endlösung”. Zur Genesis des Genozids’, in Gerhard Paul and Klaus-Michael Mallmann (eds), Die Gestapo im Zweiten Weltkrieg. ‘Heimatfront’ und besetztes Europa (Darmstadt, 2000), 437–63. 70. Sémélin, ‘Elemente’, 30; Kundrus, ‘Entscheidung’, 15. 71. Matthias Häußler and Trutz von Trotha, ‘Brutalisierung “von unten”. Kleiner Krieg, Entgrenzung der Gewalt und Genozid im kolonialen Deutsch-Südwestafrika’, Mittelweg 36(3) (2012), 57–89, here 58. 72. Birthe Kundrus and Sybille Steinbacher (eds), Kontinuitäten und Diskontinuitäten. Der Nationalsozialismus in der Geschichte des 20. Jahrhunderts (Göttingen, 2013). 73. Dieter Pohl, ‘Massengewalt und der Mord an den Juden im “Dritten Reich”’, in Sybille Steinbacher (ed.), Holocaust und Völkermorde. Die Reichweite des Vergleichs (Frankfurt am Main, 2012), 107–23, here 110. 74. Isabel V. Hull, Absolute Destruction. Military Culture and the Practices of War in Imperial Germany (Ithaca, 2005); see also Susanne Kuss, ‘Vernichtungskrieg in Polen 1939: Vernichtung als Kontinuität in der deutschen Militärgeschichte’, in Bernd Martin and Arkadiusz Stempin (eds), Deutschland und Polen in schweren Zeiten. Alte Konflikte – neue Sichtweisen (Poznań, 2004), 69–86. The francs-tireurs were irregular military formations deployed by France during the early stages of the Franco–Prussian War. 75. See, especially, the collection of the most important essays by one of the main protagonists in this debate: Jürgen Zimmerer, Von Windhuk nach Auschwitz? Beiträge zum Verständnis von Kolonialismus und Holocaust (Berlin, 2011); see also the convincing riposte by Stefan Malinowski and Robert Gerwarth, ‘Der Holocaust als

24  •  In the Shadow of Auschwitz

76. 77.

78.

79.

80.

81.

“kolonialer Genozid”? Europäische Kolonialgewalt und nationalsozialistischer Vernichtungskrieg’, Geschichte und Gesellschaft 33 (2007), 439–66; Birthe Kundrus, ‘Kontinuitäten, Parallelen, Rezeptionen. Überlegungen zur “Kolonialisierung” des Nationalsozialismus’, WerkstattGeschichte 43 (2006), 45–62; Birthe Kundrus, ‘Von den Herero zum Holocaust? Einige Bemerkungen zur aktuellen Debatte’, Mittelweg 36(2) (2005), 82–91; most recently, see Sybille Steinbacher, ‘Sonderweg, Kolonialismus, Genozide: Der Holocaust im Spannungsfeld von Kontinuitäten und Diskontinuitäten der deutschen Geschichte’, in Frank Bajohr and Andrea Löw (eds), Der Holocaust. Ergebnisse und neue Fragen der Forschung (Frankfurt am Main, 2015), 83–101. John Horne and Alan Kramer, Deutsche Kriegsgreuel 1914. Die umstrittene Wahrheit (Hamburg, 2004). Dieter Pohl, Die Herrschaft der Wehrmacht. Deutsche Militärbesatzung und einheimische Bevölkerung in der Sowjetunion 1941–1944 (Munich, 2008), 34–40; Dieter Pohl, Massengewalt, 111–12; Boris Barth, Dolchstoßlegenden und politische Desintegration. Das Trauma der deutschen Niederlage im Ersten Weltkrieg 1914–1933 (Düsseldorf, 2003), 229–90; Hans-Heinrich Wilhelm, ‘Personelle Kontinuitäten in baltischen Angelegenheiten auf deutscher Seite von 1917/19 bis zum Zweiten Weltkrieg?’, in John Hiden (ed.), The Baltic in International Relations Between the Two World Wars (Stockholm, 1988), 157–70. See the recent contribution by Jörg Hackmann and Marta Kopij-Weiß, Nationen in Kontakt und Konflikt. Deutsch-polnische Beziehungen und Verflechtungen 1806–1918 (Darmstadt, 2014); see also, for example, Martin Broszat, Zweihundert Jahre deutsche Polenpolitik (Frankfurt am Main, 1972); Dietrich Beyrau (ed.), Blick zurück ohne Zorn. Polen und Deutsche in Geschichte und Gegenwart (Tübingen, 1999); Robert L. Nelson (ed.), Germans, Poland, and Colonial Expansion to the East: 1850 through the Present (New York, 2009); Hubert Orłowski, ‘Polnische Wirtschaft’. Zum deutschen Polendiskurs der Neuzeit (Wiesbaden, 1996); Karoline Gil and Christian Pletzing (eds), Granica. Die deutsch-polnische Grenze vom 19. bis zum 21. Jahrhundert (Munich, 2010); Vejas Gabriel Liulevicius, The German Myth of the East. 1800 to the Present (Oxford, 2009); Gregor Thum (ed.), Traumland Osten. Deutsche Bilder vom östlichen Europa im 20. Jahrhundert (Göttingen, 2006); Wolfgang Wippermann, Die Deutschen und der Osten. Feindbild und Traumland (Darmstadt, 2007); Włodzimierz Borodziej, ‘Deutschland und das östliche Europa’, in Joachim von Puttkamer and Włodzimierz Borodziej (eds), Europa und sein Osten. Geschichtskulturelle Herausforderungen (Munich, 2012), 131–46; Günther Stökl, Osteuropa und die Deutschen. Geschichte und Gegenwart einer spannungsreichen Nachbarschaft (Oldenburg and Hamburg, 1967). About 4,000 entries are included in Andreas Lawaty and Wiesław Mincer (eds), Deutsch-polnische Beziehungen in Geschichte und Gegenwart. Bibliographie (Wiesbaden, 2000), vol. 1, 735–950; see also Walter Okonski, Wartime Poland, 1939–1945: A Select Annotated Bibliography of Books in English (Westport, 1997). Czesław Madajczyk, Polityka III Rzeszy w okupowanej Polsce, 2 vols (Warsaw, 1970); Czesław Madajczyk, Die Okkupationspolitik Nazideutschlands in Polen 1939–1945 (Berlin [East], 1987); Martin Broszat, Nationalsozialistische Polenpolitik 1939–1945 (Stuttgart, 1961); Gerhard Eisenblätter, Grundlinien der Politik des Reiches gegenüber dem Generalgouvernement 1939–1944 (Frankfurt am Main, 1969). See Documenta Occupationis (Poznań, 1945–1990); Werner Präg and Wolfgang Jacobmeyer (eds), Das Diensttagebuch des deutschen Generalgouverneurs in Polen 1939– 1945 (Stuttgart, 1975); Czesław Madajczyk (ed), Zamojszczyzna – Sonderlaboratorium SS. Zbiór dokumentów polskich i niemieckich z okresu okupacji hitlerowskiej, 2 vols

Introduction • 25

82.

83.

84.

85.

86.

87.

(Warsaw, 1977); Czesław Madajczyk (ed), Vom Generalplan Ost zum Generalsiedlungsplan (Munich, 1994); Werner Röhr (ed.), Die faschistische Okkupationspolitik in Polen 1939– 1945 (Berlin [East], 1989). See, most recently, Markus Roth, Herrenmenschen. Die deutschen Kreishauptleute im besetzten Polen – Karrierewege, Herrschaftspraxis und Nachgeschichte (Göttingen, 2009); Peter Klein, ‘Behördenbeamte oder Gefolgschaftsmitglieder? Arthur Greisers Personalpolitik in Posen’, in Jochen Böhler and Stephan Lehnstaedt (eds), Gewalt und Alltag im besetzten Polen 1939–1945 (Osnabrück, 2012), 187–204; Ralf Meindl, Ostpreußens Gauleiter. Erich Koch – eine politische Biographie (Osnabrück, 2007); Musial, Zivilverwaltung. See also Edward Jędrzejewski, ‘Administracja i NSDAP w systemie okupacyjnym ziem polskich włączonych do Trzeciej Rzeszy (1939–1945)’, Biuletyn Głównej Komisji Badania Zbrodni Hitlerwoskich w Polsce 27 (1977), 131–47; Stanisław Nawrocki, Policja hitlerowska w tzw. Kraju Warty w latach 1939–1945 (Poznań, 1970); Ryszard Kaczmarek, Pod rządami gauleiterów. Elity i instancje władze w rejencji w latach 1939–1945 (Katowice, 1998); Kazimierz Radziwończyk, ‘Niemieckie siły zbrojne w okupowanej Polsce, 22.6.1941 – wiosną 1944 r.’, Wojskowy Przegląd Historyczny 7 (3) (1962), 103–59 and 7 (4) (1962), 31–96; Leon Herzog, ‘Die verbrecherische Tätigkeit der Wehrmacht im Generalgouvernement in den Jahren 1939 bis 1945’, Zeitschrift für Militärgeschichte 6 (1967), 445–58. Czesław Łuczak, Polityka ludnościowa i ekonomiczna hitlerowskich Niemiec w okupowanej Polsce (Poznań, 1993); Czesław Rajca, Walka o chleb 1939–1945. Eksploatacja rolnictwa w Generalnym Gubernatorstwie (Lublin, 1991); Sonja Schwaneberg, ‘Die wirtschaftliche Ausbeutung des Generalgouvernements durch das Deutsche Reich 1939–1945’, in Jacek Młynarczyk (ed.), Polen unter deutscher und sowjetischer Besatzung 1939–1945 (Osnabrück, 2009), 103–29; Tadeusz Janicki, ‘Die deutsche Wirtschaftspolitik in den eingegliederten polnischen Gebieten 1939–1945’, in ibid., 79–102; Bogdan Musial, ‘Recht und Wirtschaft im besetzten Polen 1939–1945’, in Johannes Bähr and Ralph Banken (eds), Das Europa des ‘Dritten Reichs’. Recht, Wirtschaft, Besatzung (Frankfurt am Main, 2005), 31–57; Roth, Herrenmenschen, 119–74. See, especially, Gerhard Wolf, Ideologie und Herrschaftsrationalität. Nationalsozialistische Germanisierungspolitik in Polen (Hamburg, 2012); Philip T. Rutherford, Prelude to the Final Solution. The Nazi Program for Deporting Ethnic Poles, 1939–1941 (Lawrence, 2007); Isabel Heinemann, Rasse, Siedlung, deutsches Blut. Das Rasseund Siedlungshauptamt der SS und die rassenpolitische Neuordnung Europas (Göttingen, 2003); Michael G. Esch, ‘Gesunde Verhältnisse’. Deutsche und polnische Bevölkerungspolitik in Ostmitteleuropa 1939–1950 (Marburg, 1998); Mechthild Rössler and Sabine Schleiermacher (eds), Der ‘Generalplan Ost’. Hauptlinien der nationalsozialistischen Planungs- und Vernichtungspolitik (Berlin, 1993). See, especially, Włodzimierz Borodziej, Terror i polityka. Policja niemiecka a polski ruch oporu w GG 1939–1944 (Warsaw, 1985); German version: Terror und Politk. Die deutsche Polizei und die polnische Widerstandsbewegung 1939–1944 (Mainz, 1999). Christoph Kleßmann, Die Selbstbehauptung einer Nation. Nationalsozialistische Kulturpolitik und polnische Widerstandsbewegung im Generalgouvernement 1939–1945 (Düsseldorf, 1971); Hans-Christian Harten, De-Kulturation und Germanisierung. Die nationalsozialistische Rassen- und Erziehungspolitik in Polen 1939–1945 (Frankfurt am Main, 1996). Hans-Jürgen Bömelburg, ‘Die Erinnerung an die deutsche Besatzung während des Zweiten Weltkriegs in Polen – Transformationen und Kontinuitäten der polnischen

26  •  In the Shadow of Auschwitz

88.

89.

90.

91.

92.

93.

94. 95.

96.

97.

98.

Erinnerungskultur 1980–2005’, in Bernd Faulenbach and Franz-Josef Jelich (eds), ‘Transformationen’ der Erinnerungskulturen in Europa nach 1989 (Essen, 2006), 55–78. Jerzy Marczewski, ‘The Aims and Character of the Nazi Deportation Policy as Shown by the Example of the “Warta Region”’, Polish Western Affairs 2 (1969), 235–62; Jerzy Marczewski, Hitlerowska koncepcja polityki kolonizacyjno-wysiedleńczej i jej realizacja w ‘Okręgu Warty’ (Poznań, 1979). For a more recent study with a similar focus, see Czesław Łuczak, Pod niemieckim jarzmem (Kraj Warty) (Poznań, 1996). See, for example, Zygmunt Klukowski, ‘Pacyfikacje i egzekucje masowe w powiecie zamojskim w latach 1939–1945’, Biuletyn Głównej Komisji Badania Zbrodni Hitlerowskich w Polsce 5 (1949), 171–205; Jerzy Markiewicz, Nie dali ziemi skąd ich ród. Zamojszczyzna 27 XI 1942–31 XII 1943 (Lublin, 1967); Madajczyk, Zamojszczyzna. Several thousand studies deal with the Warsaw Uprising: Władysław Henzel, Powstanie warszawskie 1944 r. Bibliografia selektywna (Warsaw, 1994–2004); see also Tomasz Szarota, Warschau unter dem Hakenkreuz. Leben und Alltag im besetzten Warschau 1.10.1939 bis 31.7.1944 (Paderborn, 1985). Ulrich Herbert, ‘Arbeit und Vernichtung. Über Konvergenzen und Widersprüche nationalsozialistischer Politik, Vortrag in der Arbeitskammer Wien am 27.7.2007 im Rahmen der Tagung “Arbeit und Vernichtung” des Wiener Wiesenthal Centers für Holocaust-Studien’. Retrieved 20 November 2021 from https://www.youtube.com/wa tch?v=njH3nHkWOwI&list=PL3A11F36A921841FB&index=8&t=2986s. See, especially, Stephan Lehnstaedt, Okkupation im Osten. Besatzeralltag in Warschau und Minsk 1939–1944 (Munich, 2010) as well as the individual chapters in Jochen Böhler and Stephan Lehnstaedt (eds), Gewalt und Alltag im besetzten Polen 1939–1945 (Osnabrück, 2012). Barbara Engelking, ‘“Sehr geehrter Herr Gestapo”. Denunziationen im deutsch besetzten Polen 1940/41’, in Klaus-Michael Mallmann and Bogdan Musial (eds), Genesis des Genozids. Polen 1939–1941 (Darmstadt, 2004), 206–20; Barbara Engelking, Jest taki piękny słoneczny dzień. Losy Żydów szukających ratunku na wsi polskiej 1942–1945 (Warsaw, 2011). Jan Grabowski, Judenjagd. Polowanie na Żydów 1942–1945. Studium dziejów pewnego powiatu (Warsaw, 2011). Stephan Lehnstaedt and Ruth Leiserowitz, ‘Polen und Juden unter deutscher Besatzung. Einführung in eine aktuelle Debatte über nachbarschaftliche Verhältnisse’, sehepunkte 7/8 (15 July 2011). Retrieved 20 November 2021 from www.sehepunkte.de/2011/07​ /forum/polen-und-juden-unter-deutscher-besatzung-einfuehrung-in-eine-aktuelle-de batte-ueber-nachbarschaftliche-verhaeltnisse-149/. Ingo Loose, ‘Judenmord im nationalsozialistisch besetzten Polen. Neue Forschungen zu den Beziehungen zwischen Polen und Juden im Generalgouvernement 1939–1945’ (review), sehepunkte 7/8 (15 July 2011). Retrieved 20 November 2021 from www.sehe punkte.de/201120322.html. On the pre-war period, see the recent study by Winson Chu, The German Minority in Interwar Poland (Cambridge, 2012). See also Rudolf Jaworski et al. (eds), Deutsche und Polen zwischen den Kriegen. Minderheitenstatus und ‘Volkstumskampf ’ im Grenzgebiet. Amtliche Berichterstattung aus beiden Ländern, 2 vols (Munich, 1997); Richard Blanke, Orphans of Versailles. The Germans in Western Poland 1918–1939 (Lexington, 1993). See, for example, Christian Jansen and Arno Weckbecker, Der ‘Volksdeutsche Selbstschutz’ in Polen 1939/40 (Munich, 1992); Doris Bergen, ‘The Nazi Concept of “Volksdeutsche” and the Exacerbation of Anti-Semitism in Eastern Europe 1939–1945’, Journal of Contemporary History 29 (1994), 569–82; Doris Bergen, ‘The “Volksdeutschen”

Introduction • 27

99.

100.

101.

102.

103.

of Eastern Europe, World War II, and the Holocaust: Constructed Ethnicity, Real Genocide’, Yearbook of European Studies 13 (1999), 70–93; Doris Bergen, ‘The Volksdeutsche of Eastern Europe and the Collapse of the Nazi Empire, 1944–1945’, in Doris Bergen, Alan E. Steinweis and Daniel E. Rogers (eds), The Impact of Nazism: New Perspectives on the Third Reich and its Legacy (Lincoln, 2003), 101–28. For a different spatial context, see also Eric C. Steinhart, ‘Creating Killers: The Nazification of the Black Sea Germans and the Holocaust in Southern Ukraine, 1941–1944’, Bulletin of the German Historical Institute Washington, D.C. 50 (2012), 57–74. See the studies by such different historians as Eugeniusz Duraczyński, Jan Tomasz Gross, Jerzy Borejsza and Wolfgang Jacobmeyer: Eugeniusz Duraczyński, Wojna i okupacja. Wrzesień 1939 – Kwiecień 1943 (Warsaw, 1974), 92; Jan Tomasz Gross, Polish Society under German Occupation. The Generalgouvernement 1939–1944 (Princeton, 1979), xi; Jerzy W. Borejsza, Antyslawizm Adolfa Hitlera (Warsaw, 1988); Wolfgang Jacobmeyer, ‘Der Überfall auf Polen und der neue Charakter des Krieges’, in Christoph Kleßmann (ed.), September 1939. Krieg, Besatzung, Widerstand in Polen (Göttingen, 1989), 16–37, here 23–26. See also Jochen Böhler, Auftakt zum Vernichtungskrieg. Die Wehrmacht in Polen 1939 (Frankfurt am Main, 2006), 24ff. John Connelly, ‘Nazis and Slavs. From Racial Theory to Racist Practice’, Central European History 32 (1999), 1–33; John Connelly, ‘Why the Poles Collaborated So Little. And Why That Is No Reason for Nationalist Hubris’, Slavic Review 64 (2005), 771–81. See also Dieter Pohl, ‘Der Holocaust und die anderen NS-Verbrechen: Wechselwirkungen und Zusammenhänge’, in Frank Bajohr and Andrea Löw (eds), Der Holocaust. Ergebnisse und neue Fragen der Forschung (Frankfurt am Main, 2015), 124–40, here 128. Doris L. Bergen, ‘Instrumentalization of Volksdeutschen in German Propaganda in 1939. Replacing/Erasing Poles, Jews, and Other Victims’, German Studies Review 31 (2008), 447–70; Miriam Y. Arani, Fotografische Selbst- und Fremdbilder von Deutschen und Polen im Reichsgau Wartheland 1939–1945. Unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der Region Wielkopolska (Hamburg, 2008); Miriam Y. Arani, ‘Wie Feindbilder gemacht wurden. Zur visuellen Konstruktion von “Feinden” am Beispiel der Fotografien der Propagandakompanien aus Bromberg 1939 und Warschau 1941’, in Rainer Rother and Judith Prokasky (eds), Die Kamera als Waffe. Propagandabilder des Zweiten Weltkriegs (Munich, 2010), 150–63. Dieter Pohl, ‘War, Occupation and the Holocaust in Poland’, in Dan Stone (ed.), The Historiography of the Holocaust (London, 2004), 88–119, here 88; see, for example, Polish Ministry of Information (ed.), The German Invasion of Poland. Polish Black Book containing documents, authentical reports, and photographs (London, [n.d.] [1940]); Polish Ministry of Information (ed.), The German New Order in Poland (London, 1941); Polish Ministry of Information (ed.), The Black Book of Poland (New York, 1942); Polish Ministry of Information (ed.), The Quest for German Blood (London, 1943). In addition to the academies of sciences and universities, the Główna Komisja Badania Zbrodni Niemieckich w Polsce (Main Commission for the Investigation of German Crimes in Poland) and the Instytut Zachodni (West Institute) in Poznań became influential institutions. Through their sourcebooks and publication series, both bodies have provided the foundation for every scholarly attempt to get to grips with the German occupation. Of outstanding importance are the series Documenta Occupationis Teutonicae, produced by the Instytut Zachodni, and the Biuletyn Głównej Komisji Badania Zbrodni Hitlerowskich w Polsce, published by the Główna Komisja. Also

28  •  In the Shadow of Auschwitz

104. 105.

1 06. 107.

108. 109. 110. 111. 112.

113. 114.

important are the journals Przegląd Zachodni, produced by the Instytut Zachodni, and Dzieje Najnowsze. Hans-Jürgen Bömelburg, ‘Die deutsche Besatzungspolitik in Polen 1939 bis 1945’, in Bernhard Chiari (ed.), Die polnische Heimatarmee. Geschichte und Mythos der Armia Krajowa seit dem Zweiten Weltkrieg (Munich, 2003), 51–86, here 52. On the number of victims, see Mateusz Gniazdowski, ‘“Ustalić liczbę zabitych na 6 milionów ludzi”. Dyrektywy Jakuba Bermana dla Biura Odszkodowań Wojennych przy Prezydium Rady Ministrów’, Polski Przegląd Dyplomatyczny 41 (2008), 99–113; Mateusz Gniazdowski, ‘Zu den Menschenverlusten, die Polen während des Zweiten Weltkrieges von den Deutschen zugefügt wurden. Eine Geschichte von Forschungen und Schätzungen’, Historie. Jahrbuch des Zentrums für Historische Forschung Berlin der Polnischen Akademie der Wissenschaften 1 (2008), 65–92; Klaus-Peter Friedrich, ‘Erinnerungspolitische Legitimierungen des Opferstatus. Zur Instrumentalisierung fragwürdiger Opferzahlen in Geschichtsbildern vom Zweiten Weltkrieg in Polen und Deutschland’, in Dieter Bingen, Peter Oliver Loew and Kazimierz Wójcicki (eds), Die Destruktion des Dialogs. Zur innenpolitischen Instrumentalisierung negativer Fremdbilder und Feindbilder. Polen, Tschechien, Deutschland und die Niederlande im Vergleich 1900– 2005 (Wiesbaden, 2007), 176–91. Bömelburg, ‘Besatzungspolitik’, 52. Zygmunt Mańkowski, ‘Działalność eksterminacyjna niemców wobec narodu polskiego w latach II wojny światowej. Zarys koncepcji syntezy’, in Główna Komisja Badania Zbrodni Hitlerowskich w Polsce/Instytut Pamięci Narodowej: Stan i Perspektywy Badań Historycznych Lat Wojny i Okupacji 1939 1945. Sesja 14–15 listopoada 1985 r. (Warsaw, 1988), 106–32, here 106. Klaus-Michael Mallmann, Volker Rieß and Wolfram Pyta, Deutscher Osten 1939– 1945. Der Weltanschauungskrieg in Photos und Texten (Darmstadt, 2003). See, for example, Pohl, ‘Judenpolitik’; Młynarczyk, Judenmord; Sandkühler, ‘Endlösung’; Michael Alberti, Die Verfolgung und Vernichtung der Juden im Reichsgau Wartheland 1939–1945 (Wiesbaden, 2006). Richard C. Lukas, The Forgotten Holocaust: The Poles under German Occupation 1939–1944 (Lexington, 1986). In a total of 345 pages, Lukas devotes thirty to describing various forms of German violence. See ibid., 1–30. Lukas states, for example, ‘Thus the conclusion is inescapable that had the war continued, Poles would have been ultimately obliterated either by outright slaughter in gas chambers, as most Jews had perished, or by a continuation of the policies the Nazis had inaugurated in occupied Poland during the war – genocide by execution, forced labor, starvation, reduction of biological propagation, and Germanization’, quoted in ibid., 5. See also David Engel, ‘Poles, Jews, and Historical Objectivity’, Slavic Review 46 (1987), 568–80. The main thrust of Lukas’s book is already discernible in its title. Even if we were to concede that the term ‘Holocaust’ is used in a far more comprehensive sense in the United States than in Germany and Europe as a whole, reference to a ‘forgotten Holocaust’ tends to obliterate differences between quite different contexts of persecution. Werner Röhr, ‘Terror und Politik. Über die Funktion des Terrors für die faschistische Okkupationspolitik in Polen 1939–1945’, Zeitschrift für Geschichtswissenschaft 43 (1995), 27–54. Robert Seidel, Deutsche Besatzungspolitik in Polen. Der Distrikt Radom 1939–1945 (Paderborn, 2006), 180–213. See also the outstanding review by Klaus-Peter Friedrich,

Introduction • 29

115. 116.

117. 118.

1 19. 120.

121. 122.

123.

124.

‘Rezension zu: Robert Seidel, Deutsche Besatzungspolitik in Polen’, Beiträge zur Geschichte des Nationalsozialismus 23 (2007), 216–18. Timothy Snyder, Bloodlands. Europe between Hitler and Stalin (New York, 2010). For the debate on Snyder’s book, see, especially, Thomas Kühne, ‘Great Men and Large Numbers. Undertheorising a History of Mass Killing’, Contemporary European History 21 (2012), 133–43; Evans, ‘Who remembers the Poles?’; Johannes Hürter, ‘Gewalt, nichts als Gewalt. Zu Timothy Snyders Bloodlands’, Journal of Modern European History 10 (2012), 446–51; Jürgen Zarusky, ‘Timothy Snyders “Bloodlands”. Kritische Anmerkungen zur Konstruktion einer Geschichtslandschaft’, Vierteljahrshefte für Zeitgeschichte 60 (2012), 1–31. Christopher R. Browning, Ordinary Men: Reserve Police Battalion 101 and the Final Solution in Poland (New York, 1992). On the research programme pursued by recent scholarship on perpetrators, see Gerhard Paul and Klaus-Michael Mallmann, ‘Sozialisation, Milieu und Gewalt. Fortschritte und Probleme der neueren Täterforschung’, in Klaus-Michael Mallmann and Gerhard Paul (eds), Karrieren der Gewalt. Nationalsozialistische Täterbiographien (Darmstadt, 2004), 1–32. See also Thomas Sandkühler, ‘Die Täter des Holocaust. Neuere Überlegungen und Kontroversen’, in Karl Heinrich Pohl (ed), Wehrmacht und Vernichtungspolitik. Militär im nationalsozialistischen System (Göttingen, 1999), 39–65; Gerhard Paul, ‘Von Psychopathen, Technokraten des Terrors und “ganz gewöhnlichen” Deutschen. Die Täter der Shoah im Spiegel der Forschung’, in Gerhard Paul (ed), Die Täter der Shoah. Fanatische Nationalsozialisten oder ganz normale Deutsche? (Göttingen, 2003), 13–90; Christopher R. Browning, ‘German Killers: Behavior and Motivation in the Light of New Evidence’, in Christopher R. Browning, Nazi Policy, Jewish Workers, German Killers (Cambridge, 2000), 143–69. See, especially, Musial, Zivilverwaltung; Roth, Herrenmenschen. See, for example, Ruth Bettina Birn, Die Höheren SS- und Polizeiführer. Himmlers Vertreter im Reich und in den besetzten Gebieten (Düsseldorf, 1986); Andreas Mix, ‘Organisatoren und Praktiker der Gewalt. Die SS- und Polizeiführer im Distrikt Warschau’, in Timm C. Richter (ed.), Krieg und Verbrechen. Situation und Intention: Fallbeispiele (Munich, 2006), 123–34; Martin Cüppers, Wegbereiter der Shoah. Die Waffen-SS, der Kommandostab Reichsführer-SS und die Judenvernichtung 1939–1945 (Darmstadt, 2005). See, especially, Johannes Hürter, Hitlers Heerführer. Die deutschen Oberbefehlshaber im Krieg gegen die Sowjetunion 1941/42 (Munich, 2006). See, for example, Michael Wildt, Generation des Unbedingten. Das Führungskorps des Reichssicherheitshauptamts (Hamburg, 2002); Andrej Angrick, Besatzungspolitik und Massenmord. Die Einsatzgruppe D in der südlichen Sowjetunion 1941–1943 (Hamburg, 2003). See the call for such research in Jürgen Matthäus, ‘Holocaust als angewandter Antisemitismus? Potential und Grenzen eines Erklärungsfaktors’, in Frank Bajohr and Andrea Löw (eds), Der Holocaust. Ergebnisse und neue Fragen der Forschung (Frankfurt am Main, 2015), 102–23, here 117. Alexander B. Rossino, Hitler Strikes Poland. Blitzkrieg, Ideology, and Atrocity (Kansas City, 2003); Klaus-Michael Mallmann and Bogdan Musial (eds), Genesis des Genozids. Polen 1939–1941 (Darmstadt, 2004); Böhler, Auftakt; Jochen Böhler, Der Überfall. Deutschlands Krieg gegen Polen (Frankfurt am Main, 2009); Klaus-Michael Mallmann, Jochen Böhler and Jürgen Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen in Polen. Darstellung und Dokumentation (Darmstadt, 2008); Stephan Lehnstaedt and Jochen Böhler (eds), Die Berichte der Einsatzgruppen in Polen 1939. Complete edition (Berlin, 2013).

30  •  In the Shadow of Auschwitz

125. Rossino, Hitler, 191–226. 126. Böhler, Auftakt, 241–48. 127. Hürter, Hitlers Heerführer, 180. 128. Pohl, Herrschaft, 51. 129. On what follows, see Daniel Brewing, ‘“Wir müssen um uns schlagen”. Die Alltagspraxis der Partisanenbekämpfung im Generalgouvernement 1942’, in Jochen Böhler and Stephan Lehnstaedt (eds), Gewalt und Alltag im besetzten Polen 1939–1945 (Osnabrück, 2012), 497–520, here 500–2. 130. On the scholarly debate in recent years, see, for example, Walter Manoschek, ‘Serbien ist judenfrei’. Militärische Besatzungspolitik und Judenvernichtung in Serbien 1941/42 (Munich, 1993); Klaus Naumann and Hannes Heer (eds), Vernichtungskrieg. Die Verbrechen der Wehrmacht 1941–1944 (Hamburg, 1995); Timm C. Richter, ‘Herrenmensch’ und ‘Bandit’. Deutsche Kriegsführung und Besatzungspolitik als Kontext des sowjetischen Partisanenkrieges (1941–1944) (Münster, 1998); Christian Gerlach, Kalkulierte Morde. Die deutsche Wirtschafts- und Vernichtungspolitik in Weißrussland 1941 bis 1944 (Hamburg, 1999); Ben Shepherd, War in the Wild East: the German Army and Soviet Partisans (Cambridge, 2004); Philip W. Blood, Hitler’s Bandit Hunters. The SS and the Nazi Occupation of Europe (Washington, DC, 2006). Scholars now began to examine the Soviet Union as well. See, especially, Alexander Brakel, Unter Rotem Stern und Hakenkreuz: Baranowicze 1939–1944. Das westliche Weißrussland unter sowjetischer und deutscher Besatzung (Paderborn, 2009); see also Bogdan Musial, Sowjetische Partisanen 1941–1944. Mythos und Wirklichkeit (Paderborn, 2009). 131. Hannes Heer, ‘Die Logik des Vernichtungskrieges. Wehrmacht und Partisanenkampf ’, in Hannes Heer and Klaus Naumann, Vernichtungskrieg. Verbrechen der Wehrmacht 1941–1944 (Hamburg, 1995), 104–56, here 107. 132. See the following research reports: Lutz Klinkhammer, ‘Der Partisanenkrieg der Wehrmacht 1941–1944’, in Rolf-Dieter Müller and Hans-Erich Volkmann (eds), Die Wehrmacht. Mythos und Realität (Munich, 1999), 815–36; Ben Shepherd, ‘The Clean Wehrmacht, the War of Extermination, and Beyond’, in The Historical Journal 52(2) (2009), 455–73. At times, studies of German efforts to combat partisans serve presentday needs for interpretation and orientation, especially in the Anglo-American world: Ben Shepherd and Juliette Pattinson ‘Partisan and Anti-Partisan Warfare in GermanOccupied Europe, 1939–1945: Views from Above and Lessons for the Present’, The Journal of Strategic Studies 31 (2008), 675–93. 133. According to Klaus Jochen Arnold, these include such things as fear, a desire for revenge, opportunism, career ambitions and mechanisms of solidarity. See Klaus Jochen Arnold, Die Wehrmacht und die Besatzungspolitik in den besetzten Gebieten der Sowjetunion: Kriegführung und Radikalisierung im ‘Unternehmen Barbarossa’ (Berlin, 2005), 26ff. 134. See, especially, Gerlach, Morde, 859–1055. 135. See Peter Lieb, Konventioneller Krieg oder NS-Weltanschauungskrieg? Kriegführung und Partisanenbekämpfung in Frankreich 1943/44 (Munich, 2007); Peter Lieb, ‘Repercussions of Eastern Front Experiences on Anti-Partisan Warfare in France 1943– 44’, The Journal of Strategic Studies 31 (2008), 797–823; Carlo Gentile, Wehrmacht und Waffen-SS im Partisanenkrieg. Italien 1943–1945 (Paderborn, 2012). 136. Czesław Madajczyk, Hitlerowski terror na wsi polskiej 1939–1945. Zestawienie większych akcji represyjnych (Warsaw, 1965). 137. Józef Fajkowski, Wieś w ogniu. Eksterminacja wsi polskiej w okresie okupacji hitlerowskiej (Warsaw, 1972); Józef Fajkowski and Jan Religa, Zbrodnie hitlerowskie na wsi polskiej 1939– 1945 (Warsaw, 1981).

Introduction • 31

138. On the anti-intelligentsia campaign, see, especially, Barbara Bojarska, Eksterminacja inteligencji polskiej na Pomorzu Gdańskim (wrzesień – grudzień 1939) (Poznań, 1979); Paweł Dubiel, Wrzesień na Śląsku (Katowice, 1963); Dieter Schenk, Hitlers Mann in Danzig. Gauleiter Forster und die NS-Verbrechen in Danzig-Westpreußen (Bonn, 2000); Maria Wardzyńska, Był rok 1939. Operacja niemieckiej policji bezpieczeństwa w Polsce Intelligenzaktion (Warsaw, 2009). 139. Wolfgang Sofsky, ‘Auschwitz’, in Hamburger Institut für Sozialforschung (ed.), 200 Tage und 1 Jahrhundert. Gewalt und Destruktivität im Spiegel des Jahres 1945 (Hamburg, 1995), 83–97, here 84. 140. Franciszek Piper, ‘Die Rolle des Lagers Auschwitz bei der Verwirklichung der nationalsozialistischen Ausrottungspolitik. Die doppelte Funktion von Auschwitz als Konzentrationslager und als Zentrum der Judenvernichtung’, in Ulrich Herbert, Karin Orth and Christoph Dieckmann (eds), Die nationalsozialistischen Konzentrationslager. Entwicklung und Struktur, vol. 2, (Frankfurt am Main, 2002), 390–414; Sybille Steinbacher, Auschwitz. Geschichte und Nachgeschichte (Munich, 2004). 141. Levene, ‘Introduction’, 11. 142. Jacques Sémélin has likewise pointed out that ‘massacres are mainly [committed] by states that consider themselves vulnerable or believe that they cannot win a war unless they eliminate sections of the civilian population’. See Sémélin, ‘Elemente’, 20. 143. Böhler, Auftakt. 144. Quoted in Schuller, ‘Als Winicjusz Natoniewski um sein Leben lief ’. 145. See Lehnstaedt, Okkupation, 36. 146. In the General Government, conditions for the formation of resistance groups were better for two reasons. First, at least during the first few years of the German occupation, there were no intrusive and coercive measures of the kind so central to the Nazis’ new ethnonational order, which caused devastation in the annexed areas. Second, the Nazi occupation authorities were dependent on a degree of cooperation from sections of the Polish population. For example, local officials at the regional level were integrated into the administration of the occupied territories. Although this specific situation occasionally fostered outright collaboration, it also opened up room for manoeuvre in Polish society that did not exist in this form in the annexed territories. See Włodzimierz Borodziej, ‘Politische und soziale Konturen des polnischen Widerstands’, in Christoph Kleßmann (ed.), September 1939. Krieg, Besatzung und Widerstand in Polen (Göttingen, 1989), 95–116; Grzegorz Mazur, ‘Der Widerstand im Generalgouvernement’, in Jacek Młynarczyk (ed.), Polen unter deutscher und sowjetischer Besatzung 1939–1945 (Osnabrück, 2009), 405–26. 147. The conditions here were generally unfavourable due to the comprehensive elimination of the Polish intelligentsia, mass expulsions and the permanent pressure to Germanize. Nevertheless, scattered resistance groups managed to carry out espionage and sabotage, especially in Upper Silesia, though armed forms of resistance did not emerge until late 1944 and only in specific regions. See, for example, Aleksandra Pietrowicz, ‘Die Widerstandsbewegung in den eingegliederten polnischen Gebieten 1939–1945’, in Jacek Młynarczyk (ed.), Polen unter deutscher und sowjetischer Besatzung 1939–1945 (Osnabrück, 2009), 427–52. 148. Michael Wildt, ‘Differierende Wahrheiten. Historiker und Staatsanwälte als Ermittler von NS-Verbrechen’, in Norbert Frei, Dirk van Laak and Michael Stolleis (eds), Geschichte vor Gericht. Historiker, Richter und die Suche nach Gerechtigkeit (Munich, 2000), 46–57.

Part I

The Setting of Massacres Prehistory, Enemy Constructs and the Order of Violence

Massacres of Polish civilians unfolded within a specific set of conditions. The opportunities for massacres and their extent, trajectory and pace were shaped by this setting, which could in turn be altered by the practice of massacres. Rather than a rigid set of circumstances, we need to view the setting of massacres as a flexible system of conditions for action that changed over time. We can differentiate the individual elements of this setting analytically, but within a given historical situation they were interwoven – forming a specific context for massacres of Polish civilians. I investigate four key factors in what follows: the continuities and ruptures in the preceding history, the temporal and action-related perspectives of occupation policy in general, the character of an anti-Polish enemy construct and the empowerment of groups and individuals to commit violent acts within the framework of the Nazi order of violence. Viewed together, these constitute the setting of violence, which must be taken fully into account if we wish to understand massacres of Polish civilians as a practice.

Chapter 1

Continuities and Ruptures Germans and Poles before 1939

 The Ethnicization of Discourses: Nationalism and Exclusion, 1848–1918 No event shaped German–Polish relations as much as the division of Poland between Austria-Hungary, Russia and Prussia between 1772 and 1795.1 While the Russian Empire annexed the central Polish territories and Austria-Hungary gained Galicia, both the Grand Duchy of Posen and West Prussia became subject to the Prussian crown.2 This political order was to remain stable for a period of 123 years. Only after the First World War was an independent Polish state drawn back onto the European map. In an age of nascent nationalism, this constellation initially created zones of overlapping interests between the Polish and German national movements, both of which sought to do away with the non-national Prussian polity in order to establish independent nation states.3 Here we see the roots of the ‘enthusiasm for Poland’ that typified the nationally minded German bourgeoisie, a sentiment that proliferated after the November Uprising of 1830 in Poland.4 German sympathy and support for the Polish insurgents was in part fed by strategic considerations, with the Polish struggle for independence appearing as an opportunity to overcome the restorationist power system (that is, one committed to the restoration of the balance of power in Europe following the defeat of the French army). This was in turn considered a crucial prerequisite for the establishment of a German nation state.5

36  •  In the Shadow of Auschwitz

Against this background, the year 1848 marked a profound turning point in modern German–Polish relations. It was above all the debates in the Frankfurt National Assembly, which met in that city’s Paulskirche, that symbolized the end of the ‘enthusiasm for Poland’ and initiated a hostile, competitive relationship between the two national movements.6 The crucial question here was where the boundaries of a future German nation state ought to lie – or, to be more precise, how to deal with those areas that had come under Prussian rule as a result of the partition of Poland and in which the majority of the population was Polish. In the course of the debate, it became clear that the deputies had an instrumental understanding of the nationalities principle. They thus called for the establishment of a German nation state but firmly rejected Polish claims to the partitioned areas. The division of Poland was to be upheld and was now declared the guarantee of a German nation state.7 ‘The feeble-minded sentimentality’ towards the Polish national movement, as deputy Wilhelm Jordan put it, had to give way to a ‘healthy national egotism’. He declared the partition of Poland a ‘natural necessity’ that only ‘traitors’ would attempt to undo.8 As a result, as Philipp Ther once put it, the German national movement became ‘structurally dependent’9 on Prussia: only the Prussian state, it seemed, could cement German claims to Polish territories. In the Paulskirche, this turn towards power politics was linked with more far-reaching imperial ambitions. Gregor Thum has shown that in the course of the debate the semantic content of the concept of the border began to crumble.10 Particularly in the multi-ethnic region of East-Central Europe, to cite the consensus among the deputies, it was impossible to pin down which areas would come under German rule. Here, Germany was imagined as a ‘youthful, burgeoning tree’, one ‘rooted on the broad foundation of the Rhine in the west’, whose ‘growth is directed eastwards, towards the sun’.11 As Thum states, the key idea here was ‘Germany’s dynamic eastern border’, which implied that its rule might expand to the east at any time. Hence, according to Thum, the eastern border was viewed as something that ought not to limit the nation state and fix it in place; it always implied a nation pushing past this border through eastward expansion.12 These developments went hand in hand with certain tropes, images and discourses that were used to legitimize German claims to power and were to shape the German perception of Poles well into the twentieth century. In the mid-nineteenth century, the cliché of the ‘Polish economy’ became established – a term that implied a tendency towards chaos in every sphere of life, disastrous inefficiency and general incompetence.13 The Poles were declared ‘savage barbarians’ and stigmatized as ‘uncivilized hordes’ who were fundamentally incapable of independent cultural achievements. This notion implied a civilizational gap – that is, Germans’ fundamental superiority. Such

Continuities and Ruptures  •  37

ideas were popularized in works of fiction such as Gustav Freytag’s bestseller Debit and Credit,14 which firmly anchored notions of a cultural gap between savage Poles and civilized Germans in the collective memory. Such texts helped to engender the notion of a specific German civilizing mission: only the educational work of ‘German culture-bearers’ could turn the feral Poles into civilized human beings. This notion became entwined with a specific perception of the medieval eastward expansion of German settlers, which was now understood as a deliberate, large-scale project.15 This interpretation of medieval settlement patterns allowed its champions to describe Poland as an essentially German area. In the mid-nineteenth century, it was used to legitimize a ‘right of return’ – in other words, the right to incorporate Polish areas into German territory.16 Against this background, we can highlight certain elements of continuity that were to have a long-term impact. In addition to the stereotypes and clichés conveying a pejorative image of Poland, which were centred on the notions of the ‘Polish economy’ and an ‘uncivilized Poland’, two aspects are particularly important here. The idea that Polish territory was ‘German to the core’, such that German rule over these areas was legitimate, played a major role in justifying German claims to power, including under Nazi occupation. From the Nazi perspective, the Germanization of large areas of occupied Poland and Eastern Europe was merely the recovery of historically German territory.17 The idea of a dynamic eastern border was also at large during the Nazi era. If we look at the dynamics of ever more extensive settlement plans, which were ultimately to culminate in the General Plan East, we find that there was no longer any question of delimiting German territory in the east. What emerges here is permanent advance, a limitless momentum, a permanent process of expansion to the Urals. However, these continuities should not cause us to lose sight of key disjunctures. There are major differences between the revolutionaries of 1848 and the Nazis. Ideas of a German civilizing mission to educate the Poles played no role from 1939 onwards and neither did the idea, rooted in cultural chauvinism, of the superior assimilatory force of German culture. For the Nazis, the Polish inhabitants of the occupied territories were essentially irrelevant. Their thinking related exclusively to space: ‘The Germanization of the population of the annexed or conquered territory is simply impossible. One can only Germanize the land.’18 From the Nazis’ racist perspective, the Poles were a factor of no account. The proclamation of the German Empire and the establishment of a German nation state under Prussian leadership in 1871 changed the nature of German–Polish relations. This young German nation state was based on the continuity of the partitions of Poland, such that the Poles formed a fairly large minority within it.19 The developments now in train occurred

38  •  In the Shadow of Auschwitz

in the context of two different fields of tension that were linked in concrete political practice. First of all, Prussian Protestantism contrasted with Polish Catholicism. As the German government saw it, this denominational divergence might engender conflicts of loyalty, a risk interpreted as threating what was seen as the new state’s already unstable and fragile internal unity. Hence, particularly under Otto von Bismarck’s chancellorship, the Polish minority was one of the ‘enemies of the empire’ who must be put in their place if it was to be consolidated.20 In addition, the perception of the Polish minority was closely related to certain migration processes in the empire’s eastern provinces, which had barely been affected by the onset of industrialization and urbanization. They remained essentially agricultural regions, while the west of the empire was being transformed by rapid modernization. As a result, there were several waves of migration from the eastern German provinces to the urban and industrial centres of the west after 1871. Initially, many Poles left the region – settling in the Ruhr area in particular.21 What mattered more for subsequent developments, however, was the fact that the German-speaking population also left the comparatively poor eastern provinces for the west while Poles, mainly from the Russian Empire, settled in the localities they vacated. While the demographic effects of these migratory movements were far from momentous, the widespread perception was that they were: ‘The notion took off that the eastern German border was a vulnerable dam’, to quote Benno Nietzel’s striking metaphor, one that ‘threatened to burst and overflow under the surging tide of Slavic people’.22 This menacing scenario, the fear of the Polonization of the eastern provinces, mobilized radical actors such as the German Eastern Marches Society (Ostmarkenverein) but also caught the attention of liberal public figures such as Max Weber, who interpreted developments in the eastern provinces as a ‘struggle for economic survival’.23 According to Weber in his inaugural lecture at Freiburg in 1895, the Poles had an advantage due to the ‘physical and psychological qualities of their race’: ‘The Polish smallholder is gaining ground because he is, so to speak, eating the grass beneath his feet, not despite but because of his deep-rooted physical and mental habits.’24 This perception, characterized by hysteria and fear, stylized the response to demographic developments in the eastern German provinces as an existential question for the German Empire, which must resolutely wage this ‘battle for nationhood’ (Volkstumskampf).25 In the context of these two fields of tension, German–Polish relations deteriorated markedly. These tensions were chiefly the result of strategies pursued by the imperial government that were intended to eliminate the ‘Polish menace’. In essence, we can distinguish two phases in which the state tried to win the ‘battle for nationhood’ against the Polish minority through a range of increasingly radical measures. First, it launched a Kulturkampf, or

Continuities and Ruptures  •  39

cultural struggle, in the 1870s that chiefly sought to undermine the position of the Polish clergy, whose influence was to be curtailed by the holding of school classes exclusively in German26 and the introduction of state regulation of clerical training.27 This massive encroachment on Church administration sparked protests and resistance among Polish priests, many of whom paid for their actions with jail sentences.28 But the Kulturkampf proved to be a tremendous failure that triggered a wave of solidarity with the Polish clergy among members of the Polish minority, cementing their leading role within Polish society.29 In the following years, the imperial government tried to reverse the ethnic shifts in the eastern German provinces through a second range of measures. These included the deportation of 48,000 Polish immigrants without Prussian citizenship;30 the state acquisition of Polish property; the concurrent, subsidized settlement of 150,000 Germans from the inner reaches of the empire;31 and the introduction of an expropriation law,32 which was intended to redistribute Polish property to German settlers without compensation. Yet none of these measures succeeded in dispelling fears of Polonization by reversing demographic trends. On the contrary, they strengthened and catalysed the Polish national movement – making it ever more popular. In this sense, we can ascribe to Bismarck ‘the unintended merit of having kindled the Polish national movement … through, as it were, a kind of feedback effect’.33 In the face of Polish tenacity, a sense of powerlessness began to pervade the imperial government. This experience of powerlessness stood in sharp contrast to the self-image of a great nation with a ‘historical mission’ to fulfil in the east. Against this background, the failure of the Germanization policy was seen as a humiliating disgrace. Gregor Thum has shown that these patterns of perception triggered profound fears and panic, which radicalized things in a quite specific way: the ‘battle for nationhood’ was declared a matter of prestige and had to be won no matter what.34 The ignominy of failure, the debacle of the Germanization policy, were to be overcome by increasingly harsh measures, with the expropriation law ultimately suspending the constitutionally enshrined principle of equality – at least, in certain cases.35 Nonetheless, political action in the German Empire was subject to certain limits: despite being ostracized and treated with hostility and contempt, the Polish inhabitants of the eastern German provinces were still citizens of the empire protected by their constitutionally guaranteed rights. The expropriation law, which was applied in a total of four cases, certainly indicates a willingness to ‘erode the … principle of equality’,36 but overall, the constitution of the empire imposed limits on the permissible and the possible. These limits marked a clear difference from the realities of occupation during the Second World War, when virtually every barrier to violence was torn down.

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The outbreak of the First World War and the course of the fighting formed a new context of perception and action that decisively catalysed the tendencies in German policy towards Poland established in the pre-war years. Here, the specific patterns of perception, war aims and the details of occupation policy help to shed light on continuities and ruptures. First of all, from the perspective of the German government, the loyalty of the Polish minority became an even more pressing issue. In particular, the recruitment of Polish soldiers to the imperial army was viewed with great concern. Yet these worries turned out to be unfounded: desertions by Polish soldiers appear to have been extremely rare.37 German mistrust was not limited to Polish military personnel, however. It also applied to leading figures in the Polish minority, many of whom were subject to preventive detention.38 For most of the German soldiers deployed in the invasion of Congress Poland, the area formerly allocated to Russia, this was their first contact with an unfamiliar world. Gabriel Liulevicius has shown what a disturbing experience this was for many of them. The harsh, inhospitable but also untouched natural environment; the sometimes extreme cold; the muddy streets and omnipresent squalor – these were German soldiers’ impressions immediately after the invasion.39 According to Liulevicius, to the invaders the locals appeared to embody the trope of a ‘cultural gap’ as popularized since the mid-nineteenth century. They perceived the Polish residents of Congress Poland as lice-ridden, backward, dirty, dull-witted and essentially uncivilized – but in any case, in need of improvement in a multitude of ways. The destruction wrought by the Russian army during its retreat further intensified these perceptions and cemented the conviction that they had invaded an uncivilized country devoid of culture. All this seemed to confirm the ubiquitous narrative of ‘barbaric conditions’ in the east. This perception also made it clear what had to be done. It was imperative to resume the medieval colonization of the east; eliminate destitution, dirt and filth; and raise the region to a higher cultural level within the framework of a German civilizing mission. The novel The Wanderer between the Two Worlds by Walter Flex exemplifies these ideas, portraying the east as a ‘space of longing for an intact nature still untouched by industrialization’40 – a region that also presented the German people with a perpetual civilizing mission. These patterns of perception were intertwined with discussions about possible war aims in the east, which must be understood as a continuation, in more radical form, of the German Empire’s Poland policy. Crucial here were map exercises envisaging the incorporation and Germanization of a ‘Polish border strip’41 that was to extend from Łódź in the south to Suwałki in the north, running along the Warta (Warthe), Narew and Vistula (Weichsel) rivers. According to this plan, Germany’s eastern border would have shifted far to the east, taking in large areas of Congress Poland. Hundreds of thousands

Continuities and Ruptures  •  41

of Poles were to be driven out of the area, while at the same time German farmers were to be settled there to create a ‘firewall’ capable of warding off the threat of a ‘Slavic flood’.42 This idea was popularized by, among others, Sven Hedin, the ‘privileged “Schlachtenbummler” on the German side’.43 In his book Nach Osten (‘To the East’), he called for ‘the erection of a Germanic wall against the Slavic storm surge’.44 Gerhard Wolf has rightly described these plans as a step towards a ‘policy of ethnic cleansing’.45 It was only the particular course taken by the war that prevented implementation of these radical plans, with ultimate German defeat rendering them obsolete.46 There were, however, countervailing plans. The political leadership of the empire tried to win over the Poles to long-term cooperation with the empire by proclaiming a Polish kingdom.47 But this proposal failed too, due to its clearly strategic character for the Poles. Regardless of these plans, as a result of the German army’s advance two zones of occupation were established in 1915, which differed sharply in their political practices. The Ober Ost occupation zone was regarded as a ‘land of unlimited possibilities’,48 as an open space ripe for transformation in which the Germans could do as they pleased. Under Erich Ludendorff,49 occupation policy sought both to exploit the region economically and to impart German notions of sanitation and order. As Gabriel Liulevicius puts it, occupation policy in Ober Ost was ‘a disastrous attempt to impart culture through violence’.50 At the same time, the idea of an indefinable, dynamic eastern border resurfaced in the Ober Ost occupation zone: ‘The prevailing idea in the minds of the occupiers was that of an aggressively advancing border, a war state on the move. Whenever a new border was drawn, the war state pushed beyond it, further east.’51 These ideas were intertwined with settlement-policy ambitions in Ober Ost. Spatially, German settlement plans became ever more extensive, with a growing number of regions targeted. Here, too, it was Germany’s defeat in 1918–19 that put an end to these sweeping map exercises. In the Government General of Warsaw, on the other hand – the second occupation zone – a more cooperative approach had held sway. Under Governor General Hans Hartwig von Beseler, German policy focused on strengthening Polish self-government and resulted, among other things, in the opening of Warsaw University.52 The objective here was to strengthen the common front against the Russian Empire. Yet even this policy was not based on the principles of political equality but was shaped by a colonial mindset, with von Beseler envisaging the cultural uplift of the Poles in order to civilize them.53 The First World War marked an important turning point in German Poland policy, a shift that cast a shadow over the period of the Second World War. There were both differences and similarities in the circumstances of the two world wars. One of the key continuities was the specific perception of the

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Polish people as uncultivated, dirty and impoverished. Very similar patterns of perception pertained during both wars. Plans for forcible Germanization also highlight elements of continuity connecting the two conflicts. But the differences characteristic of the 1914–18 and 1939–45 periods are also plain to see. First, there is the absence during the First World War of a specific expectation that was to trigger an explosion of violence in 1939 – namely, that the Polish civilian population would participate in the conflict in a ‘devious’ way. The ruthless treatment of alleged irregulars – which was to shape the war in September 1939 in particular, but also the following years of occupation – was much less pronounced on the Eastern Front during the First World War than in Belgium and northern France.54 This fact remains valid despite recent research showing that – in Kalisz (present-day central Poland) in August 1914, for example – comparable mass shootings based on similar patterns of escalation took place as in Belgium around the same time.55 In addition, there are clear differences in the respective political agendas. From 1939 onwards, Germany’s only real goal was to destroy the Polish nation through the massive use of force. During the First World War, political planning and the practice of occupation policy were significantly less coherent – ranging from a civilizing mission to ‘lift up’ the Poles and establish a Polish kingdom on strategic grounds to a policy of ethnic cleansing. Finally, oppressive plans were not implemented with deadly force between 1914 and 1918. There was a gap between plan and practice, bridged by the Nazis through the ruthless use of mass violence from 1939 onwards.

Ambivalences of the Interwar Period: Escalation and Cooperation, 1918–1939 The year 1918 marked a key caesura in German–Polish relations. After Germany’s defeat in the First World War, the Weimar Republic was confronted with a number of newly formed nation states in East-Central Europe, the cordon sanitaire that was meant to separate the loser of the conflict from the Soviet Union.56 The Second Polish Republic was undoubtedly the largest and most important component of this belt of independent states. For the developments that were now beginning, it was crucially important that the course of the redrawn German–Polish border incorporated into the new Polish state large areas of the former eastern provinces of the German Empire: around 90 per cent of the predominantly Polish province of Posen but also two thirds of the ethnically mixed West Prussia.57 East Prussia thus became separated from Reich territory by the so-called ‘Polish Corridor’. The predominantly German-speaking port city of Danzig (Gdańsk), meanwhile,

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was made a ‘free city’ under the authority of a League of Nations high commissioner. In disputed areas, particularly Upper Silesia, a referendum was to determine their ultimate territorial affiliation.58 These events of 1918–19 created a framework for quite specific developments that are particularly important to understanding the Nazi history of violence. Above all, the immediate post-war period, with its experiences of violence and loss, emerges as a ‘constitutive phase’59 in which radical forms of violent conflict as well as new patterns of perception and enemy constructs became established. For the soldiers and officers on the Eastern Front in particular, the armistice was a traumatic event that triggered rage, despair, incomprehension and deep frustration. Shortly beforehand, German rule had been expanded massively to the east – but with the admission of defeat all the euphoric settlement plans were suddenly rendered obsolete. The dream of a ‘German East’ was shattered just as it seemed in reach to local actors. Countless German soldiers refused to surrender, formed volunteer forces and carried on the lost war on their own.60 In their attempt to maintain German claims to power in the east, these irregular militia groups, or Freikorps, engaged in violence against local civilians on a massive scale.61 The former eastern German provinces of Posen, West Prussia and Upper Silesia were also affected by this violence, with German Freikorps waging a smallscale war against Polish volunteer forces and civilians from 1919 to 1921.62 However, important spatial differences should be noted here. While the fighting in Posen and West Prussia had ended by the summer of 1919, Upper Silesia became an area of permanent conflict between the German Freikorps and Polish volunteer forces until the referendum of summer 1921 – a clash symbolized most strikingly in the Battle of Annaberg.63 These hostilities shed much light on the continuities in the Nazi history of violence, in that they spawned new enemy constructs and led to untrammelled German violence. The Polish volunteer forces appeared to their German counterparts as treacherous ‘bands of murderers’, groups of marauding assassins whose violence was directed in the main against the German civilian population of Upper Silesia: ‘The Polish groups were … nothing more than armed bands. Their fighting style was correspondingly bestial.’64 After careful analysis of all available sources, Boris Barth has concluded that there was no ‘comprehensive and targeted terror against German civilians’.65 But this was not the perception of the Freikorps. The impression arose that they were engaged in an existential struggle against a devious and cruel enemy carrying out acts of violence against Germans beyond all normative bounds. This is the context that generated the enemy construct of ‘Polish bands’: an anti-civilizational, inhuman horde that was violent beyond measure. It was the Freikorps’ experience of armed conflict and its specific interpretation that linked the traditional prejudice presenting Poles as cultureless

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barbarians with the idea of brutal Polish guerrilla warfare in the minds of the German volunteer troops. From their perspective, this interpretation of the situation legitimized their own transgression of previous limits to acceptable action. The ‘battle for nationhood’ (Volkstumskampf ) on the German–Polish border against an enemy seen as fighting ‘with the brutality of an army of insects’,66 it seemed, required different rules than conventional armed conflicts.67 In the charged atmosphere of the immediate post-war years, the German Freikorps waged a war that took no heed of international legal obligations: a war in which the fundamental distinction between combatants and non-combatants was deliberately eliminated. In this context, it was not just the Polish volunteer forces that were declared enemies: the tendency was for all Polish residents of the border regions to come under suspicion. This scenario was characterized by countless violent attacks on Polish civilians. Looting, rape, torture and shootings were the order of the day.68 The fighting in Upper Silesia laid bare a tremendous potential for violence and provided opportunities for countless atrocities.69 In addition to the Freikorps’ experience of armed conflict, its remembrance is also of crucial importance. After 1921, the mythical transfiguration of the fighting in Upper Silesia began – turning the region into a key site of remembrance in interwar Germany.70 Widely distributed literature on the Freikorps helped to diffuse the construct of ‘Polish bands’ throughout German society, entrenching it in the collective national memory.71 Polish literary scholar Jan Chodera has evaluated this literary corpus, whose key characteristic is that ‘the Germans always have to suffer’.72 In countless novels and plays, Poles were portrayed as ‘thugs and gangs of criminals’, ‘beasts’, ‘scoundrels’ and ‘murderous arsonists’ who fell upon defenceless German civilians like swarms of locusts.73 The relevant authors unfailingly resorted to similar topoi to convey the Poles’ propensity for ruthless violence. These texts include remarkably explicit descriptions of Polish atrocities. Germans are nailed to barn doors, their corpses beheaded and thrown in rivers. ‘Beaten to death in a bestial manner …’,74 they are whipped, kicked, bludgeoned and tortured. Smashed-in teeth, shattered skulls and cut-off ears and genitals were as integral a part of this commemorative literature as gouged-out eyes and other forms of wholesale mutilation.75 In what is arguably the most influential book in the Freikorps literature, Arnolt Bronnen’s O.S. (Oberschlesien, or Upper Silesia), Poles are claimed to have ‘murdered the Germans like cattle – a thousand men against twenty. Not one of the seventeen gendarmes was spared, of the six policemen three were slaughtered, while three were left crippled and taken prisoner’.76 In addition, the relevant authors constantly emphasize unfettered forms of sexual violence against German women and girls: ‘And then they grabbed them [the women], dragged them into barns, into the hay and onto the bales.

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No amount of screaming or attempts to fend them off made any difference. And their husbands and brothers, when they went wild, were soon made quite tame again or even as quiet as a mouse’.77 In particular, the mass rapes were said to have given the always heavily drunk, ‘brutish Polish hordes’ great pleasure, eliciting cries of ‘What fun eh!’78 Finally, Kurt Oskar Bark summed up all the common enemy constructs in his book Deutsche Wacht an der Weichsel (‘German Watch on the Vistula’): Over there they are beasts! Over there they murder the wounded. Over there they not only undressed what was left of the one hundred and twenty men from the Partenheimer company who had fallen into their hands (to protect their uniforms) before killing them, over there they murdered the two sister companies in the same way. … Over there, the white eagle knows no international law, no sanctity of the Word, no humanity, no human rights. Over there they are venomous animals of the wild.79

In retrospect, it is difficult to assess the effect of this literary trend. However, the large number of copies sold and wide distribution indicate that these books satisfied certain needs on the part of readers. However analytically cautious we must be, we may assume that they met with broad acceptance within Weimar society, generating specific patterns of perception that portrayed the Poles as culturally alien hordes with a propensity for cruelty and ruthlessness. The German Freikorps and their remembrance cast a great deal of light on the unbounded nature of the violence in the Second World War. Stereotypes of the enemy and an untrammelled practice of violence were central to the Nazi occupation in several ways. First, the notion of a specific Polish affinity for violence provided fertile soil for Nazi propaganda, both in the run-up to the German invasion of September 1939 and during the entire Nazi occupation. It was the alleged experience of the Freikorps that engendered the perceptions and concepts on which the Nazis could easily fall back twenty years later in order to legitimize their own use of violence. In addition, the experience and interpretation of Freikorps fighting spawned the expectation of a ‘band war’ in any future military confrontation with Poland – a notion that became a constant in all military planning. From 1939 onwards, this specific perception of a deviously fighting opponent was to be of crucial importance to the mass violence against Polish civilians. The roots of these expectations lie in the years 1919 to 1921. They helped to entrench the belief that a war against Poland could by no means be fought within the parameters of normal armed conflicts. On the contrary: the exceptional deviousness and untrammelled propensity for violence of ‘Polish bands’, it was thought, required expansion of the zone of permissible violence if such ‘brutish hordes’ were to be adequately countered. Finally, we can trace

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biographical continuities between the activities of the Freikorps and the Nazi occupation. Many key figures in the apparatus of the latter had been in the Freikorps. For the personnel of the SS and police in particular, these were key personal experiences.80 They included the Higher SS and Police Leader East, Friedrich Wilhelm Krüger; Ludolf von Alvensleben, later commander of the Volksdeutscher Selbstschutz (Ethnic German Self-Protection Force); and Erich von dem Bach-Zelewski, head of the Bandenkampfverbände (Band-Fighting Units).81 Yet we can discern significant differences between Freikorps fighting and the practice of mass violence under Nazi occupation. The violence unfolded in different situations. Germany was on the back foot after its defeat in 1918, resulting in a fundamentally different starting point for the exercise of violence than German rule over an occupied area following the successful campaign of September 1939. While Freikorps violence was primarily intended to defend what had been German territory, Nazi violence was supposed to transform occupied Poland from the ground up. There was another structural difference. Although Nazi potentates in occupied Poland had considerable room for manoeuvre, in contrast to the Freikorps leaders they had no opportunity to act as independent ‘warlords’. Nazi violence was state-organized violence: all actors were integrated into hierarchical structures. They were part of a state apparatus that gave form and direction to violence.82 Despite these structural differences, however, the experience of Freikorps combat and its remembrance are crucial to understanding German massacres of Polish civilians during the Second World War. When the Freikorps fighting had ended and Upper Silesia was partitioned in 1921, the violent clashes over the course of the German–Polish border also came to an end. The vast majority of the German population interpreted the cession of territory to the Second Polish Republic as an illegitimate, criminal amputation.83 Analytically, this reception of territorial losses as a ‘blatant injustice’84 must be related to the discursive barbarization of the Poles discussed above, which suggested that the Germans were superior in every way. The fact that the German Kulturnation, a term that implies a nation with a rich cultural history, had to cede large areas of the eastern Prussian provinces to the ‘savage Poles’ was perceived as an intolerable injustice.85 The zeitgeist is illustrated by a letter from the young Heinz Guderian to his wife in 1919: ‘They want to surrender parts of our country to the barbarians!’ With great bitterness, Guderian continued: ‘For the Poles are … still … half-savage. Poor, dirty, inept, stupid and vulgar, degenerate and treacherous’.86 From a German perspective, the Second Polish Republic was ‘a state that must not be’,87 as Heinrich August Winkler once aptly put it. It was considered a ‘seasonal state’; according to Chancellor Josef Wirth in October 1922, it had to be ‘smashed’.88 ‘On no account can Prussia-Germany accept a Bromberg,

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Graudenz, Thorn, (Marienburg) or Posen in Polish hands’,89 declared later head of the Army Command, General Hans von Seeckt, in a memorandum of February 1920. Across the political spectrum, there was consensus within Weimar society that the cession of territory to the Second Polish Republic could never be accepted. Jörg K. Hoensch rightly states that in the multiply fissured society of Weimar, the ‘demand for sweeping revision of the eastern border’ was ‘one of the few genuine sources of national integration’.90 The virtually unanimous view within the political sphere and society as a whole was that the eastern border must be revised at the next available opportunity, with Germany regaining the ceded areas. In this context, ‘scholarship on the east’ became a particularly important source of legitimation for German territorial claims. A variety of academic disciplines were combined in many and varied attempts to identify ‘landscapes with a German stamp’ and ‘German cultural achievements’ in Eastern Europe, in order to claim them for Germany.91 Benno Nietzel aptly describes this ‘scholarship on the east’ as the ‘translation of overweening chauvinisms into scholarly terminology’.92 Crucially, the ‘scholars of the east’ increasingly focused on the category of the Volk, or people, which – in contrast to citizenship – highlighted an organic principle of belonging through common descent.93 This made it possible to emphasize the eternal bonds supposedly uniting all Germans, regardless of their current citizenship, while at the same time interpreting the new border as arbitrary and illegitimate. This had immediate consequences at a practical political level. The spotlight fell on the German minority in Poland, which – despite their non-German citizenship – were regarded as an inseparable part of the German people.94 ‘Torn from the national body’,95 the members of the German minority were considered defenceless victims of the Versailles system. This victimizing perception of the German minority was intensified by the parallel discourse on the alleged Polish affinity for violence. The members of the German minority were now viewed as increasingly vulnerable and at risk. At the same time, the existence of a German minority seemed to legitimize German demands for comprehensive border revisions. This is why the mass westward migration of members of the German minority to Germany was perceived as a major political problem: this group had halved in size in the first two years of the new order.96 Long-peddled notions that members of the German minority fled from repressive Polish policies have now been convincingly disproven by the research.97 In fact, the westward migration occurred mainly due to ‘the Germans themselves and their mentality’.98 Concerns about recruitment to the Polish army played a role here – as did fears of a loss of social status among a group that had previously been privileged in every respect, together with a general aversion to having to integrate into a Polish state.99 From the German government’s perspective, the immigration of the German minority

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threatened the supposedly legitimate German demands for border revisions, since Weimar politicians regarded their presence as a prerequisite for largescale alterations. Against this background, the German government looked for ways to persuade the German minority to stay in Poland. A number of well-financed organizations were established that were intended to provide the members of this minority with financial support, thus motivating them to stay put and simultaneously increasing the Weimar Republic’s influence on this group.100 In this way, the German minority became an instrument of revisionist politics: a lever with which Weimar politicians sought to undo the Versailles system.101 It was not difficult for the Nazis to draw on the widespread hatred of the ‘seasonal state’ of Poland to legitimize their war of aggression. But no matter how great Germans’ hatred of their Polish neighbours was, no matter how urgent a revised border seemed, the use of massive force was never a realistic option for Weimar politicians. This abstinence from violence was primarily due to the Weimar Republic’s integration into the international system of Versailles. Although widely despised, this helped to impede the use of force. Arms limitations meant that the country lacked the military means to wage a border-revising war of aggression. Further, Germany was entirely dependent on international goodwill – especially with regard to debt and reparation payments. With no choice but to take heed of a critical and vigilant international community, the use of force was not an option. This points to a fundamental difference from Nazism. Between 1933 and 1938, Hitler gradually rid Germany of the restrictive provisions imposed by the Versailles system – a process that would have been inconceivable without the passivity of the Western powers as the guarantors of Versailles. Immediately before the German invasion of Poland, in a speech to Wehrmacht commanders, Hitler indicated that international opinion was no longer of any relevance to him: ‘Be tough, be merciless, act faster and more brutally than the others. The citizens of Western Europe must tremble in terror.’102 With this exhortation, Hitler eliminated one of the key factors impeding the use of force in the interwar period. The German invasion of Poland in September 1939 thus marked a radical disjuncture. The age of mutual consideration was definitively over. In 1933, however, there was still no sign of any of this. On the contrary: immediately after the transfer of power, Hitler initiated a détente in German–Polish relations. The initially tentative efforts at rapprochement103 ultimately resulted in a German–Polish non-aggression pact, signed on 26 January 1934. To the great astonishment of the Nazis’ German National coalition partners, but also of the broader German public, this agreement meant abandoning the demands for border revisions made so vociferously in the Weimar years.104 This was by no means – as often assumed in the past105

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– a mere ploy on Hitler’s part. In the context of his long-term foreign-policy objectives, this decision was based on a serious effort to win over the Second Polish Republic, which had its own expansionist goals vis-à-vis the Soviet Union, as a ‘junior partner’ in the coming ‘war for living space’.106 Two factors shaped the German–Polish relationship between 1933 and 1939. They can be separated analytically, but they were closely interlinked. First, many scholars have emphasized that there are very few traces of antiPolonism in the writings of leading Nazis that would allow us to make a connection with the violence of the 1939–45 period.107 On the contrary, Hitler’s admiration for the Polish army’s victory over Soviet forces in 1920 was a clear impediment to any notion of ‘racial inferiority’. Above all, his favourable assessment of Józef Piłsudski seems to have prompted a ‘benign evaluation … of the Polish nation’,108 whose strict anti-Bolshevism may also have impressed him.109 In addition, as Martin Broszat has emphasized, as an Austrian, Hitler had ‘little in the way of ancestral resentment or hatred’ towards Poland.110 Essentially, Poland played no more than a marginal role – if that – in his books and speeches. For Hitler, the country was one of ‘the peripheral states’:111 that belt of new nation states that separated German territory from the Soviet Union, the ‘no. 1 enemy’.112 Second, the transfer of power to the Nazis ushered in a major shift in the parameters of foreign policy. Hitler set himself apart from the so-called border politicians, that political class of the Weimar Republic whose foreign-policy goals were limited to supposedly minor border revisions. He saw himself as a ‘politician of space’ whose political thinking revolved around the acquisition of large imperial domains.113 Mere revision of the Versailles system was never the key axis of Nazi foreign policy, although later, individual expansionist steps such as the ‘Anschluss’ of Austria and the annexation of the Sudetenland and Alsace-Lorraine certainly bore traces of ‘classic’ revisionist policy.114 The core of Hitler’s thinking on foreign policy, however, was not the revision of Germany’s eastern border but the large-scale conquest of ‘living space’ through the destruction of the Soviet Union, whose resources were to be used to build a continental empire.115 This far-reaching, long-term goal of turning Soviet territory into ‘living space’ allowed Hitler great flexibility when dealing with the young East-Central European nation states.116 His extensive expansionist goals were not be jeopardized by disputes over smallscale border revisions. In the years 1934 to 1938/39, this strategic change of course ensured good relations. The so-called ‘economic war’ was brought to an end and the minorities issue developed into a low-tension topic of regular bilateral consultations.117 During this period, Germans and Poles also made serious attempts at rapprochement in ‘softer’ policy fields. Intensive, subsidized cultural exchange, for example, ensured regular contact between theatre directors,

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film producers and journalists, the goal being to establish the most positive possible image of the ‘other’.118 Finally, the personal contact between the Nazi leadership and top politicians in the Second Polish Republic was characterized by mutual respect. Hermann Göring, for example, was a regular guest on the Vistula, wrote a favourable preface to the German edition of Piłsudski’s Collected Works and also paid his respects at the latter’s funeral in 1935.119 As Joachim von Ribbentrop once put it, Germany and Poland should work together ‘like a football team’: ‘as economically as possible, without crises and at lightning speed’.120 This era of German–Polish rapprochement was ended by the dismemberment of Czechoslovakia (following the Munich Agreement of September 1938), in which the Polish government initially participated by demanding the cession of the Teschen (Těšín) region.121 Hitler now believed the time had come for a ‘general clearing up’ of all remaining differences between the two countries. In addition to essentially symbolic territorial concessions – in particular, the annexation of Danzig to the Reich and the construction of an extraterritorial motorway through the ‘Polish Corridor’ to East Prussia – the German proposals first presented in autumn 1938 primarily sought to achieve Poland’s integration into an anti-Soviet alliance.122 Martin Broszat interprets Hitler’s initiative as ‘putting out feelers, sounding things out’, in an attempt to establish ‘whether Warsaw would submit to German claims to leadership even if it cost something’.123 The Polish government initially signalled cautious rejection, leaving room for later agreement, but on 6 January 1939, in talks with Hitler at the Obersalzberg, Polish Foreign Minister Józef Beck made it unmistakably clear that Poland was unwilling to accept the Nazis’ ‘global solution’.124 Foreign Minister von Ribbentrop made one last attempt to convince Poland to accept German demands on 26 January 1939 in Warsaw, where swastika flags flew in honour of the visiting German politician.125 Von Ribbentrop offered a guarantee of the German–Polish border and an extension of the non-aggression pact for another twenty-five years. In addition, he proposed a countertrade to his Polish interlocutors. While it was imperative that Danzig be annexed to the Reich, Poland could gain large areas of Soviet Ukraine on the Black Sea after a joint attack on the Soviet Union. When this proposal too met with incomprehension, von Ribbentrop apparently lost patience: ‘You are extremely stubborn when it comes to these maritime matters’, he exclaimed to Beck, pointing out that ‘the Black Sea is also a sea!’126 But the Polish government had no interest whatsoever in permanently subordinating itself to the German Reich as the ‘junior partner’ in a joint anti-Bolshevik crusade. In the course of the Warsaw talks, von Ribbentrop was thus irritated to discover that his Polish negotiating partners were firmly convinced that Nazi plans for eastward expansion were simply incompatible with the Polish state’s vital interests. With reference to the

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Munich Agreement, Beck made it abundantly clear to von Ribbentrop that he would be returning to Berlin empty-handed: ‘We are not Czechs!’127 Since the early 1930s, the Polish approach to international affairs had been informed by a ‘policy of equilibrium’:128 the attempt to pursue an independent policy that maintained equidistance from its two large neighbours to the west and east. The government believed this was the only way to secure Poland’s independence and political autonomy in Europe. An alliance with the German Reich against the Soviet Union would have fundamentally contradicted this doctrine and made Poland dependent on its western neighbour in a way that it was determined to avoid. After the failure of the Warsaw talks, there was another change of course in Nazi eastern policy in the spring. By 25 March 1939, Hitler had informed the commander-in-chief of the army, Walther von Brauchitsch, that a German invasion was in the offing: ‘Poland is to be so thoroughly crushed that it will cease to be a significant political factor over the next few years.’129 In the following months, the German Reich also involved in its plans the very power that the German armed forces had originally been supposed to attack with the aid of Polish troops: the Soviet Union. On 23 August 1939, the two dictatorships, so different in their ideology, apparently overcame their fundamental differences, their axiomatic status as arch-enemies, and concluded ‘an agreement of the greatest ruthlessness’130 in the shape of the Hitler–Stalin Pact. An ‘imperialist alliance’131 was forged that carved out zones of influence in East-Central Europe. Above all, though, it paved the way for a joint attack on Poland. On 1 September 1939, the German Reich attacked from the west, north and south – and two weeks later, on 17 September, the Red Army marched in from the east. Up until then, none of this had seemed remotely possible. Such collaboration had a paradoxical air, triggering shockwaves of bewilderment around the world. This was a fundamental reversal. Though von Ribbentrop had failed to win Poland over to a common war against the Soviet Union, he succeeded in convincing the Soviet Union to launch a joint invasion of Poland. Poland, previously wooed and envisaged as the ‘junior partner’ in German expansion, thus became its first victim. It was due to the Poles’ refusal to cooperate – and by no means because of deep-rooted anti-Polonism – that German expansion plans initially targeted Poland in 1939. The German–Polish relationship in the pre-war years is, therefore, a prime example of the Nazis’ opportunistic, changeable attitudes towards the Slavic countries. Timothy Snyder has put forward an interesting thought experiment. Had Poland submitted to German demands for a ‘global solution’, it is very likely that – like Slovakia – the country would have survived the war as a satellite state of the German Reich.132 But the Second Polish Republic was blocking Germany’s route east into its future ‘living

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space’, prompting Hitler to use force on a massive scale. The Polish ‘Nie!’ had two consequences. It determined the nature of the alliances in the first two years of the Second World War and exposed Poland to an unbridled German reign of violence.

Notes 1. Michael G. Müller, Die Teilungen Polens 1772 – 1793 – 1795 (Munich, 1988). 2. Broszat, Zweihundert Jahre, 85ff.; Norman Davies, Heart of Europe. A Short History of Poland (Oxford and New York, 1984), 158–74; Rudolf Jaworski, Christian Lübke and Michael G. Müller, Eine kleine Geschichte Polens (Frankfurt am Main, 2000), 253ff. 3. Michael G. Müller, ‘Deutsche und polnische Nation im Vormärz’, in Klaus Zernack (ed.), Polen und die polnische Frage in der Geschichte der Hohenzollernmonarchie 1701–1871. Referate einer deutsch-polnischen Historiker-Tagung vom 7. bis 10. November in Berlin-Nikolassee (Berlin, 1982), 69–95. 4. Dieter Langewiesche, ‘Humanitäre Massenbewegung und politisches Bekenntnis. Polenbegeisterung in Südwestdeutschland 1830–1832’, in Dieter Langewiesche, Liberalismus und Sozialismus. Gesellschaftsbilder – Zukunftsvisionen – Bildungskonzeptionen (Bonn, 2003), 83– 102. 5. Ibid. 6. Michael G. Müller and Bernd Schönemann, Die ‘Polen-Debatte’ in der Frankfurter Paulskirche (Frankfurt am Main, 1991). 7. Günter Wollstein, Das ‘Großdeutschland’ der Paulskirche: Nationale Ziele in der bürgerlichen Revolution von 1848/49 (Düsseldorf, 1977). 8. Quoted in Hackmann and Kopij-Weiß, Nationen, 52. 9. Philipp Ther, ‘Deutsche Geschichte als imperiale Geschichte. Polen, slawophone Minderheiten und das Kaiserreich als kontinentales Empire’, in Sebastian Conrad and Jürgen Osterhammel (eds), Das Kaiserreich transnational. Deutschland in der Welt 1871–1914 (Göttingen, 2006), 129–48, here 136. 10. Gregor Thum, ‘Eine deutsche Frontier? Die deutsch-polnische Grenze und die Ideen von 1848’, in Karoline Gil and Christian Pletzing (eds), Granica. Die deutsch-polnische Grenze vom 19. bis zum 21. Jahrhundert (Munich, 2010), 19–38, here 22. 11. As stated in a speech by Deputy Wilhelm Jordan, quoted in ibid., 22. 12. Ibid., 26. 13. Orłowski, ‘Polnische Wirtschaft’. 14. See, especially, Kristin Kopp, ‘Reinventing Poland as German Colonial Territory in the Nineteenth Century: Gustav Freytag’s Soll und Haben as a Colonial Novel’, in Robert L. Nelson (ed.), Germans, Poland, and Colonial Expansion to the East: 1850 Through the Present (New York, 2009), 23–64. 15. Regardless of the fact that national categories played no role in the Middle Ages. See Wolfgang Wippermann, Der Ordensstaat als Ideologie. Das Bild des Deutschen Ordens in der Geschichtsschreibung und Publizistik (Berlin, 1979); Ther, ‘Geschichte’, 132ff. 16. Thum, ‘Frontier’, 28. 17. See the following observations on German actors’ self-image: Jochen Böhler, ‘Die heile Welt des Eduard Schmidt. Gewalt und Alltag deutscher Polizeiformationen und -dienststellen in Polen 1939–1943’, in Jochen Böhler and Stephan Lehnstaedt (eds), Gewalt und Alltag im besetzten Polen 1939–1945 (Osnabrück, 2012), 89–116.

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18. Quoted in Andreas Wirsching, ‘“Man kann nur den Boden germanisieren.” Eine neue Quelle zu Hitlers Rede vor den Spitzen der Reichswehr am 3. Februar 1933’, Vierteljahrshefte für Zeitgeschichte 49 (2001), 517–50, here 547. 19. The Poles made up 6 percent of the imperial population. In Prussia, they formed a large minority of 11 percent. Figures in Gregor Thum, ‘Imperialists in Panic: The Evocation of Empire at Germany’s Eastern Frontier around 1900’, in Maurus Reinkowski and Gregor Thum (eds), Helpless Imperialists. Imperial Failure, Fear and Radicalization (Göttingen, 2013), 137–162, here 141. On the question of whether the empire could still be called a nation state against this background, see Ther, ‘Geschichte’; Philipp Ther, ‘Beyond the Nation: The Relational Basis of a Comparative History of Germany and Europe’, Central European History 36 (2003), 45–73. 20. Hans-Ulrich Wehler, ‘Von den “Reichsfeinden” zur “Reichskristallnacht”. Polenpolitik im Deutschen Kaiserreich’, in Hans-Ulrich Wehler (ed.), Krisenherde des Kaiserreiches 1871–1918. Studien zur deutschen Sozial- und Verfassungsgeschichte (Göttingen, 1979), 181–202; Broszat, Zweihundert Jahre, 134ff.; Jaworski, Lübke and Müller, Geschichte Polens, 168ff. 21. On the so-called ‘Ruhr Poles’, see, especially, Christoph Kleßmann, Polnische Bergarbeiter im Ruhrgebiet, 1870–1945. Soziale Integration und nationale Subkultur einer Minderheit in der deutschen Industriegesellschaft (Göttingen, 1978). 22. Benno Nietzel, ‘Im Bann des Raumes. Der “Osten” im deutschen Blick vom 19. Jahrhundert bis 1945’, in Gunther Gebhard, Oliver Geisler and Steffen Schröter (eds), Das Prinzip ‘Osten’. Geschichte und Gegenwart eines symbolischen Raums (Bielefeld, 2010), 21–50, here 27. 23. As Weber put it in his inaugural address at the University of Freiburg in 1895. Quoted in Jürgen Kaube, Max Weber. Ein Leben zwischen den Epochen (Berlin, 2014), 211. 24. Ibid., 212. 25. Thum, ‘Imperialists’, 146; Nietzel, ‘Im Bann’, 27ff. 26. Broszat, Zweihundert Jahre, 134ff. 27. Wolf, Ideologie, 39–40. 28. Ibid. 29. Hackmann and Kopij-Weiß, Nationen, 60. 30. Broszat, Zweihundert Jahre, 134ff.; Jaworski, Lübke and Müller, Geschichte Polens, 168ff.; Hackmann and Kopij-Weiß, Nationen, 60; Thum, ‘Imperialists’, 144–45. 31. Thum, ‘Imperialists’, 144–51; Wehler, ‘Reichsfeinden’, 187ff.; Peter Walkenhorst, Nation – Volk – Rasse. Radikaler Nationalismus im Deutschen Kaiserreich 1890–1914. Göttingen, 2007, 222. 32. Walkenhorst, Nation, 273ff.; Wehler, ‘Reichsfeinden’, 191; Wolf, Ideologie, 44– 46. 33. Hackmann and Kopij-Weiß, Nationen, 63. 34. Thum, ‘Imperialists’, 151–58. 35. Wehler, ‘Reichsfeinden’, 191. 36. Wolf, Ideologie, 44. 37. Hackmann and Kopij-Weiß, Nationen, 84. 38. Ibid., 85. 39. Vejas Gabriel Liulevicius, Kriegsland im Osten. Eroberung, Kolonisierung und Militärherrschaft im Ersten Weltkrieg (Hamburg, 2002). 40. See Herfried Münkler, Der Große Krieg. Die Welt 1914 bis 1918 (Berlin, 2013), 350–52, here 352. 41. Imanuel Geiss, Der polnische Grenzstreifen 1914–1918. Ein Beitrag zur deutschen Kriegszielpolitik im Ersten Weltkrieg (Lübeck, 1960); Wolfgang Mommsen, Der Erste

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Weltkrieg. Anfang und Ende des bürgerlichen Zeitalters (Frankfurt am Main, 2004), 118–36. 42. Christhardt Henschel, ‘Territoriale Expansion und “völkische Flurbereinigung”. Überlegungen für einen “polnischen Grenzstreifen” im Ersten Weltkrieg’, in Karoline Gil and Christian Pletzing (eds), Granica. Die deutsch-polnische Grenze vom 19. bis zum 21. Jahrhundert (Munich, 2010), 61–74, here 62. 43. Münkler, Krieg, 352. Schlachtenbummler denotes an individual who visits the battlefront out of curiosity. 44. Quoted in ibid., 354. 45. Wolf, Ideologie, 50. 46. Rutherford, Prelude, 30–31. 47. Broszat, Zweihundert Jahre, 184f. 48. Liulevicius, Kriegsland, 75. 49. Manfred Nebelin, Ludendorff. Diktator im Ersten Weltkrieg (Munich, 2011). 50. Liulevicius, Kriegsland, 242. 51. Ibid., 202. 52. Hackmann and Kopij-Weiß, Nationen, 90–91. 53. Ibid.; Robert Spät, ‘Für eine gemeinsame deutsch-polnische Zukunft? Hans Hartwig von Beseler als Generalgouverneur in Polen 1915–1918’, Zeitschrift für Ostmitteleuropaforschung 58 (2009), 469–500. 54. For a comprehensive account of violent attacks on Belgian civilians by German soldiers during the advance of 1914, see Horne and Kramer, Deutsche Kriegsgreuel 1914. 55. Laura Engelstein, ‘“A Belgium of Our Own.” The Sack of Russian Kalisz, August 1914’, Kritika. Explorations in Russian and Eurasian History 10 (2009), 441–73; Hackmann and Kopij-Weiß, Nationen, 93. 56. Andreas Hillgruber, Der Zweite Weltkrieg. Kriegsziele und Strategie der großen Mächte (Stuttgart, 1996), 9–26. 57. Heinrich August Winkler, ‘Im Schatten von Versailles. Das deutsch-polnische Verhältnis während der Weimarer Republik’, in Ewa Kobylińska, Andreas Lawaty and Rüdiger Stephan (eds), Deutsche und Polen. 100 Schlüsselbegriffe (Munich and Zurich, 1992), 60–68, here 61. 58. See Broszat, Zweihundert Jahre, 208ff. 59. Pohl, Herrschaft, 40. 60. Barth, Dolchstoßlegenden, 229–90; Pohl, Herrschaft, 34–40. 61. Robert G. L. Waite, Vanguard of Nazism. The Free Corps Movement in Postwar Germany (Cambridge, 1952); Hagen Schulze, Freikorps und Republik 1918–1920 (Boppard, 1969); Barth, Dolchstoßlegenden. 62. See, especially, Barth, Dolchstoßlegenden, 229–90; Boris Barth, ‘Die Freikorpskämpfe in Posen und Oberschlesien 1919–1921. Ein Beitrag zum deutsch-polnischen Konflikt nach dem Ersten Weltkrieg’, in Dietmar Neutatz and Volker Zimmermann (eds), Die Deutschen und das östliche Europa. Aspekte einer vielfältigen Beziehungsgeschichte. Festschrift für Detlef Brandes zum 65. Geburtstag (Munich, 2006), 317–33; Bernhard Sauer, ‘“Auf nach Oberschlesien”. Die Kämpfe der deutschen Freikorps 1921 in Oberschlesien und den anderen ehemaligen deutschen Ostprovinzen’, Zeitschrift für Geschichtswissenschaft 58 (2010), 297–320. 63. Boris Barth puts forward the persuasive thesis that the situation in Upper Silesia would never have escalated to this extent if a referendum had been held without delay in the summer of 1919. As in West Prussia and Posen, according to Barth, German resistance would have intensified for a short time, but the situation would then have calmed

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down. See Barth, ‘Freikorpskämpfe’, 322; see also Ralf Schattkowsky, Deutschland und Polen 1918/19 bis 1925. Deutsch-polnische Beziehungen zwischen Versailles und Locarno (Frankfurt am Main, 1994), 85–94. 64. Erich von Manstein, Aus einem Soldatenleben 1887–1939 (Bonn, 1958), 66. 65. Barth, ‘Freikorpskämpfe’, 322. 66. Quoted in ibid., 327. 67. Johannes Hürter, ‘Konservative Mentalität, militärischer Pragmatismus, ideologisierte Kriegführung. Das Beispiel des Generals Georg von Küchler’, in Gerhard Hirschfeld and Tobias Jersak (eds), Karrieren im Nationalsozialismus. Funktionseliten zwischen Mitwirkung und Distanz (Frankfurt am Main and New York, 2004), 239–53. 68. Barth, Dolchstoßlegenden, 229–54; Barth, ‘Freikorpskämpfe’, 320ff. 69. For example, the ‘interrogation rooms’ of the Freikorps turned out to be nothing but torture chambers, in which Polish civilians were tormented, abused and tortured. It was apparently part of the everyday violence of the Freikorps to push Polish prisoners against walls studded with long nails: ‘Blood splatter on the walls and skin fragments on the nails’ attest to this form of excessive violence. See Sauer, ‘Auf nach Oberschlesien’, 304. 70. Jochen August, ‘Sonderaktion Krakau’. Die Verhaftung der Krakauer Wissenschaftler am 6. November 1939 (Hamburg, 1997), 15f.; Barth, ‘Freikorpskämpfe’, 332. 71. Wolfram Wette, ‘Ideologien, Propaganda und Innenpolitik als Voraussetzungen der Kriegspolitik des Dritten Reiches’, in Wilhelm Deist (ed.), Das Deutsche Reich und der Zweite Weltkrieg, vol. 1: Ursachen und Voraussetzungen der deutschen Kriegspolitik (Stuttgart, 1979), 25–173, here 94ff. 72. Jan Chodera, ‘Das Bild Polens in der deutschen Literatur’, Kommunität. Vierteljahreshefte der Evangelischen Akademie 18 (1974), 28–47, here 41. 73. For more examples, see ibid., 42. 74. Frank Arnau, Männer der Tat (Berlin, 1931), quoted in ibid., 41. 75. For a wealth of examples, see Chodera, ‘Bild Polens’, 40–42. 76. Arnolt Bronnen, O.S. (Berlin, 1929), 132, quoted in ibid., 41. 77. Herybert Menzel, Umstrittene Erde (Berlin, 1930), 147, quoted in ibid. 78. Magda Trott, Die Heimat ruft (Breslau, 1920), 120, quoted in ibid. 79. Kurt Oskar Bark, Deutsche Wacht an der Weichsel (Leipzig, 1931), 58f., quoted in ibid. 80. It was, above all, the personnel of the Sicherheitspolizei Einsatzgruppen (task forces), which formed part of the core of the SS and police apparatus in occupied Poland after 1939, who had numerous links with the Freikorps. For details, see Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 19–46. 81. Birn, Höheren SS- und Polizeiführer, 330ff. 82. Pohl, Herrschaft, 39. 83. Broszat, Zweihundert Jahre, 201ff. 84. Winkler, ‘Im Schatten’, 60. 85. Of a wide range of studies, see, for example, Rudolf Jaworski, ‘Deutsch-Polnische Feindbilder 1919–1932’, in Ernst Hinrichs (ed.), Deutschland und Polen von der nationalsozialistischen Machtergreifung bis zum Ende des Zweiten Weltkrieges (Braunschweig, 1986), 177–93, here 181. 86. Guderian to his wife, Bartenstein, 24 May 1919, quoted in Hürter, Heerführer, 89ff. 87. Winkler, ‘Im Schatten’, 66. 88. Ibid., 64. 89. Ibid., 63. 90. Jörg K. Hoensch, ‘Deutschland, Polen und die Großmächte 1919–1932’, in Wolfgang Jacobmeyer (ed.), Die deutsch-polnischen Beziehungen 1919–1932. XVII.

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91.

92. 93.

94. 95. 96. 97. 98. 99. 100. 101. 102. 103.

104. 1 05. 106.

107. 108. 1 09. 110. 111.

deutsch-polnische Schulbuchkonferenz der Historiker (Braunschweig, 1985), 19–34, here 23. Michael Burleigh, Germany Turns Eastwards. A Study of Ostforschung in the Third Reich (Cambridge, 1988), 22ff.; Ingo Haar, Historiker im Nationalsozialismus. Deutsche Geschichtswissenschaft und der ‘Volkstumskampf ’ im Osten (Göttingen, 2000). Through a biographical lens: Eduard Mühle, Für Volk und Deutschen Osten. Der Historiker Hermann Aubin und die deutsche Ostforschung (Düsseldorf, 2005). For a summary, see Wippermann, Die Deutschen, 70–73. Nietzel, ‘Im Bann’, 36. Ulrich Herbert, ‘Wer waren die Nationalsozialisten? Typologien des politischen Verhaltens im NS-Staat’, in Gerhard Hirschfeld and Tobias Jersak (eds), Karrieren im Nationalsozialismus. Funktionseliten zwischen Mitwirkung und Distanz (Frankfurt am Main, 2004), 17–42, here 31ff. Ibid., 32. Rainer Münz and Rainer Ohliger, ‘Auslandsdeutsche’, in Etienne François and Hagen Schulze (eds), Deutsche Erinnerungsorte, vol. I (Munich, 2001), 370–90, here 375. Jansen and Weckbecker, ‘Selbstschutz’, 20f. Albert Kotowski, Polens Politik gegenüber seiner deutschen Minderheit 1919–1939 (Wiesbaden, 1999); Wolf, Ideologie, 57ff.; Nietzel, ‘Im Bann’, 34. Jansen and Weckbecker, ‘Selbstschutz’, 21f. Wolf, Ideologie, 56; Przemysław Hauser, ‘Die deutsche Minderheit in Polen 1918–1933’, in Wolfgang Jacobmeyer (ed.), Die deutsch-polnischen Beziehungen 1919–1932. XVII. deutsch-polnische Schulbuchkonferenz der Historiker (Braunschweig, 1985), 67–88. Norbert Krekeler, ‘Die deutsche Minderheit in Polen und die Revisionspolitik des Deutschen Reiches 1919–1933’, in Wolfgang Benz (ed.), Die Vertreibung der Deutschen aus dem Osten. Ursachen, Ereignisse, Folgen (Frankfurt am Main, 1985), 15–28. ‘Behind minorities policy stood the border issue and it was this that gave the former its explosive political significance’, to quote Martin Broszat’s apt judgment in Broszat, Zweihundert Jahre, 228. Hitler speech, 23 August 1939, quoted in Hans Umbreit, Deutsche Militärverwaltungen 1938/39. Die militärische Besetzung der Tschechoslowakei und Polens (Stuttgart, 1977), 66. These initially ran in parallel to military threats against Poland. On 6 March, the Polish garrison on the Westerplatte peninsula near Danzig was reinforced and Polish warships entered the port of Danzig unannounced. See Marian Wojciechowski, Die polnischdeutschen Beziehungen 1933–1938 (Leiden, 1971), 10ff. Ludolf Herbst, Das nationalsozialistische Deutschland 1933–1945 (Frankfurt am Main, 1996), 106–10; Broszat, Nationalsozialistische Polenpolitik, 12. See, for example, Wojciechowski, Beziehungen, 10ff. Günter Wollstein, ‘Die Politik des nationalsozialistischen Deutschlands gegenüber Polen 1933–1939/45’, in Manfred Funke (ed.), Hitler, Deutschland und die Mächte. Materialien zur Außenpolitik des Dritten Reiches (Düsseldorf, 1976), 795–810; Broszat, Zweihundert Jahre, 234ff. Broszat, Nationalsozialistische Polenpolitik, 11f.; Broszat, Zweihundert Jahre, 234ff.; Connelly, ‘Nazis’, 11. Broszat, Nationalsozialistische Polenpolitik, 11. On Hitler’s sympathy for Piłsudski, see Borejsza, Antyslawizm, 67f. Broszat, Zweihundert Jahre, 235. Ibid., 234.

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112. Ibid. 113. Gerhard L. Weinberg, Germany, Hitler, and World War II. Essays in Modern German and World History (New York, 1995), 2. 114. Bloxham, The Final Solution, 171. 115. In his Second Book, Hitler called for a transition ‘to a clear, far-sighted spatial policy’ rather than a fixation on restoration of the 1914 borders. See Gerhard Weinberg (ed.), Hitlers Zweites Buch (Munich, 1961), 163. 116. Klaus Hildebrand, Deutsche Außenpolitik 1933–1945. Kalkül oder Dogma? (Stuttgart, Berlin and Cologne, 1990), 37ff. 117. Wolf, Ideologie, 65f. 118. It is hard to imagine a more profound shift, especially in view of the Weimar hate literature analysed earlier. For a comprehensive account, see Karina Pryt, Befohlene Freundschaft. Die deutsch-polnischen Kulturbeziehungen 1934– 1939 (Osnabrück, 2010). 119. Connelly, ‘Nazis’, 11. 120. Akten zur deutschen auswärtigen Politik 1918–1945. Aus dem Archiv des Auswärtigen Amtes (ADAP) Serie D, vol. 5, 272. 121. Broszat, Zweihundert Jahre, 253ff. 122. Broszat, Nationalsozialistische Polenpolitik, 13ff. 123. Quoted in ibid. 124. Broszat, Zweihundert Jahre, 254. 125. See also the memoirs of the German interpreter: Paul Schmidt, Statist auf diplomatischer Bühne 1923–45. Erlebnisse des Chefdolmetschers im Auswärtigen Amt mit den Staatsmännern Europas (Bonn, 1950), 425–27. 126. Hans Roos, Polen und Europa. Studien zur polnischen Außenpolitik 1931–1939 (Tübingen, 1957), 396. 127. Włodzimierz Borodziej, Geschichte Polens im 20. Jahrhundert (Munich, 2010), 187. 128. For the essentials, see Marek Kornat, ‘Die Politik des “Gleichgewichts” zwischen zwei totalitären Mächten’, in Marek Kornat, Polen zwischen Hitler und Stalin. Studien zur polnischen Außenpolitik in der Zwischenkriegszeit (Berlin, 2012), 67–118. 129. Quoted in Böhler, Auftakt, 31. 130. Werner Benecke, ‘Die Entfesselung des Krieges. Von “München” zum Hitler-StalinPakt’, Osteuropa 59 (2009), 33–46, here 45. 131. Jürgen Zarusky, ‘“Hitler bedeutet Krieg”. Der deutsche Weg zum Hitler-Stalin-Pakt’, Osteuropa 59 (2009), 97–114, here 98. 132. Timothy Snyder, ‘Nazis, Soviets, Poles, Jews’, The New York Review of Books, 3 December 2009.

Chapter 2

Occupation as a Framework for Action Ideology, Politics and Violence

 The setting for massacres was established in significant part by the goals and practices of the German occupation. At the same time, the latter were linked in a variety of ways with specific elements of the preceding history, laying down a framework within which actors acted. Analytically, then, we must relate the practice of massacres to the policies of the occupation regime. The following observations thus aim to identify those aspects of the German occupation that were linked in a variety of ways with the practice of massacres. This chapter seeks to illuminate the establishment and dissemination of an anti-Polish enemy construct that revolved around a Polish affinity for violence and ethnic German suffering. This construct was a key source of legitimation for an increasingly radical German policy of violence. I then turn to the spatially variable occupation policy goals and their practical implementation. Here, I differentiate between long-, medium- and short-term perspectives, which, in practice, engendered multiple conflicting objectives and contradictions. German occupation policy in Poland consisted of a flexible set of conditions that did much to determine the opportunities for massacres, their extent and pace. Finally, against this background, I analyse the specific order of violence under German rule, which was based on empowering the ethnic German population to commit acts of violence. This partial qualifying of the monopoly on violence led to a radicalized practice of everyday violence against Polish civilians, culminating in countless massacres. However, this Nazi order of violence should not be interpreted as a rigid system. As I will show as the book progresses, the granting of permission to certain groups of

Occupation as a Framework for Action  •  59

the Polish population to use violence was renegotiated in the context of the fight against partisans.

‘Polish Atrocities’: Structures, Dissemination and Reception of an Enemy Construct In the summer of 1939, in the run-up to the German invasion of Poland, the Nazis were confronted with a fundamental problem. The starting point here was the fear among the German people of a new war, which was palpable – especially in the wake of the ‘Sudeten crisis’.1 These perceptible anxieties about a new armed conflict stood in sharp contrast to the determination and single-mindedness with which the Nazi leadership sought to start a war. The task for the Nazi propaganda machine was thus to convert widespread unease into approval. Hitler perceived a complex challenge: to create a mood in which, as he put it, ‘the inner voice of the people itself slowly begins to scream for violence’.2 To do this, Hitler mused, it was both unnecessary and ineffective to ‘propagate violence as such’.3 Instead, current events and international developments must be presented in such a way ‘that in the brains of the broad mass of the people the conviction is gradually triggered, quite automatically, that if you cannot remedy this amicably, then you must do so by force, but that it cannot go on like this’.4 The aim was thus to create an atmosphere of urgency that would justify both another turnaround in Nazi Poland policy and a military attack. In this situation, Nazi propaganda fell back on the anti-Polish enemy constructs that had become established through the experience and remembrance of Freikorps combat between 1919 and 1921. In communicating with the German population, the Nazi regime fused the notion of Polish cruelty with the staging of ethnic Germans as defenceless victims. This enemy construct revolved around a trope that was as rich in tradition as it was potent: one centred on Germans as victims of Polish violence, which it not only seemed justified but essential to counter – whether in order to protect, prevent or avenge – through the use of force by Germany. Through this victimization strategy,5 it was easy for the Nazis to build on popular patterns of perception and interpretation.6 Their roots can be found in nineteenth-century debates on the disintegration of the German nation as defined in völkisch terms and the demise of the corresponding state order, which culminated in Volk-centred hysteria after the First World War and the territorial and demographic reorganization of Central Europe. From then on, the new German minorities were considered particularly defenceless victims of the post-war order.7 At the same time, ever larger groups within society now identified German minorities that were already living beyond the borders of the Reich before 1914 as victims of supposedly ‘intolerable

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conditions’. In what was viewed as a hostile environment, the ethnic Germans were considered permanently at risk with their ‘ethnonational existence’ under severe threat. In particular, the remembrance of Freikorps combat in Upper Silesia and the literary efforts to address them, as explained above, created an image of the Poles – one that increasingly took hold – as violent barbarians whose deviousness and ruthlessness hung permanently over the German minority like a sword of Damocles. This attribution of a specific Polish affinity for violence gave rise to those perceptions and concepts that enabled the Nazis to legitimize their own acts of violence. Nazi violence was framed as a defensive reaction to ‘Asiatic deeds’8 and as a humanitarian intervention to aid the threatened ethnic Germans. The Nazis built on these traditions, these patterns of interpretation and orientation, in light of which they could legitimize their own use of force as the courageous defence of the defenceless. Analytically, we can distinguish between two contexts in which the Nazis made strategic use of this victimization discourse, centred on ethnic German suffering and a Polish affinity for violence. First, it was used to justify expansion through war in September 1939 and, second, to legitimize the violent regime in occupied Poland. Although the individual elements of this discourse remained essentially constant, the lattice of conditions in which it was deployed varied, and its addressees and thrust thus did so as well. Against this background, my observations in what follows differentiate between the pre-war and occupation period in order to throw the specific role of the discourse of victimization into the sharpest possible relief. The War as Humanitarian Intervention In the run-up to the German invasion of Poland, victimizing perceptions of ethnic Germans reached their grotesque peak. In shrill tones and with wild exaggerations, Nazi propaganda insisted that the German minority had fallen victim to ‘Polish atrocities’. Countless reports of rape, dismemberment, mistreatment and murder were characterized by an astonishingly explicit phenomenology of Polish violence and the graphic description of the injured, mutilated and broken bodies of the ethnic German victims.9 This propaganda offensive has so far been largely overlooked by researchers, although its historical impact as part of the ‘prelude to the war of extermination’10 was substantial.11 The present study can close this gap only to a limited extent. My goal is to cut a swathe through the relevant material in order to tease out the main thrust of these developments. German propaganda initially consisted of shrill warnings of Polish ‘warmongering’, ‘lust for expansion’ and ‘craving for status’. The Nazi regime branded Poland the real danger to peace in Europe and sought to stir up a vague sense within the German population that the country might fall victim

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to a Polish war of aggression.12 More important, however, was the ‘atrocity propaganda’ instigated in June 1939, which gradually became more radical in its focus on the ethnic Germans’ suffering due to the supposed Polish affinity for violence. Miriam Arani has fleshed out the concept of ‘atrocity propaganda’, describing it as a ‘form of propaganda’ that ‘deliberately lies, slanders and exaggerates in order to disparage one’s opponent and arouse pity for one’s own side’.13 In doing so, Arani explains, it portrays ‘in emotive fashion, mentally shattering and cruel acts and their effects’14 while ‘deliberately violating moral and religious beliefs in order to damage one’s opponents’ reputation’15 and accuse them of ‘inhuman acts’.16 On the basis of this definition, we can essentially distinguish two phases. The months of June and July 1939 saw the comparatively restrained use of ‘atrocity propaganda’.17 Reich Minister of Propaganda Joseph Goebbels himself, as Thomas Kees has pointed out, initially ordered the fictitious reports of violence against ethnic Germans to be put not on the front page of newspapers but on the second page onwards, to evoke the impression of ‘untenable conditions’ over the long term through a steady stream of reports. The aim, according to Goebbels, was ‘to keep the pot … boiling on a low flame’.18 In June and July, the German press thus carried a large number of short reports on the boycott or expropriation of ethnic German businesses, arrests and isolated cases of mistreatment of ethnic Germans by the Polish police. In this first phase, we can already clearly discern one significant characteristic of ‘atrocity propaganda’ in watered-down form: the stylization of children as victims of Polish violence in particularly desperate need of help. The hallmark of this specific form of ‘atrocity propaganda’ was its hyperintensity and emotionalization. For example, an article titled ‘Eradication of German Kindergartens’19 reported on the officially decreed closure of individual institutions, while another presented the cancellation of a school trip as conclusive proof of ‘Poland’s Glorious Battle Against German Children’.20 Overall, however, the shrill reports appearing in June and July 1939 mainly sought to portray official restrictions on ethnic Germans’ everyday lives as an unbearable burden. It was not until August 1939 that Nazi propaganda broke away from this fixation, subsequently focusing on the use of physical violence against ethnic Germans. ‘Authenticated reports of atrocities’, as Goebbels decreed on 10 August 1939, should ‘appear henceforth on page 1 in large letters’.21 However, the ‘language and presentation [should] not yet go all the way’,22 since there must ‘still be scope for further intensification’.23 The ‘reports of atrocities’ themselves should not be ‘long-winded features’24 but rather ‘eye-catching reports’25 of a ‘brief and concise’26 character. The prelude to this new dimension of anti-Polish propaganda was an article in the Essen-based Nationalzeitung of 12 August 1939. Its portrayal of the Poles as dehumanized

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hordes did much to spawn a new style of reportage;27 it marks a decisive shift towards the barbarization of the Polish people by ascribing to them ‘bestial instincts’ culminating in a veritable ‘lust for murder’: ‘Above all, it is the bestial attacks on Germans that reveal the Poles’ true nature.’28 In a technical sense, too, this text was to leave its stamp on reports of ‘Polish atrocities’. It deployed the method of ‘picking out individual cases, mentioning the name and age of the victim, that is, feigning authenticity, personalizing incidents while refraining from generalization, and, by emphasizing [victims’] defencelessness … triggering greater consternation among readers’.29 The article sought to bring out ‘Polish terror … in all its brutality’30 and highlight ‘the wave of chauvinistic killing sprees in Poland’:31 ‘In Zaborow, an ethnic German by the name of Günther was subjected to such brutality during a Polish attack on 15 May that it cost him his life. Among the gravely injured is a 90-year-old Mrs Ikertz and the murdered man’s seven-month-old child. It is the hallmark of the Polish character that, when meting out their abuse, the Poles see even children as fair game. … Sadism goes hand in hand with the lowest form of rapacity.’32 In August 1939, immediately before the German invasion, the Nazis stepped up their propagandistic use of the anti-Polish enemy construct, highlighting a plethora of alleged ‘Polish atrocities’ suffered by members of the German minority. Reference was constantly made to the ‘[in]human treatment of Germans in Poland [by the] murderous [Polish] rabble’.33 The core proposition of atrocity propaganda is easily derived from the front-page headlines of the Völkischer Beobachter: ‘Germans Carted Off Like Cattle’,34 ‘Ethnic German Children on the Run’35 (from the) ‘Unendurable Rampages of Polish Terrorist Bands’,36 ‘Ethnic Germans Emasculated and Beaten to Death’.37 ‘Poland’s Terror Grows by the Day’,38 exclaimed the Volksdeutscher Beobachter, as ‘Poles Burn Children to Death in Front of Their Mothers’,39 putting ‘500 Zlotys on the Head of Every German’40 so that even a ‘Heavily Pregnant Woman and Her Four-Year-Old [were] Bludgeoned to Death with Rifle Butts’.41 Doris Bergen recently produced an initial analysis of Nazi ‘atrocity reports’, identifying the key strategies used to illustrate ethnic German suffering: feminization, infantilization and sacralization. Women and children, she contends, stood centre stage in these fictitious scenarios of violence as particularly helpless victims, with the narration of their suffering drawing on biblical motifs to evoke Christian martyrdom.42 It was through this strategic staging that Nazi propaganda sought to prospectively legitimize the coming war against Poland as a defensive response to ‘Polish atrocities’, as a humanitarian intervention vital to saving the ethnic Germans. Very little research has been done on the acceptance of this interpretive frame within what the Nazis saw as a race-based ‘National Community’ (Volksgemeinschaft) encompassing all those of German ethnicity. Whether

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and to what extent atrocity propaganda helped to ensure the burgeoning and proliferation of the anti-Polish enemy construct among broad sections of the population, or whether only certain milieus were particularly receptive while others proved resistant – we must be extremely cautious when attempting to answer such questions of impact. But we can identify at least three factors indicating that ‘atrocity propaganda’ did in fact influence the German image of Poland. First, this propaganda could build on ideas originating in the interwar period in the shape of the constructs and beliefs circulating in German society since the formation of the Freikorps. It thus took root in soil already made fertile by the widely distributed Freikorps literature. Second, some contemporary documents at least shine a spotlight on the potent effect of ‘atrocity propaganda’. In its monthly report for June–July 1939, for example, the Alzey Nazi Party District Office stated, ‘The dreadful treatment and mistreatment of the German population in Poland by the fanatical Polacks is a source of tremendous bitterness everywhere and one often hears people remarking that it is time for the Führer to step in and take action to stop it.’43 The reports on Germany produced by the exile organization of the Social Democratic Party of Germany convey much the same impression: ‘It appears that now, unfortunately, the propaganda against Poland has begun to take effect. … The idea is that our German brothers must be freed from the “Polish yoke”’.44 Finally, if we look at post-Nazi discourses in West Germany, we find plenty of evidence that this ‘atrocity propaganda’ had long-term effects. Even after 1945, the idea of a specific Polish affinity for violence informed the German image of Poland in a variety of ways. In essence, it was the trope of humanitarian intervention that paved the way for war against Poland. The Nazi propaganda machine deployed the discourse of victimization to transform a widely attested fear of war among the German population into consent to a humanitarian rescue operation. The ground for the mass violence of September 1939 was laid in significant part by a Nazi rhetoric of human rights centred on a dual notion: the ethnic Germans’ suffering due to the Poles’ propensity for violence.

Bromberg as a Nazi Site of Remembrance The ‘atrocity reports’ of August 1939 were largely invented, little more than imaginative constructions generated by the Nazi propaganda machine.45 However, in the first few days of September 1939, after the Wehrmacht had swept into Polish territory, members of the German minority were in fact the victims of violent rampages in a number of places.46 There can be no doubt that in the early stages of the war the ethnic Germans fell victim to various acts of violence perpetrated by Polish policemen as well as their Polish

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neighbours.47 We can be specific about the location of these violent acts: they occurred near the border – that is, in the former eastern German territories ceded to the Second Polish Republic in 1919. As we have seen, during the interwar period in West Prussia and the province of Posen nationalistic claims to power intersected, intensifying into enduring ‘struggles over nationhood and borders’. These antagonisms did not necessarily spill over into the local relations between Poles and Germans, but there is no doubt that tensions between the two groups mounted in the run-up to the German invasion.48 The Polish authorities suspected the German minority of espionage and diversionary activities, arrested around 15,000 ethnic Germans and forced them to march on foot into the country’s interior under chaotic conditions and with inadequate supplies.49 In the charged atmosphere of September 1939, there were repeated attacks by members of the Polish auxiliary guard units – but the inhabitants of numerous villages and communities, which the marching columns passed through, often took part in violent attacks as well.50 Uncertainty has long reigned over the exact number of victims. In February 1940, the Reich Ministry of the Interior sent out a directive to all relevant agencies stating that 58,000 ethnic Germans had been murdered.51 This, of course, was a grotesque propagandistic overestimate.52 The number of ethnic Germans killed in September 1939 is now unanimously put at around 4,500 in the research.53 In this context, events in the western Polish city of Bromberg (Bydgoszcz) played a special role. On 3 and 4 September 1939, this was the scene of what were unquestionably the most violent attacks on ethnic Germans during the war.54 According to the most recent calculations by Markus Krzoska, more than 400 members of the German minority in Bromberg fell victim to this violence.55 German propaganda subsequently stylized ‘Bromberg’ as a Nazi site of remembrance, with the alleged Polish affinity for violence and ethnic German suffering taking centre stage. ‘Bloody Sunday at Bromberg’ soon emerged as a symbol of ‘Polish atrocities’ as a whole, functioning as a code for certain constructs and events. It was the photographs produced by the German military’s propaganda companies in particular that proved effective here: large-format images of mutilated, disfigured and sometimes rotting corpses of all ages and both sexes.56 Nazi propaganda used these ‘horrific scenes’ to illustrate, while concurrently verifying, a multitude of reports on the ‘Polish reign of terror’.57 For example, under the title ‘Polish Blood Guilt’, photos of disfigured corpses were assembled into a collage and furnished with a quintessential explanatory note: ‘They were slaughtered by the Poles merely for being German.’58 It remains unclear whether these photographs do in fact show the corpses of murdered ethnic Germans or of Poles killed around the same time. In this context, Miriam Arani has highlighted the fact that while the

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photographs undoubtedly show a range of evidence of physical violence and the accompanying texts blame ‘Polish hordes’ for this, these are nowhere to be seen in the photos themselves. ‘They [thus] exist only in the fantasies of those who “saw” these photos in the context of official Nazi discourse.’59 This ‘official discourse’ was not created out of nothing in September 1939. In fact, it fitted snugly with widely inculcated discursive patterns, whose roots are to be found in Freikorps combat after the First World War. In the run-up to the German invasion, these narratives reached a shrill crescendo in the form of ‘atrocity propaganda’. From the Nazi perspective, ‘Bromberg’ was convenient in three respects. First, this violent rampage seemed to retrospectively underline the need for humanitarian intervention to protect the persecuted ethnic Germans. All the allegations made by ‘atrocity propaganda’ seemed confirmed: in order to prevent a humanitarian catastrophe, the German armed forces’ invasion of Poland was not only justified, but vital.60 In his Danzig speech of 19 September 1939, Hitler, justifying the invasion, referred among other things to the ‘tens of thousands’61 of ethnic Germans who had been ‘abducted, mistreated [and] killed in the most gruesome manner’62 in the summer of 1939. ‘Sadistic beasts’, Hitler declared, had indulged their ‘perverse instincts’ while the Western powers had stood idly by: ‘[T]his democratic, pious world looks on without batting an eyelid’.63 Here, Hitler wove a narrative featuring two key aspects: a humanitarian catastrophe and the indifference of the West. Against this background, he could present the German invasion as a humanitarian obligation, as a legitimate and necessary act to save the ethnic Germans. In addition, such attacks provided an opportunity to prospectively declare that there was no alternative to every instance of German violence. After all, the Germans were locked in a struggle with ‘barbaric subhumans’ who had themselves transgressed all civilizational boundaries, and had also been the first to do so.64 In his Danzig speech, Hitler referred, for example, to ‘thousands of butchered ethnic Germans, women, girls and children brutally slaughtered’,65 as allegedly encountered by German troops after the invasion: ‘Should one impose any kind of restriction on oneself under these circumstances?’66 Plainly, Hitler used the theme of ethnic German suffering to legitimize past and future violence by German troops. ‘I have … given the order’, he went on, to conduct ‘this war humanely, that is, against combat forces only’.67 Given the scale of Polish violence against ethnic Germans, he explained, ‘[I] would, however, like to emphasize right away that … the democratic states shouldn’t imagine that it will remain this way forever’.68 The ‘Polish atrocities’, Hitler explained, had created a new situation for the German Reich, which now had to fundamentally reconsider the validity of rules limiting the use of violence: ‘If they want a different approach, then

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they’ll get one! Here, too, there are limits to my patience!’69 Finally, this public announcement of the unleashing of German violence is especially remarkable because at the time of Hitler’s Danzig speech German soldiers and police had already murdered tens of thousands of Polish citizens. Hitler was clearly trying to expunge the Germans’ victims from public discourse in order to supplant them with the notion of Germans as victims, which was not an invention but was certainly stylized.70 In the context of the mass violence carried out by German soldiers and policemen, the explicit descriptions of ‘Polish atrocities’ seems to have involved the projection onto the ethnic Germans of all the suffering permanently inflicted on Polish citizens by the Nazis.71 Through this reversal of the perpetrator–victim relationship, the Nazis’ own escalating violence vanished behind the smokescreen of an alleged Polish affinity for violence and ethnic German suffering. This simultaneously gave all the Germans involved the feeling that despite everything, regardless of their own escalating violence, they had ‘remained decent’72 because it was the others who were the murderers.73 Within the SS and police apparatus, meanwhile, this trope was used as a means of literary self-portrayal. In 1940, publishing house Franz Schneider released Polizeireiter in Polen (‘Mounted Police in Poland’), a slim book telling the story of a violent collective.74 Here, Helmuth Koschorke, a major in the SS (Sturmbannführer) and press officer at the Central Office of the Ordnungspolizei, describes the fictitious experiences of German policemen in the occupied Polish territories in September 1939. At its core, Polizeireiter in Polen revolves around a process of maturation in the course of which the protagonists, as they constantly try to get to grips with themselves and their environment, agree on an expanded conception of what is appropriate and permissible. Koschorke shows how the actors involved gradually rid themselves of conventional forms of consideration for others and collectively develop a new, violent mindset. Helmuth Koschorke initially presents his mounted police as a motley outfit that ‘patrol the Grunewald [a forested area of Berlin] in normal times’. ‘Gentle Heini’, ‘brash, cheeky Hanno’ and the other protagonists are portrayed as ‘ordinary men’75 who initially gossip, scoff and laugh their way through the German invasion of Poland in good spirits: ‘Into the enemy’s land we ride, hurrah, victoria!’76 To begin with, the use of force is not a matter of course for the mounted police. In fact, Koschorke ascribes to individual figures a downright aversion to violence. At the start of the book, he presents us with a scene featuring a badly injured horse that is supposed to receive a coup de grâce from Lieutenant Colonel Zahm: ‘On stiff legs, Zahm strides towards the horse, which had stepped on a mine, laboriously makes ready his pistol and kneels down as if to perform a sacred act. Lips pressed tightly together, he pushes aside the horse’s mane and shoots it between the

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ears.’77 For these men, violence had not yet become a normal act, a way of life, but initially required them to overcome their inhibitions. The turning point, which is intended to render the collective suspension of civilizational constraints plausible to the reader, is the confrontation with Polish acts of violence against the country’s German minority: ‘All around the Polack rampages. This is the setting for murder upon murder of defenceless women and children.’78 In the wake of their discovery of ‘brutally slaughtered ethnic Germans’,79 even characters who initially refrain from violence undergo a change that ‘turns them upside down, so that nothing remains of the old Adam’.80 The mounted police perceive the Poles as ‘furtive and two-faced’,81 ‘a concentrated mass of sinister intransigence’82 and as ‘shady characters of the worst kind’ with ‘savage, brutish faces’:83 ‘This is the true nature of the Pole, which we must always expect to encounter. … Every word is falsehood and deceit. If he has failed in battle, which, by the way, he has done consistently throughout his history, he resorts to means typical of the cunning Asiatics.’84 As a result, the policemen exclude the Poles from the ‘universe of obligation’,85 the two-way applicability of civilizational norms, such that ethical boundaries cease to function: ‘They are no longer people!’86 exclaims one of the policemen; caught up in a vortex of violence, they are searching for new, supposedly appropriate standards of behaviour. Haltingly at first, then ever more unflinchingly as the story proceeds, the mounted policemen break away from their ‘troublesome manners’,87 from the ‘European’s sentimentalism’88 – a shift that they consider appropriate given the seemingly barbaric conditions and the unbridled cruelty of the ‘cunning Asiatics’:89 ‘Every Pole has something on his conscience in this regard.’90 As the ‘only possible way’91 of dealing with the Polish people, Koschorke’s policemen discover the use of force, which they accept in time as a condign response, before finally – ‘with machine guns roaring out a merciless stream of bullets’92 – shooting Polish civilians en masse, ‘monstrosities that have no place in this world’.93 Polizeireiter in Polen portrays an ideal-typical transformation of ‘ordinary men’ into warriors for the Volksgemeinschaft who – confronted with ‘Polish atrocities’ – become willing to suspend their aversion to violence and kill people based on their understanding of supposed ‘necessities’. In essence, the book precisely reflects the ‘leap into a quantitatively and qualitatively new dimension of terror’,94 to cite Klaus-Michael Mallmann’s description of the German invasion of Poland. This massive surge of violence is not only clearly perceptible from a historical perspective but was also perceived, noted and documented as such by the actors involved, their institutional environment and those at the ‘home front’. The out-of-the-ordinary aspect of police violence over the border thus required explanation and classification that could endow it with meaning and purpose. In this sense, Polizeireiter in

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Polen can be read as a literary attempt to sound out ways of justifying, communicating and explaining the new dimension of violence. The book tries to get the ‘national comrades [Volksgenossen] back home’ to empathize with the violent actions of their law enforcers abroad. It was, at bottom, a way of allowing the Volksgemeinschaft to adopt an affirmative stance on its own violence by fostering understanding for those violent actors in the German east practising ‘ethnic cleansing as a profession’:95 confronted with ‘Polish cruelty’, Koschorke suggests that the use of violence was a humane act. In autumn 1939, Nazi propaganda sought to turn German aggression into its opposite. To this end, the propagandists drew on the grossly exaggerated cases of actual violence against ethnic Germans following the invasion of September 1939, which – like ‘Bloody Sunday at Bromberg’ – the Nazis turned into opportunities to commemorate ‘Polish atrocities’ and ‘ethnic German suffering’. This propaganda had an impact not least because it could link up with certain strands of tradition and demonizing constructs from the pre-war period. At the same time, violent attacks on ethnic Germans were used to legitimize the future use of force: the only way to counter the bestiality of the ‘Polish hordes’ was by abandoning all restraint in one’s own use of violence. ‘Every office and duty room’, Governor General Hans Frank announced, ‘will now receive a picture of murdered ethnic Germans, so that every German official has the following warning constantly in mind: beware of the Polish mentality, think of the murdered’.96 Within this scenario, the ethnic Germans were assigned a specific role. As Doris Bergen emphasizes, they were viewed as the embodiment of suffering.97 They were now no more than what the ‘Polish beasts’ had supposedly done to them. From the Nazi perspective, this legitimized the use of ‘reactive’ violence.98

A Licence to Kill: Monopolizing and Mobilizing Violence The ethnic Germans, however, were not only crucial to the conception and legitimation of expansionist claims, ethnonational fantasies of order and Nazi violence. As well as forming the basis for a victimization strategy, they were empowered to participate in Nazi rule in various ways. To this end, the occupation regime modified a basic principle of modern societies. As a rule, these are based on a system featuring a monopoly on violence that aims to reduce the amount of physical violence in people’s everyday dealings with one another. These societies cede the exercise of legitimate violence to state institutions, which are in turn supposed to ensure that the use of physical violence outside this monopoly is minimized, contained or punished. In modern societies, then, as Jan Philipp Reemtsma has repeatedly pointed out, not everyone is allowed to use violence. Its exercise is, therefore, sanctioned,

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but not fundamentally prohibited: it is the preserve of the state as the executive power.99 In occupied Poland, to put it only a little simplistically, the Nazis installed an order of violence that deviated from this ideal-typical system in several respects. Two aspects in particular are key here. First, the occupiers had no interest in reducing the incidence of violence. Nevertheless, Nazi rule did not do away completely with the monopoly on violence. But rather than using this monopoly to minimize physical violence, the occupiers used it to extend state violence. Military expansion thus went hand in hand with the expansion of state violence against ‘members of foreign races’ (Fremdvölkische) and ‘community aliens’ (Gemeinschaftsfremde) and, in retrospect, does indeed mark a leap into a new dimension of violence. Second, the Nazis supplemented this exercise of state violence with the element of state-legitimized private violence. This they did by inviting a degree of participation on the part of certain sections of the population outside of state institutions.100 The ethnic Germans played a key role in this context. They were not only – as we have seen – crucial sources of legitimacy for the expansion of state violence but were also invited and exhorted, in multiple ways, to participate in and support acts of violence. The ideological foundations of Nazi rule channelled these opportunities for participation along certain paths. By no means did they encompass permission to engage in indiscriminate violence against anyone. What the authorities facilitated was violence against ‘members of foreign races’, who were already excluded from the scope of mutually binding norms. But we can also discern countervailing tendencies. At an early stage, the Nazis tried to tie the permission to use violence to institutional structures in order to avoid the comprehensive ‘privatization’ of state violence. In other words, they sought to dissolve normative boundaries in a controlled way. In essence, what we see emerging here is an order that ushered in a profound distinction – between those who could use violence, participate in and benefit from it, and those who were barred from using violence but had to suffer it.101 While the ethnic Germans were granted extensive licence to deploy violence and were empowered to do so, Poles were deprived of any such right and were declared legitimate targets for acts of violence. At a systematic level, the permitting of violence for ethnic Germans was paralleled by the disarming of the Polish population.102 To sum up these systematic observations, one important hallmark of Nazi rule in Poland was a tension between the upholding of the state monopoly on violence and its modification, which entailed two aspects: the extension and privatization of state violence against ‘members of foreign races’. Against this background, new analytical perspectives on the Nazi order of violence in occupied Poland come into view. This order developed within a specific

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set of conditions – namely, foreign domination based essentially on the rule of a comparatively small number of German occupiers over a clear majority of Poles.103 In these circumstances, the partial extension of the monopoly on violence to private actors among the ethnic German community chiefly served to help the occupation authorities cope with the increased incidence of violence. There were two aspects to their ability to cope: the provision of local knowledge and the recruitment of personnel as a means of offsetting their structural inferiority, at least to some extent. Here we can see the roots of the ethnic Germans’ active contribution to the world of violence and suffering that rapidly opened up in occupied Poland, a contribution that took various forms over time – alternating between institutional involvement in paramilitary formations and individual participation as interpreters, translators, scouts, informants and denouncers.104 This inclusion must be related analytically to two fundamental, often intertwined factors that were to give ethnic German participation its specific character. (1) First, the present study takes up an observation by Alexa Stiller, who recently established that the ‘motive of revenge … played a decisive role in the specific phenomenon of mass violence’105 as executed by ethnic Germans. A few years ago, Peter Waldmann developed an analytical concept of revenge,106 understood as an instrument for regulating close social relationships and based on a strict differentiation between ‘us’ and ‘them’.107 The logic of revenge within a given group leads to a siege mentality, which finds expression in solidarity with ‘one’s own’ people and antagonistic distrust of other groups. The trigger for revenge is always an act by ‘the other’ that is interpreted as an attack, threat or injustice. From the perspective of the avenger, then, revenge is always a purely reactive act. Waldmann emphasizes the fact that the exercise of revenge is not limited to an identifiable ‘perpetrator’. The perceived injustice to be avenged systematically obliterates the distinction between perpetrators and non-participants: revenge is blind to individual responsibility. It operates through the category of collective guilt and holds everyone from the other group directly responsible for the injustice supposedly inflicted.   As carte blanche for violence, revenge thus tends to eliminate normal boundaries – facilitating indiscriminate violence against any member of the other group. This fact is closely related to Waldmann’s observation that an act of revenge ‘is frequently more severe than the original offence’,108 true to the motto: ‘For every one of us, ten of you will die.’109 In modern states, revenge is considered an atavism, a ‘remnant of an archaic era in which the law of the jungle prevailed and anyone who felt aggrieved or believed their rights had been violated exacted immediate vengeance’.110 As the monopoly on violence was established, modern

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societies ceded the punishment of crimes to the state, which is exclusively authorized to uncover and prosecute criminal acts. As a result, revenge, as a way of violently taking matters into one’s own hands, becomes not only unnecessary but also dangerous as it clashes with the state’s entitlement to prosecute crimes through its own institutions.111 Nonetheless, in recent years sociological research has repeatedly highlighted the relevance of revenge as a motive for violence. Waldmann ascribes to the desire for revenge and retaliation a high degree of potency, ‘particularly in the explosive field of ethnic conflicts’.112 In the context of the present study, this observation can enrich the analysis of ethnic German participation in processes of violence. In occupied Poland, the partial suspension of the monopoly on violence to permit state-legitimized private action led to the establishment of revenge as a legitimate motive for the use of violence against ‘members of foreign races’. (2) In addition, the following observations link the category of revenge with the project of the Volksgemeinschaft, which was already seeking to integrate ‘racially valuable’ national comrades and exclude all those ‘alien to the people’ (Volksfremde) in the ‘Old Reich’ before 1939.113 The transfer114 of this project to occupied Poland led to the hierarchization of the population and the establishment of a racist stratificatory order: the Poles were disenfranchised and downgraded, while the status of the ethnic Germans was comprehensively enhanced. The project of the Volksgemeinschaft sought to achieve the radical separation of life contexts: there were no longer to be any realms of interaction between Poles and Germans. However, Michael Wildt has emphasized the fact that ‘the border between inclusion and exclusion is not a given, … borders do not simply exist, but are drawn’.115 In other words, the social order of the Volksgemeinschaft could not simply be introduced. It had to be created at the local level through violent exclusion in contexts of everyday life.116  The Volksgemeinschaft thus emerges as a violent project that invited participation by ethnic Germans, empowering them to forcibly limit membership of the ‘National Community’ within their immediate social environment. At the same time, their position within the new violent order opened up a range of opportunities to ethnic Germans to enrich themselves and to settle outstanding scores with much-loathed Polish neighbours, colleagues and superiors. Against this background, the concrete exercise of vengeance and retaliation can be interpreted as a means of making clear who did not belong: the Nazis invited local ethnic Germans to participate in retaliatory operations. By taking part, denouncing and selecting, but also ‘speaking well’ of people – that is, through their occasional requests for certain individuals to be spared – they contributed significantly to the dynamics of violence. The invitation

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to participate sought to achieve the acceptance of, consent to and approval of violence within the local ethnic German community, which was to be simultaneously detached from its traditional social reality and integrated into the envisaged Volksgemeinschaft through inclusion in the project of violent exclusion. In this sense, acts of vengeance and retaliation were also an attempt to inscribe the category of racial difference in isolated village communities that had traditionally been highly cohesive. Against this background, in what follows I attempt to reconstruct the specific order of violence in occupied Poland. My analysis focuses on the way in which state institutions and social participation interacted to enable, lay the ground for and execute violence. At bottom, we can distinguish two situations in which the dynamic interplay between invitation and participation is particularly palpable: denunciations, as a condition of possibility for comprehensive police control, and the Volksdeutscher Selbstschutz (Ethnic German Self-Protection Force) as the institutionalization of ethnic German participation in violence. Participatory Violence I: Denunciations Recent research on the Gestapo (Geheime Staatspolizei, the secret police of Nazi Germany and German-occupied Europe) has brought out the endemic willingness among the German population to denounce neighbours for a variety of reasons.117 The nub of these studies is that, from the Gestapo’s perspective, this denunciation did more than supplement their work and lighten their load. As Gisela Diewald-Kerkmann emphasizes, ‘in many cases [the Gestapo played] a merely reactive rather than active role. Work colleagues, neighbours, acquaintances, former friends and even family members informed the prosecuting authorities of potential or actual opponents of the Nazi regime’.118 The mass readiness to denounce was, of course, based on an invitation from the state to participate, which huge numbers of people took up. The participation of the German population proved to be a key element in Nazi rule and a condition of possibility for comprehensive control by the Gestapo.119 The exercise of violence remained tied to the Gestapo’s institutional structures, but its operations were only possible thanks to the denunciations. These findings of recent research on the Gestapo generally relate to the territory of the ‘Old Reich’, but there is much common ground with the situation in occupied Poland. There, too, the Nazis were dependent on the activation of local knowledge – not least because the massive use of violence and the self-ascription of absolute superiority led to antagonistic relations with the conquered Polish population. As matters stood, it was initially only the ethnic Germans whose knowledge of places and people the Nazis could

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tap. Since the incoming troops often lacked a basic understanding of local contexts, guidance from local representatives of the ethnic Germans became a prerequisite for taking action against potential or actual enemies. This is in no way to suggest that we are dealing here with the circulation of facts; it was often rumours and deliberate lies that predominated in this context. The decisive factor, however, was the reception of such material by the Nazis, who generally attributed a high truth content to the statements of ethnic Germans – making them the basis for acts of violence. The particularly well-documented case of Bromberg throws these realities into sharp relief.120 The events in this city after ‘Bloody Sunday’ and the German invasion on 5 September 1939 have been analysed many times in the research.121 But the relevant studies have tended to focus on the violence perpetrated by German units in the first half of September. In particular, scholars have cast much light on how the interaction between Einsatzgruppe (Task Force) IV and the local Wehrmacht commanders helped to initiate a large number of massacres of the local Polish population.122 Often, though, their studies either touched only briefly on the role of the local ethnic Germans or ignored them entirely. Yet it was their participation that gave the local massacres in Bromberg their specific dynamic and character. Analytically, we can distinguish essentially between two forms of ethnic German participation. First, many ethnic German residents of Bromberg denounced their Polish neighbours as particularly ‘anti-German elements’, thus facilitating a large number of executions. The main setting for these denunciations was the artillery barracks on the outskirts of Bromberg. On the orders of the city’s new military governor, Eckhard Freiherr von Gablenz, an assembly camp was erected for the city’s Poles, who were instructed to present themselves there on 6 September 1939 by 2 p.m.: ‘When I arrived at the artillery barracks at around 2 p.m.’, Bromberg resident Edmund S. recalled after the war, ‘a few thousand residents were already there’.123 At the same time, raids were taking place throughout the city, led by Einsatzkommando 2/IV (a subdivision of the aforementioned Einsatzgruppe IV), with those detained being transferred to the artillery barracks.124 Police were supported by local ethnic Germans who ran ‘through the entire city like wild men, [pointing out] Poles who had allegedly harassed them’.125 In this way, several hundred people were identified as alleged suspects by ethnic Germans and taken to the artillery barracks.126 Harrowing scenes must have unfolded in this overcrowded setting: ‘We were given nothing to eat or drink that day. It was a very hot day. At night we were herded into the stables. We lay on cement, ten of us squeezed together in stalls usually meant for one horse each. The next day we were brought to the yard. … From that day on we were given bread. We quenched our thirst at the horse troughs.’127 Together with local ethnic Germans, members of Einsatzkommando 2/IV

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carried out the ‘screening’ of the prisoners, dividing them along confessional lines. While the Protestants were allowed to leave the barracks, the Catholics remained in detention.128 After that, it seems, the police opened the artillery barracks to the city’s ethnic German residents, who were now given the opportunity to single out individual Poles. Jan Tomczak, one of those detained, testified after the war that ‘ethnic Germans kept [arriving, pointing] at the Poles who [had] supposedly shot at them’.129 The denounced were taken by the police of Einsatzkommando 2/IV to a stone wall within the barracks grounds, where they were shot in groups. Nothing was done to verify the allegations, which again indicates that ethnic Germans’ statements were simply assumed to be true. This opened up a broad potential for violence, putting ethnic German residents of Bromberg in a position to denounce their Polish neighbours for every conceivable reason: settling old scores, ideological convictions, hopes of career advancement or economic advantages. It is virtually impossible to disentangle these structures of motivation analytically; in many cases, we are dealing with a patchwork of different motives.130 Also significant in this context is the fact that the corralling of Polish residents in the artillery barracks provided a stable framework for denunciation. For several weeks, ethnic Germans could view the prisoners there, returning again and again and making multiple denunciations.131 However, there were also cases in which there was limited time for denunciation. In particular, the large-scale massacre in Schwedenhöhe, the working-class district of Bromberg, on 10 September 1939 entailed an accelerated practice of denunciation.132 News of the cordoning off of Schwedenhöhe evidently spread rapidly among the ethnic Germans of Bromberg, who gathered in large numbers at the barriers as onlookers cheering on the policemen of Einsatzkommando 2/IV: ‘While the arresting squads made their way through Polish homes … many ethnic Germans gathered outside the barriers … clamouring for revenge … . Among other things, they shouted: Beat them to death!’133 But some ethnic Germans appear to have had the opportunity to participate in the massacre beyond shouts of encouragement. After the war, Tadeusz Kłobucki, a survivor of this operation, clearly remembered the ‘ethnic German Rehbaum, a railwayman’,134 who accompanied the police in the cordoned-off area and ‘showed them where the Poles’ lived.135 He made his local knowledge available to the men of Einsatzkommando 2/IV, making it easier for them to find their way around and enabling them to seize Polish residents in a rapid, targeted way.136 Guided by the ethnic German railway worker, the police rounded up hundreds of residents of Schwedenhöhe, assembling them in a large square. Numerous ethnic Germans, who had been standing behind the barriers, streamed into the square. Here the practice of denunciation decelerated

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again. The ethnic Germans slowly ‘walked through the rows of people, pointing to individual Poles’.137 On the basis of these denunciations, around 270 people were then shot dead.138 But there was more to the role of ethnic Germans in Bromberg than this practice of direct denunciation. A look at ethnic German press output during this period opens up new perspectives here. ‘The media’, as Michael Wildt has put it, ‘plays an indispensable role in triggering collective violence’.139 Of particular interest in this context is the Deutsche Rundschau, Bromberg’s local ethnic German newspaper, which has never been integrated into an analysis of the events described above. On 9 September 1939, the Deutsche Rundschau was published for the first time since the outbreak of war. The editorial, titled ‘Bartholomäusnacht in Bromberg’ (a play on the St Bartholomew’s Day massacre of Huguenots in 1572), recalls the violence of ‘Bloody Sunday’ in meticulous detail: ‘Seized on the street, bludgeoned with rifle butts, dragged from their homes, penned up in confined spaces and constantly threatened by the gun-toting hordes.’140 The violent rampages of German soldiers and policemen are commended as an attempt ‘to resolve the crimes committed by the Polish hordes’ as ‘painstakingly as possible’.141 The article concludes by thanking the German troops, who supposedly put an end to the ‘terrible slaughter’: ‘Those of us Germans fortunate enough to survive those terrible hours stand grateful before God, who has brought us salvation through the arrival of the German troops.’142 The following pages of this issue, which adopted the style of pre-war atrocity propaganda and made it into the hands of German soldiers and policemen, include calls for Poles to be hunted down. Every article in the entire newspaper references Polish crimes against ethnic Germans or soldiers. Enemy stereotypes are reinforced through excruciatingly exact descriptions of alleged attacks. On page 2, for example, an article titled ‘Hideous New Crimes by Polish Bands’ (Neue scheußliche Verbrechen polnischer Banden) states: ‘While his wife managed to escape, one German was hauled from his bed and brutally murdered. First the old man’s stomach was slit open, after which he was shot eight times. … The body of a German soldier was found horribly mutilated in the undergrowth of one of the border forests. The Poles had cut a hole in his chest bigger than a hand with his own bayonet, ensuring that this German soldier suffered an agonizing death.’143 The last four pages of this issue consist of obituaries and are dedicated to those ethnic German citizens of Bromberg who have ‘lost their lives at the hands of Polish murderers’.144 The Deutsche Rundschau clearly helped to inflame the climate of violence in Bromberg in an effort to make German soldiers and policemen more willing to use violence. Before ‘Operation Schwedenhöhe’, for example, the commander of Einsatzkommando 2/IV apparently held up an issue of the paper to his men, reading out quotes from the ‘atrocity reports’.

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He was evidently convinced that this would be a particularly powerful source of motivation. In light of the ‘Polish atrocities’, every policeman ‘could prove himself a real man’.145 To sum up my observations so far: the ethnic German inhabitants of Bromberg were very willing to seize the opportunity to denounce.146 But the potential for denunciation cannot be reduced to the direct identification of supposed ‘German-haters’. Also significant were the collective accusations in ethnic German press reports, which, as purely inflammatory texts, generated a climate of violence in which carrying out massacres could appear to be a legitimate and, indeed, simply essential measure. The ethnic Germans clearly took advantage of the range of options for participation that had been opened up to them by the military and police authorities. From the latter’s perspective, the involvement of the local ethnic Germans had at least two goals: to enhance the efficacy of violence and to legitimize their actions with reference to the alleged victims themselves. From a systematic point of view, this practice of denunciation is a structure that facilitates violent action. The ethnic Germans made violence possible but did not exercise it themselves, demonstrating the limits of their participatory power. The act of violence itself was the preserve of German police and soldiers. Participatory Violence II: The ‘ Volksdeutscher Selbstschutz’ The establishment of the ‘Volksdeutscher Selbstschutz’ (‘Ethnic German SelfProtection Force’), which can be understood as the authorization to use force in institutionalized form, highlights a different kind of participation.147 Within the structures of this body, ethnic Germans were granted comprehensive licence to use violence and were thus permitted to participate not just by making their knowledge available but in an active and independent way. The organizational roots of this force lie in the ethnic German vigilante groups and militias formed spontaneously and without central control in many places immediately after the German invasion.148 As early as the second week of the war, however, these makeshift units were given a uniform structure and placed under Reichsführer-SS (RFSS) Heinrich Himmler’s SS and police apparatus.149 The public signal for the establishment of fixed structures came in an article in the Deutsche Rundschau of mid-September 1939: ‘All units set up so far as auxiliary police, militias and similar self-help organizations’, it stated, ‘are registering for incorporation into the “Self-Protection Force”’.150 The article was a kind of founding manifesto of this body, and it provides insights into at least four aspects of relevance to its history of violence. (1) The article highlights the discursive patterns through which this entity’s existence was legitimized. It may not come as a surprise that in this

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context the key reference point was yet again the ‘most bestial barbarities inflicted on ethnic Germans’151 by a ‘hate-filled and brutish Polonity’.152 At the same time, this interpretive paradigm was projected into a potentially threatening future, because ‘there are still brutalized and bestial creatures whose lust for murder has become a craft’.153 Against the background of this menacing scenario, the founding of a centrally steered ethnic German militia, operating over as wide an area as possible, seemed not only justified, but vital.154 Hence, the privatization and expansion of state violence were both legitimized through the same trope, which essentially revolved around a supposed Polish affinity for violence and ethnic German suffering. (2) In addition, the category of ‘self-protection’ opens up interpretive perspectives. Conceptually, it comprises two fundamental dimensions. First, it entails a concept of empowerment that legitimizes the use of force for one’s own protection. Second, however, this category implies an invitation to participate actively in the production of security. These two dimensions, empowerment and activation, were interwoven in many ways. The article in the Deutsche Rundschau, for example, included the injunction that ‘every German man fit to bear arms … should report to the recruiting office listed below’.155 ‘You are the master race here now’, ethnic Germans were informed in a speech delivered in Thorn. ‘Nothing has ever been built with softness and weakness. That’s why I expect you to stand together with discipline but to be as hard as nails. Don’t be soft, be merciless and get rid of everything that is not German and might prevent us from building.’156 In total, more than 100,000 ethnic Germans joined the Selbstschutz over time, no doubt motivated by a broad range of interpenetrating factors. In addition to hopes of social advancement, the key factors prompting participation in this organization were probably the specific social pressure of close local relationships, the prospect of ‘racial ennoblement’, material privileges, age-specific longings to escape from everyday realities and an affinity for Nazi ideology.157 (3) The article also indicates the general thrust of this body’s activities. The ‘Selbstschutz (Heimatwehr [Home Guard]) [has been] established’, the text states, ‘in order to put an end to [the present] state of affairs’.158 The research has consistently highlighted this outfit’s dual role: the integration of all men ‘fit for the SS’ into the latter’s structures and the ‘cleansing’ of the occupied territory of supposed ‘German-haters’.159 There is no doubt, however, that the use of force against potential or actual enemies of Nazi rule was given priority. Ludolf von Alvensleben – Himmler’s adjutant and chief of the Selbstschutz in West Prussia, and a key figure in this context – declared repeatedly that he did ‘not enjoy his breakfast if he [had] failed to “do away with” twenty Poles first’.160

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  Von Alvensleben always identified the ‘pacification of the territory’ as the overriding priority, which his commanders unerringly interpreted as an injunction to carry out mass shootings.161 The basic question for all his subordinates was always: ‘How many Polacks … have been done away with so far?’162 If, in von Alvensleben’s view, certain units had shot dead too few Poles within a certain period, he sought to increase the number of killings by issuing reprimands. After one of his commanders had carried out no shootings within a certain period of time, von Alvensleben asked him about his profession in harsh tones: ‘When I had answered that I was a farmer’, the commander recalled, ‘von Alvensleben said that in that case I could surely slaughter pigs’.163 According to recent estimates, the units of the Volksdeutscher Selbstschutz murdered up to 30,000 people in the first few months of the occupation.164 (4) Finally, the militia’s self-declared status as a ‘Self-Protection Force’ draped its actions in an ‘aura of martial innocence’,165 to quote Gerd Koenen. The violence of its members could be interpreted as a mere reaction to Polish acts of violence – carried out by decent men solely to protect women and children, home and homeland.166 This ‘aura of martial innocence’ could be deployed strategically in two different fields. It furnished members of the organization with certain elements of a narrative through which they could interpret and categorize themselves and their actions. At the same time, this aura could be used in inter-institutional communication with other occupation authorities in order to shape external perceptions of the militia through the advance propagation of a particular interpretation. In light of these considerations, in what follows I analyse the specific practice of violence carried out by the Volksdeutscher Selbstschutz. It is not possible to do this comprehensively. Instead, I aim to shine a spotlight on what was typical: that which points to general tendencies beyond the immediate context of events. The key question here is what actually happens when the floodgates of violence are opened, when some are empowered to use violence while others are made objects of it. Here, we can isolate certain characteristics of the violence exercised by the Selbstschutz in 1939–40: self-empowerment, cruelty, fanaticism and revenge. Admission to this body, as I have pointed out, was associated above all with a licence to use violence against Poles. Several pieces of evidence indicate that many of its members interpreted this licence in a particularly sweeping way. They felt empowered to use violence against their Polish neighbours at any time, even beyond institutional structures. Everything seemed to be permissible; every form of violence appeared acceptable. These processes of self-empowerment engendered an atmosphere of permanent violence in the

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villages and towns of occupied Poland. Polish residents, it appears, could never be sure they would not fall victim to the violence of local ethnic Germans. One key catalyst for violence in this context seems to have been the excessive consumption of alcohol, which eliminated any residual inhibitions. An example brings this out. After a bout of heavy drinking, A., a member of the Volksdeutscher Selbstschutz, entered ‘a Polish house’ with his comrades. He purported to have been tasked with ‘carrying out checks on home-distilled schnapps’. A. struck out in all directions, maltreated the two male residents of the house and tried to rape their wives in front of them.167 For some men, joining the Selbstschutz was evidently a chance to act out their criminal proclivities with impunity. The ethnic German S., for example, having ‘drunk a large quantity of alcohol’, carried out regular bicycle inspections on village streets, which he was in no way authorized to do. A paedophile, this gave him the opportunity to abuse children and adolescents. In the wake of one bicycle inspection, he raped a 14-year-old girl in the nearby woods.168 The departure point and setting for these instances of violent self-empowerment were often village pubs, in which ethnic Germans initially continued to encounter their Polish neighbours on a regular basis. Time and again, in a state of drunkenness they attacked Polish patrons. The ethnic German K., for example, struck a Pole on the head with his full beer glass with such force that ‘the beer glass shattered, with one piece penetrating the Pole’s neck right next to the artery’.169 Ethnic Germans used their position in the Selbstschutz to rob prostitutes at gunpoint after sexual intercourse and raided the luggage of Polish evacuees.170 They frequently directed their violence against their own ranks, threatening their comrades and beating their superiors while inebriated.171 Evidently, it was by no means easy to channel the potential for violence that had been unleashed into the desired channels. The removal of traditional constraints produced an excess of violence that could flow in two directions: outwards, against the supposed Polish ‘subhumans’, but often inwards as well, against other members of the occupying society.172 The arbitrary invasion of homes, the rape of Polish women, the sexual abuse of Polish girls, the maltreatment of and brutal violence against Polish men – all these forms of violence were widespread among members of the SelfProtection Force. In significant part, their roots lay in the ennobling ‘You can!’ – that licence for violence issued upon entry into the organization. This opened the floodgates for ethnic Germans to indulge in multiple forms of violence. Fantasies of omnipotence, it seems, could now be lived out in an unfettered way. In addition, a plethora of individual cases point to the regular execution of particularly brutal acts of violence. Brutality is understood here as a specific form of excessive violence that ‘takes place beyond any comprehensible costbenefit calculation’.173 Of a multitude of possible examples, the events in the

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‘House of Suffering’, the offices of the Selbstschutz in Rippin, undoubtedly stand out.174 Here, members of its local unit tortured their Polish victims in every imaginable way. They were attacked with whips studded with razorsharp pieces of iron; nails were rammed into their backs; vicious dogs were set on the bound captives; plaster was poured into the mouths of screaming victims; eyes were gouged out; Poles had to lick up their own blood from the floor and the heads of young children were smashed against the wall in front of their parents; Polish women had their clothes ripped off and – in a certain order – every member of the unit was permitted to rape them.175 The practice of brutality by members of the force was evidently highly creative. The ethnic German perpetrators were imaginative, constantly discovering new ways of humiliating, tormenting and maltreating their Polish victims. Their torture chambers emerge as a ‘laboratory of destructive imagination’.176 The atrocities committed by the Selbstschutz make it clear that the goal was not to kill their Polish victims as quickly as possible. Death was to occur only after the prolonged infliction of suffering and torment. Before the victims were finally killed, they were to be ‘defiled, humiliated and mutilated’177 in every conceivable way. As Michaela Christ has emphasized in a different context, this reveals a ‘curiosity about and … lust for violence’178 that feeds on victims’ pain. Atrocities were not focused solely on the victims’ bodies but also entailed attempts to attack their psyches: the perpetrators gloried in their fear, panic and despair. Part of what they were doing, then, was toying with their victims’ emotions in the cruellest of ways – for example, when young children were battered in front of their helpless parents.179 The brutal acts carried out in Rippin’s Selbstschutz headquarters were executed by a collective rather than individuals.180 Momentum will no doubt have been injected into the gang rape of young Polish women, for example, by a degree of mutual goading, as the men egged each other on and provided each other with mutual confirmation that their actions were beyond reproach. Finally, we must take account of the specific circumstances that pertained in 1939–40. This was a period in which the Nazis sought to enforce their claims to power over a Polish population that was by no means willing to complaisantly accept these claims. In this context, atrocities were the clearest sign of power that the men of the Selbstschutz could deliver.181 Brutal acts of violence are essentially a demonstration by the perpetrators, who signal to their victims that they can do whatever they please to them.182 This was an unmistakable signal of ethnic Germans’ resolve, a symbolic staging of their strength and superiority, which obviously brought them pleasure as well. It allowed them to ‘play God’.183 Further, a large number of massacres perpetrated by the Selbstschutz highlight the importance of the initiative of particularly fanatical individuals, whose radicalism put them out in front and often swept along their comrades.

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Again, an example brings this out. In the early evening of 21 October 1939, the barn of an ethnic German farmer burned to the ground.184 Witness statements soon cleared up the cause of the fire beyond any reasonable doubt. The farmer, who was not unpopular among the local Poles, had clearly been boozing since the early hours of the morning and had entered the barn in a drunken stupor with a lit cigar in his hand. He must have been so clumsy as to set the straw alight with his cigar, something he apparently failed to notice at first. After leaving the barn and returning shortly afterwards with his coachman, he saw that it was on fire, suffered a heart attack and died on the spot.185 A gendarme initiated investigations; questioned witnesses; and, in light of further research, came to the conclusion that the farmer had in all likelihood started the fire himself.186 But rumours soon spread among the region’s ethnic Germans. Poles, it was asserted, had started the conflagration; they had raided the farm before killing the farmer along with his entire family.187 These rumours took on a life of their own, putting pressure on the occupying authorities to act. At the district administrator’s behest, then, a Wehrmacht court martial was convened to investigate the allegation of arson by Polish saboteurs. Ten Poles, rounded up indiscriminately by the local Selbstschutz, were made to stand trial. After a brief hearing, the chairman ended the trial – acquitting all the defendants, who obviously had nothing to do with the fire in the barn.188 The local Selbstschutz leaders were unhappy with this ruling. Heinrich Mocek and Wilhelm Richardt, both of whom had been following the trial, called the verdict a ‘disgrace’189 and announced that they would now ‘take matters into [their] own hands’.190 Richardt and Mocek were two particularly radical Selbstschutz leaders who had publicly professed their hatred of Poland and their willingness to use violence on numerous occasions: Richardt, for instance, had repeatedly emphasized that ‘it is an honour for every Pole to fertilize the German soil with his corpse’.191 After the court martial had been concluded and the Wehrmacht soldiers had withdrawn, Richardt and Mocek ordered the men of the local Selbstschutz to arrest fifty Poles and bring them to its headquarters. At regular intervals, the pair announced, Poles would be shot dead until the arsonists were identified or the district of Tuchel was ‘Pole-free’. Between 24 October and 10 November 1939, members of the Selbstschutz did in fact shoot dead 227 Poles in at least five mass shootings.192 This case exemplifies the often great importance of individuals’ fanaticism and determination in certain circumstances. Without the radical initiative of Mocek and Richardt, the two local Selbstschutz commanders, the shooting of 227 people would not have taken place. Here, fantasies of omnipotence were obviously coupled with ruthless brutality. The mass shootings also illustrate the great room for manoeuvre often enjoyed by fanatical individuals in occupied Poland.

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Without authorization, the two Selbstschutz commanders disregarded the verdict of the court martial and declared their intent to pursue vigilante justice. Once again, we can see how the licence for violence granted to the Selbstschutz empowered its members to act arbitrarily: permission to do anything one pleased to the Poles resulted in precisely this outcome. This violence penetrated deep into the social fabric of wartime Polish society. Both forms of ethnic German involvement in violence – namely, denunciations and the murderous practices of the Volksdeutscher Selbstschutz – opened up deep rifts between Germans and Poles. A retaliatory operation carried out in the district of Lublin in 1940 throws these effects of violence into particularly sharp relief. This was a region that had never formed part of the German Empire’s territory. While the ‘true German-Polish front’193 of the interwar period lay in western Poland, the settlements of the German minority in central Poland were generally regarded as ‘islands of calm’.194 The long-term, peaceful coexistence of Germans and Poles in the centre of the country differed significantly from the situation in western Poland, long the scene of a Volkstumskampf (‘battle for nationhood’) fought bitterly on both sides. In the district of Lublin, then, there was little sign of the desire for revenge that was to manifest itself so often in many of the ethnic German communities of western Poland after 1939.195 This case thus provides a vivid example of the way in which the use of violence tore apart communities that had been interwoven in a multitude of ways, demonstrating how a new order – between the poles of inclusion and exclusion – took shape. In 1940, a murderous attack took place in a rural area of Lublin district, costing the lives of a family of five ethnic Germans. On 13 April 1940, a Saturday, a farmer named Adolf Kassner and his wife Auguste were murdered along with their three children on their farm near the village of Józefów.196 A band of robbers raided the Kassners’ farm, looting the property systematically: all that was left in an otherwise empty building were the broken and splintered remains of pieces of furniture.197 The gang finally turned their carbines on the family in order to prevent their later identification.198 But a Polish boy who occasionally worked for the Kassners as a farmhand managed to survive despite serious injuries. He made it clear to the ethnic German head of the local council and the commander of the Polish police, who was immediately called in, that he had recognized the Kassners’ murderers and could identify them beyond a shadow of a doubt.199 A few weeks later, the Polish police were able to arrest three suspects who had sometimes worked as day labourers on the Kassner farm and had been plaguing the rural part of Lublin district with theft and burglary for some time.200 This robbery with murder triggered a chain of actions and events that was described retrospectively in an article in the Unsere Heimat (‘Our Home’) magazine as a ‘harsh punishment’ that had been necessary in order ‘to bring

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the Polish population to its senses’.201 Under the leadership of Ludolf von Alvensleben, the Lublin Selbstschutz carried out a retaliatory operation that cost the lives of at least 161 Polish civilians in the region. The violence in this local context was not simply imposed from outside but was partly a result of negotiations with the local ethnic German community. To carry out this operation, von Alvensleben initially mustered around 120 ethnic Germans from the Józefów area – including Johann and Eduard Kassner, sons of the murdered farmer. This, then, was a body of men who were familiar with the village structures of the region and had known the local Poles for years. In the spring of 1940, these men returned to the villages of their childhood as murderers: it was they who killed their former Polish neighbours. The arrival of the Lublin Selbstschutz was evidently used by the ethnic German inhabitants of the village as an opportunity to give vent to speculation about the motives for this crime. On a number of occasions, they told of rumours, apparently in circulation, that all ethnic Germans were now to be killed.202 In this context, Martha Kassner, daughter of Adolf Kassner, was asked about the events on her parents’ farm. Von Alvensleben asked this woman – who the local villagers stated had ‘always been mad’, ‘talked a lot’ and had ‘fits’203 – whether ‘the farmer Kassner had had many enemies, whether the deed had been done for the money or “in revenge”’.204 Confronted with these possible motives, Martha Kassner is said to have cried, ‘In revenge!’ After the majority of those present had signalled their clear agreement with her interpretation of events, von Alvensleben exclaimed to those in attendance, ‘Then we want our revenge too!’205 One ethnic German resident recalled von Alvensleben ordering his men, tellingly, to murder ‘five hundred for the five!’206 Finally, the ethnic German residents were also integrated into a selection process – being called on to inspect the rows of arrested Poles in advance of the killings. They were able to vouch for individual Poles and request their release but also to identify alleged ‘German-haters’, who were then immediately shot. It is impossible to determine how many ethnic Germans took part in these selections or how many people were released. The direct involvement of the victims’ ethnic German neighbours in the exercise of violence was intended to promote the acceptance of violence within the local ethnic German community. This retaliatory operation thus changed the social fabric of Józefów. The villagers unanimously remembered the mass shooting as a turning point: ‘The relationship between Germans and Poles in Józefów was excellent until the outbreak of war’, recalled one resident, who claimed that ‘[t]here were no differences’.207 Relations between the two ethnic groups were said to have traditionally been close: ‘You knew each other from an early age. You helped each other.’208 The first clouds appeared on the horizon due to the

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recruitment of Polish forced labourers, which evidently affected some Polish families in Józefów.209 But the ‘enmity between them and us’, as one resident summed things up, ‘only came about after a lot of Poles in Józefów had been shot for the murder of the Kassner family’.210 It was the practice of violence itself that inserted a sharp-edged boundary within the village community of Józefów. An insurmountable dividing line had been established between those who were allowed to use violence and could benefit from it and those who had to suffer it. In a nutshell, this experience of violence on a massive scale opened up unbridgeable chasms between Poles and Germans, which was just what the Volksgemeinschaft sought to achieve.

Terrains of Violence: New Order, Exploitation and Security, 1939–45 This practice of violence was integrated into the overarching context of German policy in occupied Poland. It was an elementary component of a terrain of violence delimited by a specific spatial order and by general political objectives, which were in turn underpinned by varying temporal and action-based perspectives. Ordering Space: The New Reichsgaue (Reich Districts) and the General Government After the First World War, the German Reich and the Soviet Union agreed to the ‘fourth partition’ of Poland,211 the two imperialist allies drawing a new German–Soviet border along the Bug and San rivers. While the Soviet Union annexed over 200,000 square kilometres of eastern Polish territories home to 13 million inhabitants,212 the western and central Polish regions came under German rule. The German Reich thus secured control of an area of 187,000 square kilometres with 22 million inhabitants,213 and – as Timothy Snyder has pointed out – became ‘Europe’s second-largest multinational state’.214 In parallel to these negotiations with the Soviet Union, Nazi leaders developed more specific ideas about the spatial organization of their war booty. Initial map exercises that had envisaged the establishment of a ‘rump Polish state’ were discarded in favour of the total break-up of Poland, which ruled out any form of Polish state in future.215 Finally, in the course of October 1939, the basic political decision was made to adopt a spatially differentiated approach. This meant further division of Polish territory and led to the creation of two new administrative units reflecting a fundamental distinction between annexed and non-annexed territories.216 Over time, these units came to exercise a formative influence on the formulation of Nazi objectives and set the

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parameters of the political practice to which the analysis of massacres must in turn be linked. First, on 8 October 1939, the economically important western regions of Poland, consisting of more than 90,000 square kilometres and with a population of 10 million, were annexed and integrated into the German polity. The Nazi leadership decided to extend German territory up to 200 km beyond the old border of 1914, and thus to include areas that had never formed part of the German Reich. Two new Reichsgaue (Reich Districts) were established, each with a large Polish majority. The spatial form of the Reichsgau of Danzig-West Prussia was based essentially on the former Prussian province of West Prussia and was only expanded in certain cases through the addition of small parts of the region known as Greater Poland. A total of 2.3 million people lived in this area of 26,000 square kilometres. Other than in Danzig, more than 90 per cent of them were ethnic Poles.217 The Reichsgau of Wartheland (also known to the Germans as the Warthegau) was a larger entity that clearly exceeded the former borders of the Prussian province of Posen and – on the economically motivated initiative of Hermann Göring218 – included large areas of central Poland – namely, parts of the regions of Kutno; Kalisz; and, above all, Łódź.219 At 44,000 square kilometres and with around 4.6 million inhabitants, of which around 85 per cent were ethnic Poles, the Reichsgau of Wartheland was one of the largest in the German Empire.220 The presence of a Polish majority in the two new Reichsgaue led to some significant modifications in the concrete form of Nazi rule in comparison with the ‘Old Reich’ and other ‘incorporated territories’ such as Austria and the Sudetenland.221 The two districts remained separate from Reich territory due to a police border intended to prevent the migration of a Polish population classified as dangerous and inferior.222 Nor were legal structures fully harmonized, with special forms of penal and civil law being introduced for the Polish residents of the Reichsgaue.223 In addition, on 26 October the Nazis created the ‘General Government for the Occupied Polish Territories’ out of the former central Polish voivodeships of Warsaw City, Warsaw Country, Kielce, Lublin, Krakow and parts of the regions of Łódź and Lwów.224 Around 12 million people lived in this area of 95,000 square kilometres, including 9.6 million Poles, 1.5 million Jews, 750,000 Ukrainians and 90,000 ethnic Germans.225 The German invasion of the Soviet Union prompted changes in this structure, with the Nazi war of conquest expanding the General Government through incorporation of the whole of the former Lwów voivodeship. In the summer of 1941, the General Government thus grew to comprise an area of 145,000 square kilometres, with a population of more than 17 million people.226 This area was divided into five administrative units that existed until the end of the German occupation: Warsaw, Krakow, Lublin, Radom and Lemberg – the economically weaker regions of the Second Polish Republic. Especially when

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the central Polish industrial centre of Łódź had been incorporated into the new Reichsgau of Wartheland, the General Government, with the exception of the Warsaw region, comprised essentially agrarian areas characterized by subsistence farming. In contrast to the western Polish territories, the General Government was not integrated into the ‘Old Reich’ – in other words, it did not form part of the German polity. But nor was it categorized as an occupied area, because – in the words of Ernst von Weizsäcker, state secretary in the Foreign Ministry – otherwise international legal norms and regulations would apply ‘to which we undoubtedly have no wish to submit’.227 Instead, the General Government became a ‘no man’s land under international law’,228 to which nebulous and fluctuating categories were applied over the course of time. At different moments, the General Government was thus regarded as a ‘country adjacent to the Reich’, the ‘Reich’s forecourt’ and a German ‘outpost in the east’. This ‘constitutional limbo’229 continued until the end of the Second World War, effectively placing the General Government ‘outside all constitutional or international law’.230 This spatial order formed the external framework for the practice of occupation policy, the dynamics of which differed in the incorporated territories and in the General Government. Crucially, the overarching goals of German rule were underpinned by differing temporal perspectives, engendering a system of situation-dependent, constantly updated priorities. Analytically, we can distinguish here between long-, medium- and short-term goals. ‘A New Ethnonational Order’ Over the long term, the Nazi planning elites envisaged a ‘new ethnonational order’ (völkische Neuordnung) for the entire European continent and, in particular, for the conquered Polish territories, the focus of this concept being on the development and transformation of future German ‘living space’. Above all, this implied the deportation, expulsion and killing of the local population, with the settlement of German incomers facilitating the establishment of a paradisiacal, racially homogeneous order. On 6 October 1939, just a few days after Warsaw’s capitulation, Hitler explicated the concept of the ‘new ethnonational order’ in a notorious speech before the Reichstag in Berlin, which laid bare the racist dimension of the Nazis’ objectives.231 After the ‘collapse of the Polish state’, Hitler explained, Nazi Germany’s ‘most important task’ was to create ‘a new order of ethnographic conditions, that is, the resettlement of nationalities in such a way that, once this development has run its course, better dividing lines will emerge than is the case today’.232 The entire European East was ‘filled with untenable splinters of the German nation’, and ‘in the age of the nationality principle and the idea of race [it

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is] utopian to believe that these members of a high-quality people can be readily assimilated’. For the Nazis’ ethnonational state, it was thus imperative to bring these German settlers ‘home to the Reich’ and at the same time to ‘order the entire living space on the basis of nationality’. Three key developments subsequently exercised a formative influence on German occupation policy in Poland. (1) First of all, the SS and police apparatus made sure that the configuration and implementation of this new policy field lay in its hands.233 Through his appointment as Reich Commissioner for the Strengthening of German Nationhood (Reichskommissar für die Festigung deutschen Volkstums, or RKF) on 7 October 1939, Heinrich Himmler was henceforth responsible for all the regime’s settlement and resettlement projects. In addition to his appointment as head of the German police in 1936, it is evident in retrospect that this was the second crucial extension of Himmler’s powers. Now, he and his SS and police apparatus were no longer responsible solely for the ‘eradication of the enemies of the people’ in the Old Reich but could also intervene creatively in significantly larger fields of action through the lever of population policy (Volkstumspolitik). This tremendous increase in Himmler’s executive power beyond the Reich’s borders created opportunities for the implementation of a specific SS occupation policy throughout the successively expanded German territory.234 Hitler outlined the Reich Commissioner’s specific remit in his unpublished RKF decree of 7 October 1939. From now on, Himmler was responsible for the ‘repatriation of the Reich and ethnic Germans eligible for ultimate return home to the Reich’,235 but also for the ‘elimination of the harmful influence of those sections of the population alien to the people that pose a threat to the Reich and the Volksgemeinschaft’.236   Nazi population policy thus always intermeshed two measures, which were viewed as complementary: the settlement of ‘racially valuable’ ethnic and Reich Germans and the expulsion, deportation or killing of ‘racially inferior’ locals.237 To pursue these objectives, Himmler constructed a central administrative apparatus that brought together several agencies subordinate to a number of SS main offices, which were mostly led at the local level by the relevant Higher SS and Police Leader (HSSPF) in the individual regions of occupied Europe.238 After it was established in the autumn of 1939, this RKF apparatus, a latticework of institutional components, took up the challenge of turning the ‘new order of ethnographic conditions’ into a reality in two ways: through immediate, radical measures and by drawing up plans for the future, both of which – in different ways and with varying intensity – related to the conquered areas of the former Second Polish Republic.

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(2) In addition, the RKF initially made a sharp spatial distinction between the new Reichsgaue of Danzig-West Prussia and Wartheland on the one hand and the General Government on the other. It was primarily the incorporated areas of western Poland onto which the category of ‘living space’ was projected in autumn 1939. This was the starting point and the true focus of Nazi New Order policy (Neuordnungspolitik), with its dual objective of expulsion and settlement. The key term here was ethnic ‘cleansing’ (Flurbereinigung), which implied the ruthless Germanization of the new Reichsgaue.   The Nazis assigned a fundamentally different role to the central Polish territories, which were not incorporated into the Reich. The General Government, as Hans Frank later put it, was to be ‘the dung heap where we dump the Polacks’.239 It was, therefore, not be Germanized but was nonetheless functionally integrated into the ‘cleansing’ process. ‘The governance of this area’, Hitler explained on 17 October 1939, ‘must enable us to cleanse Reich territory too of Jews and Poles’.240 Conceptually, then, the General Government was initially viewed as a receiving area that was supposed to guarantee the expulsion and deportation of the indigenous population from the new Reichsgaue.   On the basis of this spatial distinction, Himmler immediately issued a comprehensive deportation order that provided for the removal of around one million people from the new Reichsgaue to the General Government by February 1940.241 In particular, all ‘Congress Poles’,242 ‘a yet to be proposed number of particularly hostile [elements of the] Polish population’ and all Jews were to be deported in order to create room for the settlement of ethnic Germans from the Baltic region and Volhynia. The implementation of this deportation order was essentially a story of failure, of large-scale plans that came up against virtually insurmountable limits in practice.243 The division of this overarching order requiring the deportation of a million people into smaller, supposedly more manageable steps and the drawing-up of a variety of shortrange and intermediate plans did nothing to change the fundamentals of this situation.244 Nonetheless, in the 1939–41 period, the SS and police apparatus – according to the official RKF data – managed to deport, with great brutality and ruthlessness,245 around 365,000 people from the new Reichsgaue to the General Government.246 Given the target of one million people, however, the result was sobering – especially since the ethnic German settlers could be integrated only slowly and often had to live in transit camps for years. (3) Finally, particularly from the summer of 1941 onwards, two closely intertwined developments converged that altered the fundamental configuration of Nazi New Order policy and ‘Living Space’ policy

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(Lebensraumpolitik). First, within the RKF apparatus, the overall failure of the urgent measures implemented to expedite settlement policy did not prompt the replacement of utopian goals with more realistic ones. Instead, the authorities attempted to overcome these problems of their own making by adopting a maximalist approach. Under the leadership of Berlin agronomist Konrad Meyer – and with the generous support of the German Research Foundation (Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft) – a Nazi research programme brought together outstanding spatial planners, geographers, financial experts and lawyers, who drew up comprehensive plans that extended the concept of ethnonational ‘cleansing’ to the entire area of Eastern Europe under German occupation.247 The culmination of these plans was the General Plan East, which aimed to produce ‘uninhabited areas’ in Eastern Europe in which ethnic and Reich Germans were then to be settled in order to enforce German claims to authority and achieve permanent Germanization.248 The core component of the General Plan East was the expulsion of more than 30 million people, whose impoverishment and starvation had been consciously factored in. In the course of this unfettered settlement planning, the General Government gradually came to the attention of Nazi planning elites as potential German living space. Here again, we can see the potency of the idea of a dynamic eastern border – a notion intended not to limit German claims to power but to free them from all limits.249   Second, these ideas became entwined with increasingly ambitious efforts by the German occupiers in the General Government to change the role and status of the central Polish territories. The goal was to make the General Government an integral part of the German ‘living space’ and ‘a purely German country within fifteen to twenty years’.250 Governor General Hans Frank articulated this new objective to impressive effect in a speech on 16 December 1941: ‘[T]he following idea must take precedence over everything else. As soon as the process of the re-Germanization of the Reich’s eastern regions has been completed, this territory of the General Government will be the next part of Europe subject to absolute German penetration.’251 It was, as Frank put it on another occasion, ‘crystal clear that the Weichselland [Vistula Land] will become every bit as German as the Rhineland’.252 As a consequence of these settlement plans formulated by the institutions of the central government in Berlin and the General Government’s regional efforts to achieve Germanization, the status of the General Government changed – at least, at the rhetorical level. Once Germany had won the war, the central Polish areas too were to be subjected to the ‘cleansing’ already carried out in the new Reichsgaue.253

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  However, these plans were implemented only to a limited degree: in the Zamość area of Lublin district, with a few interruptions, around 116,000 people, including more than 30,000 children, were displaced between November 1942 and August 1943 under the direction of SS and Police Leader (SSPF) Odilo Globocnik.254 These expulsions and deportations, carried out with the aid of mass violence,255 were intended to ‘establish a connection with German-populated Siebenbürgen [Transylvania] through [the] district of Lublin’, while ‘encircling the remaining Polish population’ and ‘gradually crushing [it] economically and biologically’.256 More than 10,000 ethnic Germans from Bessarabia and Bukovina were settled in the emptied villages – including the family of future German president Horst Köhler, who was born in the small village of Skierbieszów in 1943.257 The fact that the Nazis’ large-scale settlement fantasies largely remained just that was solely due to the course of the war and the growing resistance of the affected Polish population.258   Nevertheless, the project of creating a new ethnonational order for the European continent and Germanizing the occupied Polish territories formed an important framework for action. Over time, this provided crucial stimulus for the violence perpetrated by a range of actors with differing institutional affiliations. At the same time, the long-term goals of Nazi rule provided a powerful interpretive model that enabled actors to understand the exercise of mass violence against Polish civilians as legitimate and necessary. After all, from a Nazi perspective the Germanization of large areas of Eastern Europe was not a predatory land grab but the reacquisition of historically German territory that, due to the vicissitudes of history, had wrongfully come under Slavic rule. Against this background, the reordering of the region and concomitant multiple forms of violence could be legitimized as a historical necessity – especially since this was also viewed as the geopolitical prerequisite for winning the ‘global political struggle’ with the Western powers. Exploitation and Forced Labour In the medium term, the Nazis aimed to expand the Reich’s armaments industry in order to help it win the unexpectedly prolonged war with the Western powers and the Soviet Union. Essentially, the integration of the occupied Polish territories into a large-scale Nazi economy meant the plundering of Polish industry and agriculture as well as the recruitment of forced labourers. But in terms of objectives and the concrete practice of economic policy, significant differences emerged here between the areas incorporated into the Reich and the General Government. The incorporated territories – as we have seen – were the most economically developed regions of the

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Second Polish Republic. Around four-fifths of Polish industry was located here, concentrated particularly in Upper Silesia, the centre of Polish coal and steel production, but also in the Łódź region, hub of the Polish textile industry.259 Further, the incorporated areas featured a productive farming sector with comparatively modern structures and were thus regarded as areas of agricultural surplus. Nazi economic planners were keen to preserve the area’s economic potential in order to ensure that its production capacity and raw materials benefited the German war effort.260 On these premises, the main objective of Nazi economic policy was the swift economic integration of agricultural and industrial production into the German war economy.261 Essentially, the incorporated areas were supposed to resume the role that they had played before 1914, when they had been regarded as the ‘empire’s breadbasket’ and as a source of coal and steel.262 However, Nazi policy not only implied the integration and exploitation of the economic structures of western Poland but also combined these goals with a comprehensive concept of rationalization and modernization.263 Reversing the damage supposedly done by years of interwar Polish rule, Nazi propaganda promised the ‘reconstruction’ of the former Prussian eastern provinces. There were two aspects to this project. First, German economic planning was developed on the premise that Poland’s economic elites were to be excluded as comprehensively as possible. In line with the Germanization plans, they were to be stripped of their property – which would be placed in German hands. The Main Trustee Office for the East (Haupttreuhandstelle Ost, or HTO) played a key role here as an economic steering body tasked with supervising the confiscation, administration and liquidation of private and state Polish assets.264 Over time, the HTO expropriated more than 200,000 properties, around 40,000 large and small businesses and 8 million hectares of agricultural land, transferring them to large and small German businesses as well as Reich and ethnic German settlers.265 In addition, and closely bound up with this approach, the Nazis aimed to modernize – that is, restructure and intensify – industrial and agricultural production while at the same time transforming the countryside through the establishment of economically optimized ‘new rural landscapes’.266 And German economic planners did in fact manage to increase the total amount of coal mined and the production of steel and agricultural products.267 But this was not a matter of Nazi modernization enhancing efficiency. The production of industrial and agricultural goods increased primarily because the supply of food to the local population was reduced to a minimum and through the ruthless use of slave labourers.268 The new Nazi spatial order – that is, the new borders and the hiving off of the economically profitable central Polish regions – worsened economic

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conditions in the General Government from the very beginning of the German occupation. What remained, in the words of Sonja Schwaneberg, was a ‘rump economy’269 – its key hallmarks an ‘inadequate industrial base, unproductive subsistence agriculture and a large, essentially agrarian excess of population, [characteristics that] were already a burden on Poland’s economic progress in the interwar period’.270 Against the background of this economically precarious starting point, there were two main aspects to Nazi economic policy in the General Government. First, the regime pursued a strategy of radical exploitation that sought to comprehensively plunder economic resources and generally de-industrialize this underdeveloped region.271 The roots of this strategy lay in Hitler’s orders of 17 October 1939, according to which ‘[t]he “Polish economy” … must flourish’.272 This implied ‘total disorganization’,273 which categorically ruled out any economic modernization of the General Government and was intended to freeze living standards at the lowest possible level – reducing the Poles to helotry.274 Second, however, in the spring of 1940 the Nazi regime developed a strategy for the long-term exploitation of the General Government’s economic potential, which chiefly meant that it was to contribute to the Reich’s arms production. In sharp contrast to the strategy of exploitation and plunder, the goal here was to stimulate the arms industry in the General Government: German armaments firms were to relocate their production facilities there and produce locally for the Reich’s war economy.275 Nazi economic policy in the General Government developed in the field of tension between these contrasting strategies. As Sonja Schwaneberg has pointed out, one of the fundamental structural problems here was the fact that the strategies of exploitation and economic maximization were pursued in parallel. Essentially, then, over the course of time two economic policies were implemented that were mutually exclusive. The unacknowledged rivalry between these twin approaches produced multiple contradictions and conflicting goals that could not be resolved.276 For example, the armaments industry in the General Government was never able to meet the expectations placed on it – regardless of increases in production from 1941 onwards.277 There are many reasons for this outcome. First, there was a severe shortage of raw materials and associated problems of energy supply, which repeatedly brought industrial production to a standstill.278 In addition, German Jewish policy had catastrophic effects. On the pretext of ending Jews’ supposedly pernicious influence on the economy, this aimed to eliminate Polish Jews from economic life entirely.279 Polish Jews had played a key role in the economic cycle of the Second Polish Republic – particularly in the skilled crafts and trades, but also in commerce.280 Against this background, their economic exclusion seriously disrupted the overall economic structure, with attempts to replace them with unskilled Polish workers failing to plug the gap.281

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Ultimately even more important, however, were the countervailing effects of the simultaneous measures so central to Nazi economic policy in the General Government: the large-scale recruitment of forced labourers and the mass looting of agricultural resources. Both were intended to overcome the main problems afflicting the Reich war economy – namely, the shortage of labour and the shaky food supply in the Reich. It is impossible to determine the exact number of Polish forced labourers deported from the General Government to the ‘Old Reich’, but plausible estimates suggest a figure of around 1.5 million.282 Following the catastrophic failure of voluntary recruitment in the first few months of the German occupation, the relevant authorities – particularly the German employment offices in the General Government – increasingly resorted to physical violence and coercion.283 The appointment of Fritz Sauckel as General Plenipotentiary for the Employment of Labour (Generalbevollmächtigter für den Arbeitseinsatz) in 1942 resulted in yet harsher methods: veritable manhunts were carried out in cordoned-off residential areas, as people were simply dragged from cinemas, churches, theatres, factories and small businesses and deported to the Old Reich.284 The increasingly indiscriminate recruitment measures had grave consequences – above all, because they stripped local armaments factories of large numbers of workers, thus undermining plans to bolster arms production in the General Government.285 Concurrent Nazi agricultural policies had two main objectives and exercised similar effects.286 First of all, agricultural production was to be intensified through targeted modernization in an attempt to transform the General Government from an area reliant on agricultural imports to one producing a surplus.287 This project was closely linked with the goal of stabilizing the food supply in the Old Reich through the mass export of agricultural products.288 While the intensification of agricultural production failed, through mass coercion the German agricultural authorities managed to gradually increase food exports to the Old Reich. In total, the General Government supplied the Reich with more than 1.3 million tonnes of grain, 1 million tonnes of potatoes, 140,000 tonnes of cattle, 500 million eggs, 10,000 tonnes of fats and several hundred thousand chickens and horses.289 In view of the failure to intensify agricultural production, this large-scale plundering entailed a drastic reduction in the allocation of food to the local population: the daily ration for Poles in 1941 amounted to 700 calories. This ‘officially sanctioned undernourishment of the autochthonous population’290 made a poor fit with the exploitation of the General Government’s industrial potential. Polish workers in the armaments factories suffered a constant lack of food, triggering a steady decline in their productivity.291 In these circumstances, intensification of local armaments production was little more than a pipe dream.

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Nazi economic policy in the General Government never managed to resolve these inherent contradictions between the projects of long-term maximization and short-term exploitation. The mass recruitment of forced labourers and the exploitation of agricultural firms prevented a simultaneous increase in local industrial production.292 In short, the Nazis’ economic governance was highly dysfunctional. It is this that made their economic policy one of the key triggers for the carrying out of massacres. Rather than soberly analysing the centrifugal forces inherent in these contradictory policies and attempting to establish a more systematic and effective regime of economic maximization, the leading actors essentially maintained course – attributing the problems thrown up by their own policies to the locals’ uncooperative behaviour.293 This reading of the situation implied a resolute adherence to the parallel projects of utilization and exploitation, whose countervailing tendencies were to be overcome through a maximalist approach. To simplify only very slightly, given the realities of Nazi occupation there was only one instrument available to achieve this goal: mass violence. The Terrain of Violence: Conflicting Goals and Consequences Over the course of time, these differing objectives engendered multiple contradictions, opposing trends and asynchronous developments. There was constant tension between New Order policies and exploitative measures – which sometimes impeded one other, generating countless conflicting goals. There was, for example, a latent contradiction between the plundering of economic resources and the drive to establish a ‘new ethnonational order’ in the territory, because resettlement measures deprived the Nazi economic system of urgently needed skilled workers for whom there was no adequate replacement. These conflicting goals were the true source of the disputes between the various agents of German rule. It was the differing priorities governing the configuration of the occupation regime that underpinned the conflictual relationship between the SS and police apparatus on the one hand and the civil administration and the armed forces on the other.294 While SS occupation policy chiefly sought to create a ‘new ethnonational order’ in the territory, the civil and military occupation authorities were mainly interested in consolidating German rule while exploiting and utilizing economic and human resources. We should, however, be careful not to overstate these conflicts of competencies and objectives. The ‘hostility towards “members of foreign races” was always stronger than that felt within their own camp’295 and engendered a veritable siege mentality among members of the occupation apparatus. At many levels of the German occupation, in fact, the civil administration, SS, police and armed forces worked together with a minimum of friction.

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The differing objectives of German occupation policy are of much relevance to the present study in two respects. First, as Jacques Sémélin has shown, as an extreme form of physical violence the massacre can only be understood in light of an overall framework of violence.296 To analyse German massacres of Polish civilians, then, we must place them within the broad context of occupation policy. The latter formed a framework for action that was shaped by violence while concurrently laying the ground for massacres. Occupation policy generated opportunity structures, provided triggers and determined the extent and pace of massacres, while also giving rise to opposing tendencies and setting limits to violence. The result was a specific sphere of action: a terrain of violence that was by no means static but which exhibited a high degree of dynamism and was subject to permanent change in terms of both space and time. It was within this terrain that the key actors interacted and resolved to carry out massacres. The objectives of German occupation policy defined the parameters of violence – permanently altering the nexus of permitted, prohibited and required violence. Any attempt to analyse massacres of Polish civilians must be linked to this terrain of violence. Precise mapping of this terrain, the illumination of its character, is a prerequisite for understanding massacres. Against the background of a specific spatial order, varying objectives, differing temporal perspectives and contrasting plans, massacres of Polish civilians were shaped by the interweaving of attempts to establish a ‘new ethnonational order’ and policies on food, the economy and forced labour. Second, the violent occupation policy had unintended consequences as it was also the basis for the decisions and actions of the Polish population. Peter Longerich has pointed out that the analysis of complex processes of violence must integrate the perspective of the victims as they too are aware of circumstances, interpret situations, draw conclusions and act on this basis.297 The victims’ actions in turn change things for the perpetrators: they are forced to adapt to situational pressures and have to modify their approach. Against this background, as Wolfgang Jacobmeyer has succinctly put it, in the extra-legal territory of occupied Poland the suspension of elementary norms provided ‘the resistance movement with ideal conditions for growth … because the need for protection … exceeded individuals’ ability to defend themselves, effectively forcing them to establish organized underground groups’.298 In occupied Poland, it was virtually impossible for occupiers and occupied to live together in an orderly way given the fact that the extremely violent occupation regime was determined to establish a new ethnonational order and exploit the territory and in light of the German self-attribution of racial superiority.299 At the same time, Polish society could fall back on a specific tradition of the formation of conspiratorial underground structures, which had been successfully tested out in the nineteenth century – the age of

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partitions.300 This tradition was important background experience for Polish society that pointed to certain ways of responding to and coping with foreign rule.301 In this context, a multifaceted resistance movement developed over time – particularly in the General Government.302 Differing political visions made the various resistance groups quite different from one another. Their contrasting ideas about the future political and social structure of the Polish state engendered considerable rivalries and tensions, often entailing a great deal of bitterness and sometimes overshadowing the fight against the German occupation forces.303 Of the many different conceptions of resistance, we can isolate three strategies pursued by different groups – strategies that differed above all in their relationship to violence.304 Undoubtedly the largest and most important resistance movement was the Polish Underground State (Polskie Państwo Podziemne), which was subordinate to the Polish exile government in London and was intended to serve as the nucleus of a Polish state to be re-established when German rule had ended.305 The strategic thinking of the Polish Underground State revolved around a national uprising, which was envisaged as occurring when German rule was approaching collapse.306 Prior to this, all forms of armed, violent resistance – especially the activities of partisan groups – were to be avoided. The underlying idea here was to protect the Polish civilian population from bloody German reprisals.307 The communist Polish Workers’ Party (Polska Partia Robotnicza), which was founded in 1941 at Stalin’s behest and was not integrated into the structures of the Polish Underground State, pursued a fundamentally different approach,308 focusing on establishing structures intended to facilitate a communist takeover in the post-Nazi era. Its key strategy was to trigger an immediate armed uprising rather than waiting for the death throes of German rule, which in turn implied two objectives. First, the Polish Workers’ Party understood armed resistance as a form of military support for the Red Army’s war effort. Second, the party consciously factored in casualties among the civilian population, presuming that violent German reactions would radicalize the Polish population, which – so the party believed – would then turn to the communist alternative.309 Finally, the right-wing nationalist camp of the National Armed Forces (Narodowe Siły Zbrojne) espoused the doctrine of a ‘battle on two fronts’: it not only resisted the German occupiers but also saw itself as fighting to prevent the feared Sovietization of post-war Poland. These nationalists were increasingly concerned about the Polish Workers’ Party in this regard, declaring its defeat the sine qua non of Polish independence.310 Over time, this concept of resistance provided an opportunity for selective cooperation with the German security apparatus in its struggle against the communist

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resistance movement.311 However, it was clear to the right-wing nationalist camp that only the defeat of the German occupiers would pave the way for the re-establishment of a Polish state, so their resistance – regardless of their ideological affinities – was also directed against the Nazis.312 At the same time, however, the National Armed Forces was opposed to the strategic concept of resistance espoused by the Polish Underground State – rejecting a large-scale national uprising because of the feared death toll, which, the leaders of this rightist group believed, would merely facilitate a Soviet takeover.313 From the Nazi perspective, the establishment of an armed Polish resistance seemed the final confirmation of the propaganda disseminated in the run-up to the war centred on the Poles’ affinity for violence and their tendency to violently resist enemy conquerors.314 It was the appearance of Polish partisans that made the German occupiers aware of the precarious reality of foreign rule, which was essentially based on a small number of German occupiers’ control of a large majority of hostile Poles. This specific, fragile configuration and its interpretation created distrust and fear among the German occupiers. From 1942 onwards, when even the Polish Underground State abandoned its comparatively cautious strategy in response to the further radicalization of German occupation policy and switched to armed resistance, the assassination of German occupation personnel and attacks on economically important facilities became an everyday phenomenon.315 This led to the further self-isolation of an occupying society that could now feel safe only in sealed off residential areas and barricaded offices.316 All of this was understood as an unheard-of occurrence: a refusal of loyalty, a rejection of subjugation by an ‘inferior race’ that declined to submit to its fate. The actions of the Polish resistance, the feelings of threat and insecurity that it triggered and the loss of German sovereignty were in sharp contrast to the Nazis’ claim of racial superiority, which suggested that the occupiers were invulnerable physically and in terms of their status. These developments increased the consumption of alcohol in an occupying society in which heavy drinking was already a major problem.317 ‘Security’ increasingly moved centre stage within the context of German rule, a field of action in which strategies were developed and implemented to limit risk and ward off threats.318 The focus here was on combating the outlawed ‘Polish bands’.

Notes 1. Marlis Steinert, Hitlers Krieg und die Deutschen. Stimmung und Haltung der deutschen Bevölkerung im Zweiten Weltkrieg (Düsseldorf and Vienna, 1970), 77ff.; Robert Gellately, Backing Hitler. Consent and Coercion in Nazi Germany (Oxford, 2001), 71. 2. Wihelm Treue, ‘Rede Hitlers vor der deutschen Presse (10. November 1938)’, Vierteljahrshefte für Zeitgeschichte 6 (1958), 181–91, here 182.

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3. Ibid. 4. Ibid. 5. Victimization was a central component of Nazi propaganda, as Jeffrey Herff has shown convincingly with reference to the topos of the ‘Jewish world conspiracy’: Jeffrey Herff, The Jewish Enemy. Nazi Propaganda during World War II and the Holocaust (Cambridge, 2006). 6. In particular, Peter Fritzsche has recently interpreted the Nazi perception of the period after 1918 as a historical construct that revolved around the self-attribution of victim status: Fritzsche, Life, 2–7. Also stimulating in this context is Dirk A. Moses, ‘Empire, Colony, Genocide: Keywords and the Philosophy of History’, in Dirk A. Moses (ed.), Empire, Colony, Genocide. Conquest, Occupation, and Subaltern Resistance in World History (New York and Oxford, 2010), 3–54. 7. Münz and Ohliger, ‘Auslandsdeutsche’, 370–90. 8. The argumentative proximity to Ernst Nolte’s efforts to externalize the causes of the Nazi policy of extermination cannot be overlooked. For his arguments in a variety of forms, see Ernst Nolte, Das Vergehen der Vergangenheit. Antwort auf meine Kritiker im sogenannten Historikerstreit (Berlin, 1987); Ernst Nolte, Der europäische Bürgerkrieg, 1917–1945 (Frankfurt am Main, 1987); Ernst Nolte, Streitpunkte. Heutige und künftige Kontroversen um den Nationalsozialismus (Berlin, 1987). With all the requisite corrections, see Hans-Ulrich Wehler, Entsorgung der deutschen Vergangenheit? Ein polemischer Essay zum ‘Historikerstreit’ (Munich, 1988). 9. On what follows, see Brewing, ‘Viktimisierung und Gewalt. Helmuth Koschorkes “Polizeireiter in Polen” und der September 1939’, in Ruth Leiserowitz, Stephan Lehnstaedt, Joanna Nalewajko-Kulikov and Grzegorz Krzywiec (eds), Lesestunde/Lekcja Czytania (Warsaw, 2013), 269–81, here 275ff. 10. Böhler, Auftakt. 11. But see the excellent master’s thesis supervised by Jörg K. Hoensch: Thomas Kees, ‘“Polnische Greuel”. Der Propagandafeldzug des Dritten Reiches gegen Polen’, master’s thesis, Saarland University, 1994. See also Bergen, ‘Instrumentalization’, 447–70. Initial attempts at analysis can also be found in Böhler, Auftakt, 37ff. 12. See, for example, Völkischer Beobachter, 4 May 1939: ‘Der Gipfel des Irrsinns. Wahnwitzige polnische Hetzer fordern wiederholt Ostpreußen und Schlesien bis zur Oder’; ibid., 6 May 1939: ‘Die polnische Kriegshetze gegen Deutschland wächst’. A member of staff at the French embassy summarized this anti-Polish propaganda as follows in a report to the French foreign minister: In the German press, a campaign of agitation against Poland has far exceeded the scope of the dispute over Danzig. … [German newspapers] announce … in ­sensational style that Poland not only wants to conquer Danzig and East Prussia and reach the Oder line, but that, just as Rome wished to annihilate Carthage in antiquity, Poland is now bent on the complete destruction of the empire and the annihilation of the German people. Had such threats actually been voiced from the Polish side, they would surely, under normal circumstances, have had no effect on a country as proud of its expansionism and strength as Greater Germany. At most they would be answered with ridicule. In reality, they are exploited to the full to stir up hatred of Poland, and this indicates an intention to systematically exacerbate the current crisis.

See Jutta Sywottek, Mobilmachung für den totalen Krieg. Die propagandistische Vorbereitung der deutschen Bevölkerung auf den Zweiten Weltkrieg (Opladen, 1976), 220. 13. Arani, Fotografische Selbst- und Fremdbilder, 772.

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14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19.

Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Kees, ‘Polnische Greuel’, 94ff. Quoted in ibid., 96. ‘Ausrottung deutscher Kindergärten’, Volksdeutscher Beobachter, 22 June 1939; see also Kees, ‘Polnische Greuel’, 97. 20. ‘Polens ruhmreiche Kampf gegen deutsche Kinder’, Volksdeutscher Beobachter, 15 July 1939. 21. Quoted in Sywottek, Mobilmachung, 222. 22. Ibid. 23. Ibid. 24. Ibid. 25. Ibid. 26. Ibid. 27. This article has been cited many times in the research. See, for example, Böhler, Auftakt, 37f. 28. Nationalzeitung, 12 August 1939, 1; Kees, ‘Polnische Greuel’, 98. 29. Ibid. 30. Nationalzeitung, 12 August 1939, 1. 31. Ibid. 32. Ibid. 33. Volksdeutscher Beobachter, 20 August 1939. This article and all other articles in the Volksdeutscher Beobachter mentioned in the present study are quoted in Kees, ‘Polnische Greuel’, 102f. 34. ‘Deutsche wie Vieh verschleppt’, Volksdeutscher Beobachter, 29 August 1939. 35. ‘Volksdeutsche Kinder auf der Flucht’, Volksdeutscher Beobachter, 23 August 1939. 36. ‘Unerträgliche Wüten der polnischen Terrorbanden’, Volksdeutscher Beobachter, 24 August 1939. 37. ‘Volksdeutsche entmannt und zu Tode geprügelt’, Volksdeutscher Beobachter, 26 August 1939. 38. ‘Polens Terror wächst von Tag zu Tag’, Volksdeutscher Beobachter, 21 August 1939. 39. ‘Polen verbrennen Kinder vor den Augen ihrer Mütter’, Volksdeutscher Beobachter, 31 August 1939. 40. ‘500 Zloty auf den Kopf eines jeden Deutschen’, Volksdeutscher Beobachter, 29 August 1939. 41. ‘Hochschwangere Frau und ihr vierjähriges Kind mit Kolbenschlägen getötet’, Volksdeutscher Beobachter, 28 August 1939. 42. Bergen, ‘Instrumentalization’, 452ff. 43. Quoted in Steinert, Hitlers Krieg, 85; see also Kees, ‘Polnische Greuel’, 119. 44. Deutschland-Berichte der Sozialdemokratischen Partei Deutschlands (Sopade), 6(8) (August to October 1939), reprinted (Salzhausen and Frankfurt am Main, 1980), 818f. 45. This, of course, is by no means to suggest that the coexistence of Poles and the German minority was free of conflict shortly before the unleashing of war. But the ‘atrocity reports’, with their accounts of diverse forms of particularly gruesome violence against ethnic Germans, are nothing but the products of fevered Nazi propaganda. 46. Ray M. Douglas, ‘Ordnungsgemäße Überführung’. Die Vertreibung der Deutschen nach dem Zweiten Weltkrieg (Munich, 2012), 65ff.; Böhler, Überfall, 112–20; a

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47. 48. 49.

50.

51. 52. 53.

54.

55. 56. 57.

58.

comprehensive study of the violent attacks on members of the German minority is still not available and is a desideratum. It is, however, important to highlight countervailing tendencies: Poles also tried to protect their German neighbours. See Markus Krzoska, ‘Der “Bromberger Blutsonntag” 1939’, Vierteljahrshefte für Zeitgeschichte 60 (2012), 237–48, here 239. Brewing, ‘Viktimisierung’, 271. This suspicion was by no means unfounded. There are clear indications that the Sicherheitsdienst (SD) and the Wehrmacht’s Foreign Affairs/Defence Office had in fact recruited ethnic Germans for sabotage activities while making preparations for war. By July 1939, Military District Command VIII (Breslau) recorded 6,798 ethnic Germans in combat and sabotage organizations. But Jochen Böhler has shown that the Polish authorities’ summary practices chiefly affected innocents. For a detailed account, see Tomasz Chinciński, ‘Niemiecka dywersja na Pomorzu w 1939 roku’, in Tomasz Chinciński and Paweł Machcewicz (eds), Bydgoszcz 3–4 września 1939. Studia i dokumenty (Warsaw, 2008), 170–204; Böhler, Überfall, 42f. Michael Phayer has described such events as follows: ‘Poles shouted abuse at them, threw stones, rubbish and horse droppings at them and struck them with whatever they could lay their hands on. … This treatment went on day and night, the prisoners suffering from a lack of food and drink. Elderly people who couldn’t keep up were murdered.’ Quoted in Douglas, ‘Ordnungsgemäße Überführung’, 65f. Jochen Böhler attributes these attacks in part to the lack of any central control, which ‘left decisions on life and death to the auxiliary guard units, some of which were overwhelmed or overwrought by the events of the war, and in whose eyes the lives of the prisoners entrusted to them and viewed as belonging to the enemy camp were worth little. Attacks were inevitable, though not, as those affected may have assumed, explicitly desired by the Polish government’. Quoted in Böhler, Überfall, 116. See Broszat, Nationalsozialistische Polenpolitik, 51, 180. Wildt, Generation, 436. Jansen and Weckbecker, Selbstschutz, 28; Böhler, Überfall, 116; Douglas, ‘Ordnungsgemäße Überführung’, 66. Here, though, we should recall Martin Broszat’s crucial point that ‘not all of them were “murdered”. Some turned out to have fallen in battle, and in a few cases to have been killed by bombs dropped from German planes, as members of the Polish army or the ethnic German Freikorps on the German side’. Quoted in Broszat, Nationalsozialistische Polenpolitik, 50. Włodzimierz Jastrzębski, Der Bromberger Blutsonntag. Legende und Wirklichkeit (Poznań, 1989); Günter Schubert, Das Unternehmen ‘Bromberger Blutsonntag’. Tod einer Legende (Cologne, 1989); Hans-Erich Volkmann, ‘Der Bromberger Blutsonntag – oder von der Gegenwärtigkeit der Geschichte’, in Bernd Rill (ed.), Nationales Gedächtnis in Deutschland und Polen (Munich, 2011), 61–70; Krzoska, ‘Bromberger Blutsonntag’. For a wide-ranging account, see also the individual articles in Chinciński and Machcewicz, Bydgoszcz. Krzoska, ‘Bromberger Blutsonntag’, 248. For numerous photographic examples, see Arani, Fotografische Selbst- und Fremdbilder, 192–201. From 7 September 1939, Nazi press organs provided information on the violent attacks in Bromberg in a variety of different formats. See Elżbieta Nowikiewicz, ‘Prasa o wydarzeniach w Bydgoszczy w 3.–4. września’, in Chinciński and Machcewicz, Bydgoszcz, 805–21. See Arani, Fotografische Selbst- und Fremdbilder, 192–201.

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59. Arani, ‘Feindbilder’, 156. 60. Again, we should note the effectiveness of this trope well beyond 1945. In 1987, Ernst Nolte stated: ‘The war against Poland began with a tendency towards genocide on the Polish side … the slaughter of several thousand citizens of German origin by enraged Poles. Whether the German minority would have survived if the war had lasted more than three weeks seems doubtful.’ Quoted in Nolte, Bürgerkrieg, 502ff. 61. ‘Rede Hitlers am 19.9.1939 in Danzig’, reprinted in Max Domarus, Hitler. Reden und Proklamationen 1932–1945. Kommentiert von einem deutschen Zeitgenossen (Würzburg, 1963), 1354–66. 62. Ibid. 63. Ibid. 64. See the relevant observations in Wildt, Generation, 437f. 65. ‘Rede Hitlers am 19.9.1939 in Danzig’, quoted in Domarus, Hitler, 1354–66. 66. Ibid. 67. Ibid. 68. Ibid. 69. Ibid. 70. Bergen, ‘Instrumentalization’, 463. 71. See, especially, Fritzsche, Life, 1–6. 72. Quoted in ‘Rede Himmlers am 4. Oktober 1943 in Posen bei der SS-Gruppenführertagung’, in Internationaler Militärgerichtshof (IMG), Der Prozess gegen die Hauptkriegsverbrecher vor dem Internationalen Militärgerichtshof, vol. 29 (Nuremberg, 1948), 145 (1919-PS). On Nazi morality, see Raphael Gross, Anständig geblieben. Nationalsozialistische Moral (Frankfurt am Main, 2010); Claudia Koonz, The Nazi Conscience (Cambridge, 2003); Harald Welzer, Täter. Wie aus ganz normalen Menschen Massenmörder werden (Frankfurt am Main, 2005). 73. See Brewing, ‘Viktimisierung’. 74. Helmuth Koschorke, Polizeireiter in Polen (Berlin and Leipzig, 1940). On what follows, see my reflections in Brewing, ‘Viktimisierung’; see also: Thomas Köhler, ‘Anstiftung zu Sklaverei und Völkermord – “Weltanschauliche Schulung” durch Literatur. Lesestoff für Polizeibeamte während des “Dritten Reichs”’, in Alfons Kenkmann and Christoph Spieker (eds), Im Auftrag. Polizei, Verwaltung und Verantwortung (Essen, 2001), 130– 57; Klaus-Michael Mallmann, ‘“… Mißgeburten, die nicht auf diese Welt gehören”. Die deutsche Ordnungspolizei in Polen 1939–1941’, in Klaus-Michael Mallmann and Bogdan Musial (eds), Genesis des Genozids. Polen 1939–1941 (Darmstadt, 2004), 71–89. 75. The term, of course, comes from Browning, Ordinary Men. 76. Koschorke, Polizeireiter, 9. 77. Ibid. 78. Ibid., 14. 79. Ibid., 10. 80. Ibid., 21. 81. Ibid., 17. 82. Ibid., 22. 83. Ibid., 17. 84. Ibid., 49. 85. The term was coined by Helen Fein in the late 1970s before being popularized mainly by Zygmunt Bauman and, most recently, by the important writings of Harald Welzer. See Helen Fein, Accounting for Genocide. National Response and Jewish Victimhood

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86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93. 94.

95. 96. 97. 98.

during the Holocaust (New York, 1979), 4; Zygmunt Bauman, Dialektik der Ordnung. Die Moderne und der Holocaust (Hamburg, 2002), 41; Welzer, Täter, 36ff. Koschorke, Polizeireiter, 58. Ibid., 49. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 42. Ibid., 50. Ibid., 39. Ibid., 58; first quoted in Mallmann, ‘Mißgeburten’, 77. Klaus-Michael Mallmann, ‘Menschenjagd und Massenmord. Das neue Instrument der Einsatzgruppen und -kommandos 1938–1945’, in Gerhard Paul and Klaus-Michael Mallmann (eds), Die Gestapo im Zweiten Weltkrieg. ‘Heimatfront’ und besetztes Europa (Darmstadt, 2000), 291–316, here 294. To quote the trenchant description in Mallmann, ‘… Mißgeburten, die nicht auf diese Welt gehören’, 82. ‘Interview Hans Franks mit dem Korrespondenten des Völkischen Beobachters, 6.2.1940’, quoted in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 104–8, here 107. Bergen, ‘Instrumentalization’. In this context, see also Hans Frank’s speech in Zoppot on 19 May 1940: The way the nations have treated us and our nation is the way they will be treated themselves. The treatment the Poles have meted out to the German people is so indescribable that the Polish nation should in reality have forfeited its right to exist (tumultuous applause). … The atonement for the murdered ethnic Germans remains incomplete. What exactly do 60,000 murdered ethnic Germans mean? How much pain, how much blood, how much misery in the final hour of death, what a terrible and merciless fate this number entails! Of course, the German people have had to undergo a great deal of suffering since time immemorial.

‘Ansprache des Generalgouverneurs am 19.5.1940 in Zoppot’, quoted in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 204. 99. The prohibition on the use of violence is, of course, not absolute for the citizens of modern societies. See also Jan Philipp Reemtsma, ‘Hässliche Wirklichkeit. Grundzüge einer Theorie der Gewalt in der Moderne’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 25 January 2008, 14. 100. In a different context, Jan Philipp Reemtsma sought to convey this phenomenon through the term ‘participatory power’. See Jan Philipp Reemtsma, ‘Gewalt: Monopol, Delegation, Partizipation’, in Wilhelm Heitmeyer and Hans-Georg Soeffner (eds), Gewalt. Entwicklungen, Strukturen, Analyseprobleme (Frankfurt am Main, 2004), 346– 61, here 354–58. 101. On the ‘Old Reich’, see the remarks by Richard Bessel, ‘Eine “Volksgemeinschaft” der Gewalt’, in Detlef Schmiechen-Ackermann (ed.), ‘Volksgemeinschaft’. Mythos, wirkungsmächtige soziale Verheißung oder soziale Realität im ‘Dritten Reich’? Zwischenbilanz einer kontroversen Debatte (Paderborn and Munich, 2012), 357–60. 102. To this end, large-scale ‘weapons operations’ were carried out – particularly in the early stages of the occupation. It was mostly the representatives of the civil administration who constantly approached the SS and police apparatus demanding that they launch raids and ‘operations’; in many cases, action was taken only in response to these requests. The head of the civil administration in Posen, for example, decreed that ‘[t] he district administrators and mayors must demand, time and time again, that the

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Poles incriminated in the course of such operations be subject to public execution’. The actions of the newly established civil administration were often underpinned by the assumption that ‘only through the toughest of crackdowns in this regard … can true pacification be achieved in the provinces’. Quoted in CdZ beim Militärbefehlshaber in Posen, Richtlinien für den Verwaltungsaufbau in den Kreisen und Städten der Provinz Posen, 29. 9.1939 (Chief of the Civil Administration under the Military Commander in Posen, Guidelines on the Development of the Administration in the Districts and Cities of the Province of Posen, 29 September 1939), BAL, Dokumentensammlung Polen 365 r, fol. 578f. 103. Von Trotha, ‘Pazifizierungskrieg’. 104. Steinhart, ‘Creating Killers’. 105. Alexa Stiller, ‘Gewalt und Alltag der Volkstumspolitik. Der Apparat des Reichskommissars für die Festigung deutschen Volkstums und andere gesellschaftliche Akteure der veralltäglichten Gewalt’, in Jochen Böhler and Stephan Lehnstaedt (eds), Gewalt und Alltag im besetzten Polen 1939–1945 (Osnabrück, 2012), 45–66, here 63. 106. Peter Waldmann, ‘Rache ohne Regeln. Zur Renaissance eines archaischen Gewaltmotivs’, Mittelweg 36(6) (2000), 4–25. 107. The systematic development of this concept in the present book is based on the study by Peter Waldmann. On what follows, without individual references, see ibid., 6–10. 108. Ibid., 9. 109. Quoted in ibid. 110. Ibid., 4. 111. Ibid. 112. Ibid., 5. 113. Michael Wildt, Volksgemeinschaft als Selbstermächtigung. Gewalt gegen Juden in der deutschen Provinz (Hamburg, 2007). 114. The present study thus responds to Thomas Sandkühler’s recent call for the arguments put forward within the debate on the Volksgemeinschaft to be put to the test above all through studies of the occupied areas of Eastern Europe. See Thomas Sandkühler, ‘Krieg, Kampf um “Lebensraum” und Vernichtung. Der nationalsozialistische Krieg’, in Hans-Ulrich Thamer and Simone Erpel (eds), Hitler und die Deutschen. Volksgemeinschaft und Verbrechen (Dresden, 2010), 122–29. 115. Michael Wildt, ‘“Volksgemeinschaft”. Eine Antwort auf Ian Kershaw’, Zeithistorische Forschungen 8 (2011), 102–9, here 106. 116. For a trenchant account, see Michael Wildt, ‘Gewalt als Partizipation. Der Nationalsozialismus als Ermächtigungsregime’, in Alf Lüdtke and Michael Wildt (eds), Staats-Gewalt: Ausnahmezustand und Sicherheitsregimes (Göttingen, 2008), 215–40, here 235. 117. See, especially, Gisela Diewald-Kerkmann, ‘Denunziantentum und Gestapo. Die freiwilligen Helfer aus der Bevölkerung’, in Gerhard Paul and Klaus-Michael Mallmann (eds), Die Gestapo. Mythos und Realität (Darmstadt, 1995), 288–305. 118. Ibid., 290. 119. For a summary, see Klaus-Michael Mallmann, ‘Social Penetration and Police Action. Collaboration Structures in the Repertory of Gestapo Activities’, International Review of Social History 42 (1997), 25–43; Klaus-Michael Mallmann and Gerhard Paul, ‘Die Gestapo. Weltanschauungsexekutive mit gesellschaftlichem Rückhalt’, in Gerhard Paul and Klaus-Michael Mallmann (eds), Die Gestapo im Zweiten Weltkrieg. ‘Heimatfront’ und besetztes Europa (Darmstadt, 2000), 599–650, here 629–33.

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120. This is, of course, a specific case. The aspects analysed here, however, are by no means limited to the Bromberg area but were present, in different forms and at different times, throughout occupied Poland. See, especially, Bergen, ‘Instrumentalization’. 121. Solid analyses can be found, for example, in Rossino, Hitler, 63ff.; Böhler, Auftakt, 203ff.; Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 72–75; Wildt, Generation, 470ff. 122. In this context, Esman and Jastrzębski have provided us with a crucial selection of sources. See Tadeusz Esman and Włodzimierz Jastrzębski, Pierwsze Miesiące Okupacji Hitlerowskiej w Bydgoszczy w świetle źródeł niemiekich (Bydgoszcz, 1967). 123. Aussage (Statement) Edmund S., 3 November 1964, BAL, B 162/6123. 124. Böhler, Auftakt, 137. 125. ‘Aussage Hubert Wróblewski, 2.5.1958’, reprinted in Jastrzębski, Blutsonntag, 117. 126. Rossino, Hitler, 64. 127. ‘Aussage Jan Tomczak, 16.8.1956’, reprinted in Edward Serwański, Dywersja niemiecka i zbrodnie hitlerowskie w Bydgoszczy na tle wydarzeń w dniu 3.09.1939 (Poznań, 1984), 317ff. 128. Aussage (Statement) Edmund S., 3 November 1964, BAL, B 162/6123; ‘Aussage Walter Sch., 4.11.1964’, ibid. 129. ‘Aussage Jan Tomczak, 16.8.1956’, reprinted in Serwański, Dywersja, 317ff. 130. For the essentials of this topic, see Reemtsma, ‘Gewalt’, 357. 131. The murder of Polish teachers in Bromberg took a similar course, its dynamics conveyed in a report by the Einsatzkommando (EK) Bromberg: The … operation against Polish teachers was [also] a complete success. In BrombergStadt alone 195 Polish teachers were arrested. They were dealt with according to the following aspects: a) Pomerelians, b) Congress Poles, c) haters of and agitators against Germanity and d) members of the Polish associations, in particular the Westmarken Association. The basis for vetting these Poles was primarily … the personal knowledge of the ethnic German teachers working here. The plan is to reinstate the suitable among those categorized under a), considering the current shortage of teachers, to deport those categorized under b) to the Reich Ghetto if they have a clean record, and to liquidate the radical Polish elements of those named under c) and d). This planned measure, along with everything that has taken place since the Stapo took charge, was fully approved by the RFSS [Himmler], with whom I had the opportunity to speak on the evening of 20 October 1939 in the local ‘Danziger Hof ’.

Lagebericht (Situation Report) EK Bromberg, 24 October 1939, BAB, R70 Polen/83, fol. 24 ff. 132. For a comprehensive account of the massacre in Schwedenhöhe, see Rossino, Hitler, 72ff.; Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 74. 133. Vernehmung (Interrogation) Georg B., 16 November 1965, BAL, B 162/6123, reprinted in Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 131. 134. ‘Aussage Tadeusz Kłobucki, 11.4.1953’, reprinted in Serwański, Dywersja, 287. 135. Ibid. 136. The post-war testimony of Georg B., driver for the EK 2/IV, gives an insight into the violent dynamics of this operation: ‘I was able to observe that both the Wehrmacht and SS men were firing. The Poles were hit and stayed on the ground; I don’t know if they were dead. There was a fair degree of mayhem as the relatives of the arrested Poles came out onto the street and wailed about their husbands.’ Quoted in Vernehmung (Interrogation) of Georg B., 16 November 1965, BAL, B 162/6123, reprinted in Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 131.

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1 37. ‘Aussage Tadeusz Kłobucki, 11.4.1953’, reprinted in Serwański, Dywersja, 287. 138. The city’s military governor recorded in his war journal, ‘The clean-up operation in the Swedish Quarter as a whole resulted in about 120 executions and 900 arrests (vile mob).’ Quoted in Korück 580 (KTB), 10 September 1939, BA-MA, RW 23/167; the 900 arrested individuals were again selected by ethnic Germans, who singled 150 of them out as ‘anti-German’, resulting in their execution. See Rossino, Hitler, 70–71. 139. Wildt, Volksgemeinschaft, 213. 140. Deutsche Rundschau, 9 September 1939. 141. Ibid. 142. Ibid. 143. Ibid. 144. Ibid. 145. ‘Vernehmung Bruno G., 1.12.1964’, reprinted in Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 129. 146. The German authorities received a large number of denunciatory letters from ethnic Germans who requested or demanded the arrest or liquidation of certain Poles. One example among many is the following anonymous letter dated 9 November 1939, addressed to City Commissioner Kampe: ‘I request that you order the arrest of Dipl. Ing. Johann Tymorski, Bromberg, employed at the City Electricity Works and Irenäus Pietrzonka, Bromberg, with their families as a threat to the security of plants. T. has two sons aged fourteen and seventeen who are said to have been in the youth association of the Polish armed forces. One of the two sons has vanished from Bromberg with the Polish military. P. has two daughters, born in Krakow. Heil Hitler!’. A form of kin liability was evidently constructed here since the only reason for an arrest was the underage sons’ involvement in Polish youth associations. Similar denunciation letters are legion. See Lageberichte (Situation reports) EK Bromberg, 17 November 1939, BAB, R 70 Polen/83, fol. 58. 147. For a still seminal text on the Selbstschutz, see Jansen and Weckbecker, Selbstschutz; see also the early Polish study: Józef Skorzyński, ‘Selbstschutz – V kolumna’, Biuletyn Głównej Komisji Badania Zbrodnych Hitlerowskich 10 (1958), 5–16. 148. On the spontaneous establishment of such groups, see Jansen and Weckbecker, Selbstschutz, 45–47; for an account that claims that they were the result of central planning, meanwhile, see Skorzyński, ‘Selbstschutz’. 149. Gottlob Berger, for example, testified at Nuremberg that Adolf Hitler ordered the immediate formation of a Home Guard as a result of Wehrmacht reports that more than 12,000 Germans had been killed or deported. … The Home Guard was to be equipped with captured arms; the organization was to be set up in such a way that we were to have two officers who had served in the First World War for each district, who were to assemble the ethnic Germans and, after consultation with the Military Police, organize and see to the necessary protection force.

Berger also stated that this crucial meeting had taken place between 8 and 10 September 1939. See Internationaler Militärgerichtshof (IMG), Prozeß, vol. xiii, 3838–3844; Jansen and Weckbecker, Selbstschutz, 48. 150. Deutsche Rundschau, 15 September 1939. 151. Ibid. 152. Ibid. 153. Ibid.

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154. ‘The Selbstschutz (Heimatwehr) is being established to put an end to this state of affairs.’ Quoted in ibid. 155. Deutsche Rundschau, 15 September 1939. 156. Thorner Freiheit, 16 October 1939; Jansen and Weckbecker, Selbstschutz, 85. 157. See Peter Black, ‘Rehearsal for “Reinhardt”? Odilo Globocnik and the Lublin Selbstschutz’, Central European History 25 (1992), 204–26; Peter Black, ‘Askaris in the “Wild East”. The Deployment of Auxiliary and the Implementation of Nazi Racial Policy in the Lublin District’, in Charles Ingrao and Franz A. J. Szabo (eds), The Germans and the East (West Lafayette, 2008), 277–309. 158. Deutsche Rundschau, 15 September 1939. 159. This was first pointed out by Jansen and Weckbecker, Selbstschutz, 86; see also the recent contribution by Böhler, Überfall, 137f. 160. ‘Aussage Gustav M., 23.2.1964’, quoted in Jansen and Weckbecker, Selbstschutz, 87. 161. ‘LG Mannheim, Urteil v. 12.4.1965, 1 Ks 1/64’, reprinted in Irene Sagel-Grande, et al. (eds), Justiz und NS-Verbrechen. Sammlung deutscher Strafurteile wegen nationalsozialistischer Tötungsverbrechen, 1945–2002 (Amsterdam and Munich, 1988ff.), ser. no. 590, 15. 162. ‘Aussage Gustav M., 2.4.1964’, quoted in Jansen and Weckbecker, Selbstschutz, 87. 163. Quoted in ibid. 164. Böhler, Auftakt, 232; Jansen and Weckbecker, Selbstschutz, 155. 165. Koenen related this to the use of the term ‘anti-authoritarian’ within left-wing political circles in the 1960s and 1970s. See Gerd Koenen, Das rote Jahrzehnt. Unsere kleine deutsche Kulturrevolution 1967–1977 (Frankfurt am Main, 2002), 43. 166. It is far from surprising that this was perfectly congruent with the picture of members of the SS and police apparatus painted by Nazi propaganda. 167. HSSPF Warthe, Bericht (Report), 8 November 1939, BAB, R 70 Polen/198, fol. 36. 168. Ibid., fol. 37. 169. Ibid., fol. 38. 170. HSSPF Warthe, Betr.: SS- und Polizeigerichtsbarkeit (Re: SS and Police Jurisdiction), 10 October 1940, BAL, Dokumentensammlung Polen 365 r, fol. 535–37. 171. Ibid., 536. 172. For a wealth of examples, see Lehnstaedt, Okkupation, 187–96. 173. Michaela Christ, Die Dynamik des Tötens. Die Ermordung der Juden in Berditschew (Frankfurt am Main, 2011), 131. 174. See also Antoni Witkowski, Mordercy z Selbstschutzu (Warsaw, 1986); Jansen and Weckbecker, Selbstschutz, 135f. 175. Witkowski, Mordercy, 61–80; Jansen and Weckbecker, Selbstschutz, 136. 176. Sofsky, Traktat, 92. 177. Ibid., 89. 178. Christ, Dynamik, 131. 179. Ibid. 180. Ibid., 130. 181. See also the remarks on other contexts of action in Bernd Greiner, Krieg ohne Fronten. Die USA in Vietnam (Hamburg, 2007); von Trotha, ‘Pazifizierungskrieg’. 182. See the relevant observations in Matthias Häußler, ‘Grausamkeit und Kolonialismus’, in Trutz von Trotha and Jakob Rösel (eds), On Cruelty (Cologne, 2011), 511– 37. 183. See also Jansen and Weckbecker, Selbstschutz, 158. 184. ‘LG Mannheim, Urteil v. 12.4.1965, 1 Ks 1/64’, reprinted in Justiz und NS-Verbrechen. (1988ff.), ser. no. 590; see also Jansen and Weckbecker, Selbstschutz, 141–46.

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1 85. 186. 187. 188. 189. 190. 191. 192. 193. 194. 195. 196.

197. 1 98. 199. 200.

LG Mannheim, Urteil (Mannheim Regional Court, ruling) v. 12.4.1965, 16–17. Ibid., 17. Ibid. Ibid., 18. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 16. Ibid., 25. Jansen and Weckbecker, Selbstschutz, 24. Ibid. Michael Alberti, ‘“Exerzierplatz des Nationalsozialismus”. Der Reichsgau Wartheland 1939–1941’, in Klaus-Michael Mallmann and Bogdan Musial (eds), Genesis des Genozids. Polen 1939–1941 (Darmstadt, 2004), 111–26, here 112. The following is in line with the analysis that I have presented elsewhere: Daniel Brewing, ‘Eine Geschichte der Gewalt. Friedrich Paulus, die Massenmorde in Józefów und die Justiz’, in Martin Cüppers, Jürgen Matthäus and Andrej Angrick (eds), Naziverbrechen. Taten und Bewältigungsversuche (Darmstadt, 2013), 319–34. Urteil LG Hamburg v. 23. 4.1971 (Ruling Hamburg Regional Court, 23 April 1971), BAL, B 162/14443, fol. 27. Vern. (Interrogation) Gustav S., 17 July 1968, BAL, B 162/16848, fol. 237. Urteil LG Hamburg v. 23. 4.1971 (Ruling Hamburg Regional Court, 23 April 1971), BAL, B 162/14443, fol. 27. See the report by the 3rd Rural Police District (Gendarmeriehauptmannschaft) Radzyn, 3 May 1940: Due to the activities of the Polish police it proved possible to investigate and arrest almost all members of the band of robbers under Marzel-Penkalski from Hordieszkow, district of Lukow. Penkalski himself was arrested in Warsaw. His band members Josef Sokol and Stanislaus Kulak were arrested in the Radzyn district and two other accomplices, Edward Mitura and Celsav Lazugae, were shot dead during a patrol in the Garwolin district. As a result, one of the largest and most dangerous bands in the district has been eliminated. These are the robbers who carried out the murder of the ethnic German Kassner family in Josefow.

See 3. Gendarmeriehauptmannschaft Radzyn, Betr.: Lagebericht, 3. 5.1940 (3rd Rural Police District Radzyn, Re: Situation report, 3 May 1940), AIPN, GK 104/52 (KdG Lublin), fol. 23. 201. ‘Die Cholmer und Lubliner Deutschen kehren heim ins Vaterland’, Unsere Heimat 15 (1940); cf. Urteil LG Hamburg v. 23. 4.1971 (Ruling Hamburg Regional Court, 23 April 1971), BAL, B 162/14443, fol. 97. 202. Urteil LG Hamburg v. 23. 4.1971 (Ruling Hamburg Regional Court, 23 April 1971), BAL, B 162/14443, fol. 31. 203. Urteil LG Hamburg v. 23. 4.1971 (Ruling Hamburg Regional Court, 23 April 1971), BAL, B 162/14443, fol. 31. 204. Vern. August R. v. 19. 9. 1968 (Interrogation of August R., 19 September 1968), BAL, B 162/16849, fol. 373. 205. Vern. August R. v. 19. 9. 1968 (Interrogation of August R., 19 September 1968), BAL, B 162/16849, fol. 373. 206. Vern. Gustav S. v. 16.7. 1968 (Interrogation of Gustav S., 16 July 1968), BAL, B 162/16848, fol. 230.

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207. Vern. Reinhard T. v. 8.10.1968 (Interrogation of Reinhard T., 8 October 1968), BAL, B 162/16849, fol. 326. 208. Ibid. 209. Ibid. 210. Vern. August R. v. 19. 9.1968 (Interrogation of August R., 19 September 1968), BAL, B 162/16849, fol. 372. 211. Mazower, Hitler’s Empire. How the Nazis Ruled Europe (New York, 2008), 70. 212. Łuczak, Polityka, 13, table 1; Borodziej, Geschichte, 191. 213. Ibid. 214. Snyder, Bloodlands, 132. The largest was the Soviet Union. 215. Hans-Jürgen Bömelburg and Bogdan Musial, ‘Die deutsche Besatzungspolitik in Polen 1939–1945’, in Włodzimierz Borodziej and Klaus Ziemer (eds), Deutsch-polnische Beziehungen 1939 – 1945 – 1949. Eine Einführung (Osnabrück, 2000), 43–112, here 49. 216. For a detailed account, see Umbreit, Militärverwaltungen, 85–272. 217. Dieter Pohl, ‘Die Reichsgaue Danzig-Westpreußen und Wartheland: Koloniale Verwaltung oder Modell für die zukünftige Gauverwaltung?’, in Jürgen John, Horst Möller and Thomas Saarschmidt (eds), Die NS-Gaue: regionale Mittelinstanzen im zentralistischen ‘Führerstaat’ (Munich, 2007), 395–405, here 397; Broszat, Nationalsozialistische Polenpolitik, 38ff. 218. Madajczyk, Okkupationspolitik, 33ff. 219. Bömelburg and Musial, ‘Deutsche Besatzungspolitik’, 49f. 220. Pohl, ‘Die Reichsgaue’, 397; Broszat, Nationalsozialistische Polenpolitik, 38ff. 221. Werner Röhr, ‘Forschungsprobleme zur deutschen Okkupationspolitik im Spiegel der Reihe “Europa unterm Hakenkreuz”’, in Werner Röhr (ed.), Europa unterm Hakenkreuz. Analysen, Quellen, Register (Heidelberg, 1996), 25–343, here 53. 222. Pohl, ‘Die Reichsgaue’, 397f. 223. Broszat, Nationalsozialistische Polenpolitik, 52ff.; Diemut Majer, ‘Fremdvölkische’ im Dritten Reich. Ein Beitrag zur nationalsozialistischen Rechtsetzung und Rechtspraxis in Verwaltung und Justiz unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der eingegliederten Ostgebiete und des Generalgouvernements (Boppard, 1981), 732ff.; Maximilian Becker, Mitstreiter im Volkstumskampf. Deutsche Justiz in den eingegliederten Ostgebieten 1939–1945 (Munich, 2014). 224. Łuczak, Polityka, 13, table 1; Bömelburg and Musial, ‘Deutsche Besatzungspolitik’, 72; Musial, Deutsche Zivilverwaltung, 20–23. 225. Karol Marian Pospieszalski, Hitlerowskie ‘prawo’ okupacyjne w Polsce, vol. 2 Generalna Gubernia (Poznań, 1958), 20. 226. Łuczak, Polityka, 209, table 12; Musial, Deutsche Zivilverwaltung, 21. 227. ‘Aktenvermerk Weizsäckers vom 23.10.1939’, quoted in Umbreit, Militärverwaltungen, 114. 228. Roth, Herrenmenschen, 67. 229. Andreas Toppe, Militär und Völkerrecht. Rechtsnorm, Fachdiskurs und Kriegspraxis in Deutschland 1899–1940 (Munich, 2008), 400. 230. Röhr, ‘Forschungsprobleme’, 53. 231. Michael Wildt, ‘“Eine neue Ordnung der ethnographischen Verhältnisse”. Hitlers Reichstagsrede vom 6. Oktober 1939’, Zeithistorische Forschungen/Studies in Contemporary History, Online-Ausgabe 3 (1) (2006). Retrieved 28 November 2021 from https://d-nb.info/1220690546/34; Michael Wildt, ‘Völkische Neuordnung Europas’, Themenportal Europäische Geschichte (2007). Retrieved 28 November from https://www .europa.clio-online.de/essay/id/fdae-1402.

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232. Verhandlungen des Reichstages, vol. 460, Stenographische Protokolle 1939–1942, 4. Sitzung, 6.10.1939, 51–63. 233. Stiller, ‘Gewalt, 49ff.; Alexa Stiller, ‘Reichskommissar für die Festigung deutschen Volkstums’, in Ingo Haar and Michael Fahlbusch (eds), Handbuch der völkischen Wissenschaften (Munich, 2008), 531–40; Robert L. Koehl, RKFDV: German Resettlement and Population Policy 1939–1945. A History of the Reich Commission for the Strengthening of Germandom (Cambridge, 1957). 234. Wildt, Generation; Peter Longerich, Heinrich Himmler. Biographie (Munich, 2008). 235. Erlass des Führers und Reichskanzlers zur Festigung deutschen Volkstums, 7.10.1939 (Decree of the Führer and Reich Chancellor on the Strengthening of German Nationhood, 7 October 1939), BAB, R 43/II/1412; reprinted in Pospieszalski, Hitlerowskie ‘prawo’, vol. 1: Ziemie ‘wcielone’ (Poznań, 1952), 176ff. 236. Ibid. A preliminary draft of Hitler’s decree was more explicit: ‘The Poland of Versailles has ceased to exist. This means that the Greater German Reich has the opportunity to settle in its territory German people who previously had to live in a foreign land and to expel those alien to the people.’ See Lammers an Himmler, Anhang: Entwurf des Führererlasses, 29.9.1939 (Lammers to Himmler, addendum: Draft of the Führer’s Decree, 29 September 1939), BAB, NS 19/2743, fol. 4f.; Stiller, ‘Gewalt’, 50. 237. Alexa Stiller has pointed out convincingly that the ‘new order’ concept should not be reduced to ethnic and ‘racial’ criteria. It was directed against all ‘those alien to the Volksgemeinschaft’ (Detlev Peukert) and therefore also had political and socioeconomic dimensions. See ibid., 51. 238. The Main Staff Office of the RKF (Stabshauptamt des RKF, or StHA-RKF) was primarily responsible for the coordination and further development of the ‘new ethnonational order’ of the European continent: this is where SS settlement policy was formulated in broad outline. The Ethnic German Coordination Centre (Volksdeutsche Mittelstelle, or VoMi) was responsible for placing ethnic Germans in transit camps and for looking after them while there – a kind of permanent stopgap measure. The Reich Security Main Office (Reichssicherheitshauptamt, or RSHA) was in charge of the expulsion of locals; its head, Reinhard Heydrich, also established the Central Immigration Office (Einwandererzentralstelle, or EWZ) and the Central Resettlement Offices (Umwandererzentralstellen, or UWZ), which – in close cooperation with the Race and Settlement Main Office (Rasse- und Siedlungshauptamt or RuSHA) – selected Poles to be expelled and ethnic Germans to be settled. Finally, the German Resettlement Trust Company (Deutsche Umsiedlungstreuhand GmbH, or DUT) was responsible for the distribution of local assets to the ethnic German settlers, who were to be compensated in this way for the property that they had left behind in their countries of origin. For a comprehensive account, see Stiller, ‘Reichskommissar’, 531–40; Stiller, ‘Gewalt’, 52; Heinemann, Rasse; Rutherford, Prelude. 239. ‘Regierung des Generalgouvernements: Wirtschaftssitzung, 3.8.1943’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 717. 240. ‘Aufzeichnungen der Besprechung Hitler mit Keitel, 17.10.1939’, in IMG, Prozeß, vol. xxvi (Nuremberg, 1947), 378. 241. RKF-Anordnung Nr. 1/I, 30.10.1939 (RKF Order no. 1/I, 30 October 1939), BAB, R 49/4; Stiller, ‘Gewalt’, 53. 242. This was understood to mean all Poles who had immigrated to the western areas of the Second Polish Republic in the interwar period. 243. Götz Aly, ‘Endlösung’. Völkerverschiebung und der Mord an den europäischen Juden (Frankfurt am Main, 1995), 59–94.

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2 44. For a detailed account, see Rutherford, Prelude; ibid., 95–102. 245. People were crammed into overcrowded, unheated train carriages, where they had no access to drinking water, food or sanitary facilities. Harrowing scenes must have unfolded when these trains arrived in the General Government, as eyewitnesses reported: Six carriages were always opened at once, from which, wrapped in rags and blankets and covered in frost, people crawled out. Some immediately fell to their knees and ate snow. … Many women held their lifeless children to them under blankets. With plenty of shoving and hitting, they were forced to place these corpses in a specific carriage. Then the men were ordered to clear out the rest of the carriages. First, suitcases and bundles were thrown out, followed by sprawling and contorted corpses, which had to be stacked in a pile. … Beatings with sticks and the yelling of the SS men accelerated the pace of work a little. … Soon afterwards a locomotive came and the ghost train left. The groups of people remaining on the tracks … remained rooted to the spot. … They could not understand that they were free and could go wherever they wanted. … It was already dusk when the residents of the area dared approach the human ghosts still standing on the train tracks.

Quoted in Madajczyk, Okkupationspolitik, 407f.; Stiller, ‘Gewalt’, 57. 246. Bericht RKF (Report RKF), 20 January 1943, BAB, R 43 II/1411a. In fact, the numbers were probably significantly higher: according to reports from the various branches of the UWZ, a total of 414,820 people were deported. If one adds an unreported number of ‘wildcat’ expulsions, which were often carried out by local officials without consulting the RKF, a figure of around 450,000 expellees and deportees appears plausible. See Włodzimierz Jastrzębski, Hitlerowskie wysiedlenia z ziem Polskich wcielonych do Rzeszy 1939–1945 (Poznań, 1968), 86; Maria Rutowska, Wysiedlenia ludności polskiej z Kraju Warty do Generalnego Gubernatorstwa 1939–1941 (Poznań, 2003), 37; Madajczyk, Okkupationspolitik, 430. 247. Isabel Heinemann, ‘Wissenschaft und Homogenisierungsplanungen für Osteuropa. Konrad Meyer, der “Generalplan Ost” und die DFG’, in Isabel Heinemann and Patrick Wagner (eds), Wissenschaft – Planung – Vertreibung. Neuordnungskonzepte und Umsiedlungspolitik im 20. Jahrhundert (Stuttgart, 2006), 45–72. 248. Ibid. See also Karl Heinz Roth, ‘“Generalplan Ost” – “Gesamtplan Ost”. Forschungsstand, Quellenprobleme, neue Ergebnisse’, in Mechthild Rössler and Sabine Schleiermacher (eds), Der ‘Generalplan Ost’. Hauptlinien der nationalsozialistischen Planungs- und Vernichtungspolitik (Berlin, 1993), 25–95; Madajczyk, Vom Generalplan Ost. 249. Such dynamism was inherent in this idea right from the start. Already on 29 September 1939, in conversation with party ideologist Alfred Rosenberg, Hitler had hinted at the possibility of going beyond conventional limits: ‘The future must show whether the settlement belt can be pushed forward after decades.’ Quoted in Broszat, Nationalsozialistische Polenpolitik, 19. 250. ‘Regierung des Generalgouvernement: Regierungssitzung, 25.3.1941’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 335ff. 251. ‘Rede Hans Franks, 16.12.1941’, in ibid., 458ff. 252. ‘Dto., 16.5.1944’, in ibid., 856. 253. SSPF Lublin, Betr.: Aktion zur völkischen Rückgewinnung polonisierten Volkstums, 24.7.1941 (SSPF Lublin, Re: Measures to Advance the Ethnic Reclamation of Polonized Germans, 24 July 1941), USHMM RG-15.011M, Reel 7.

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254. Bruno Wasser, Himmlers Raumplanung im Osten. Der Generalplan Ost in Polen 1940–1944 (Basel, 1993); Bruno Wasser, ‘Die “Germanisierung” im Distrikt Lublin als Generalprobe und erste Realisierungsphase des “Generalplans Ost”’, in Mechthild Rössler and Sabine Schleiermacher (eds), Der ‘Generalplan Ost’: Hauptlinien der nationalsozialistischen Planungsund Vernichtungspolitik (Berlin, 1993), 271–93. See also the excellent map in Witold Sienkiewicz and Grzegorz Hryciuk (eds), Illustrierte Geschichte der Flucht und Vertreibung. Mittel- und Osteuropa 1939–1959 (Augsburg, 2009), 68f. 255. Around 7,000 people were executed in this area and numerous villages were burned down. The men were either deported to the Reich to perform forced labour or sent to concentration camps. ‘Retirement villages’ were built near the Treblinka extermination camp for women, children and the elderly, where they were to be ‘subjected to an accelerated die-off process’. In addition, around 4,500 ‘Aryan-looking’ children were deported to Lebensborn (‘Wellspring of Life’) homes in the Old Reich. 256. ‘Schreiben SSPF Lublin an Chef des RuSHA, 15.10.1941’, quoted in Götz Aly and Susanne Heim, Vordenker der Vernichtung. Auschwitz und die deutschen Pläne für eine neue europäische Ordnung (Hamburg, 1990), 433. 257. See Ortfried Kotzian, ‘Das Mysterium der Herkunft’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 30 April 2004. 258. Aly and Heim, Vordenker, 432–40. 259. Janicki, ‘Wirtschaftspolitik’; Bömelburg and Musial, ‘Deutsche Besatzungspolitik’, 52–55; Musial, ‘Recht’, 34–39. 260. Werner Röhr, ‘Zur Wirtschaftspolitik der deutschen Okkupanten in Polen 1939– 1945’, in Dietrich Eichholtz (ed.), Krieg und Wirtschaft. Studien zur deutschen Wirtschaftsgeschichte 1939–1945 (Berlin, 1999), 221–51. 261. Pohl, ‘War’, 93. 262. Janicki, ‘Wirtschaftspolitik’, 80. 263. Michael G. Esch, ‘Bevölkerungsverschiebungen und Bevölkerungspolitik 1939–1950’, in Włodzimierz Borodziej and Klaus Ziemer (eds), Deutsch-polnische Beziehungen 1939 – 1945 – 1949. Eine Einführung (Osnabrück, 2000), 189–213, here 189–98. For a comprehensive account, see Esch, ‘Gesunde Verhältnisse’; Aly and Heim, Vordenker; Janicki, ‘Wirtschaftspolitik’, 89ff. 264. Bernhard Rosenkötter, Treuhandpolitik. Die ‘Haupttreuhandstelle Ost’ und der Raub polnischer Vermögen 1939–1945 (Essen, 2003); Jeanne Dingell, Zur Tätigkeit der Haupttreuhandstelle Ost, Treuhandstelle Posen 1939–1945 (Frankfurt am Main, 2003). 265. Röhr, ‘Wirtschaftspolitik’, 235; Musial, ‘Recht’, 36; Czesław Łuczak, Polska i Polacy w Drugiej Wojnie Światowej (Poznań, 1993), 209. 266. Michael Hartenstein, ‘Neue Dorflandschaften’. Nationalsozialistische Siedlungspolitik in den ‘eingegliederten Ostgebieten’ 1939 bis 1944 unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der Dorfplanung (Bonn, 1998). 267. In 1943–44, for example, more coal was mined in Upper Silesia than in the entire Ruhr region. See Bömelburg and Musial, ‘Deutsche Besatzungspolitik’, 53. 268. Röhr, ‘Wirtschaftspolitik’, 243; ibid., 54f.; Łuczak, Polska, 226. 269. Schwaneberg, ‘Ausbeutung’, 104. 270. Ibid. 271. See, for example, Hermann Göring’s guidelines of 19 October 1939 on the economic approach to be taken to occupied Polish territory: ‘All raw material, scrap material, machines, etc. of use to the German war economy [are to be] removed from the territories of the General Government. Enterprises that are not absolutely necessary to

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272. 273. 274.

275.

2 76. 277. 278.

279.

280. 281.

282.

283. 284. 285. 286.

ensuring, as scantily as possible, the residents’ bare survival must be transferred to Germany.’ Quoted in IMG, Prozeß, vol. 36 (Nuremberg, 1947), 482. ‘Aufzeichnungen der Besprechung Hitlers mit Keitel, 17.10.1939’, in ibid., vol. xxvi (Nuremberg, 1947), 379. Here, Hitler is alluding to the derogatory concept of the ‘Polish economy’. Ibid. See, for example, Hans Frank’s remarks on 3 August 1943: ‘In November and December 1939 and in January and February 1940 I was given responsibility for completely stripping this country of its machinery, cannibalizing all factories, dismantling any second railway tracks that might be present, dismantling telephone and telegraph lines amounting to more than a single line and ensuring that telephones were only available to German agencies.’ Quoted in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 715ff. See the relevant discussions between the German occupation apparatus in the General Government and both the Wehrmacht and representatives of the Four-Year Plan Authority: ‘Sitzung der Distriktchefs und Amtsleiter des Generalgouvernements, 8.11.1939’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 61ff.; ‘Sitzung Franks mit Generalleutnant von Barckhausen, 1.12.1939’, in ibid., 67ff.; ‘Konferenz bei Generalfeldmarschall Göring, 4.12.1939’, in ibid., 74–77; ‘Sitzung mit dem Leiter der Dienststelle für den Vierjahresplan im Generalgouvernement, Generalmajor Robert Bührmann, 8.1.1940’, in ibid., 84. For a comprehensive account, see Schwaneberg, ‘Ausbeutung’, 105f.; Łuczak, Polityka, 33. Schwaneberg, ‘Ausbeutung’, 128f. Eisenblätter, Grundlinien, 313; ibid., 113; Łuczak, Polityka, 285. Bericht Rüstungsinspekteur im Generalgouvernement an OKW/WiRü Amt, 28.1.1941 (Report by Armaments Inspector in the General Government to OKW/WiRü Office, 28 January 1941), BA-MA, RW 23/6a; see also Schwaneberg, ‘Ausbeutung’, 112f.; Eisenblätter, Grundlinien, 313ff.; Łuczak, Polityka, 285ff. Schwaneberg, ‘Ausbeutung’, 113–15; Dieter Pohl, ‘Der Raub an den Juden im besetzten Osteuropa 1939–1942’, in Constantin Goschler and Philipp Ther (eds), Raub und Restitution. ‘Arisierung’ und Rückerstattung des jüdischen Eigentums in Europa (Frankfurt am Main, 2003), 58–72. Jerzy Tomaszewski, ‘The Role of Jews in Polish Commerce, 1918–1939’, in Yisrael Gutman, Ezra Mendelsohn and Jehuda Reinharz (eds), The Jews in Poland between the Two World Wars (London, 1989), 141–57. Pohl, ‘Judenpolitik’, 74f.; Musial, Deutsche Zivilverwaltung, 148; Wacław Długoborski, ‘Die deutsche Besatzungspolitik und die Veränderungen der sozialen Struktur Polens 1939–1945’, in Wacław Długoborski, (ed.), Zweiter Weltkrieg und sozialer Wandel (Göttingen, 1981), 303–63, here 316ff. Jan Tomasz Gross, Polish Society under German Occupation. The Generalgouvernement 1939–1944 (Princeton, 1979), 78; Ulrich Herbert, Fremdarbeiter. Politik und Praxis des ‘Ausländer-Einsatzes’ in der Kriegswirtschaft des Dritten Reiches (Berlin, 1985), 69ff.; Łuczak, Polska, 175–82; Schwaneberg, ‘Ausbeutung’, 115. Eisenblätter, Grundlinien, 330ff. Herbert, Fremdarbeiter, 149–53; Schwaneberg, ‘Ausbeutung’, 116f. Schwaneberg, ‘Ausbeutung’, 117ff. For a comprehensive account, see Rajca, Walka; see also Czesław Łuczak, ‘Landwirtschaft und Ernährung in Polen während der deutschen Besatzungszeit 1939–1945’, in Bernd Martin and Alan S. Milward (eds), Agriculture and Food Supply in the Second World War (Ostfildern, 1985), 117–27.

Occupation as a Framework for Action  •  113

287. ‘Besprechung Franks mit Generalleutnant von Barckhausen, 1.12.1939’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 67; Schwaneberg, ‘Ausbeutung’, 106f. 288. Łuczak, Polityka, 406ff.; Łuczak, ‘Landwirtschaft’, 124; Schwaneberg, ‘Ausbeutung’, 108ff. 289. Figures in Łuczak, Polityka, 402. 290. Schwaneberg, ‘Ausbeutung’, 111. 291. Łuczak, ‘Landwirtschaft’, 126; ibid., 111. 292. For a pithy account of the situation, see Schwaneberg, ‘Ausbeutung’, 128. 293. Hans Frank, for example, explained that ‘[o]ne must always keep in mind that one is not living here in an orderly country that is happy to be ruled by the Germans. One is living here, as it were, in enemy territory, and thus it is understandable that the population does everything it can to harm the General Government. So no one can be held accountable for the fact that the supply plan cannot be seen through as intended. After all, as far as absolutely possible, all forces would be deployed in any case’. See ‘Abteilungsleitersitzung, 12.4.1940’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 167. This is why, in talks with Italian dictator Benito Mussolini on 13 August 1940, Hitler declared that ‘[h]e would rather rule negroes than Poles’. Quoted in Hans Umbreit, ‘Auf dem Weg zur Kontinentalherrschaft’, in Bernhard K. Kroener, Rolf-Dieter Müller and Hans Umbreit (eds), Organisation und Mobilisierung des deutschen Machtbereichs (Stuttgart, 1988), 1–272, here 124. 294. Bömelburg and Musial, ‘Deutsche Besatzungspolitik’, 38ff. 295. Pohl, ‘Reichsgaue’, 403. 296. Sémélin, Säubern, 355. 297. Longerich, ‘Perspektiven’, 7. 298. Wolfgang Jacobmeyer, ‘Die polnische Widerstandsbewegung im Generalgouvernement und ihre Beurteilung durch deutsche Dienststellen’, Vierteljahrshefte für Zeitgeschichte 25 (1977), 658–81, here 667. 299. For an admirably clear account, see Roth, Herrenmenschen, 29–44. 300. Hans-Henning Hahn, ‘Die Gesellschaft im Verteidigungszustand. Zur Genese eines Grundmusters der politischen Mentalität in Polen’, in Hans-Henning Hahn and Michael G. Müller (eds), Gesellschaft und Staat in Polen. Historische Aspekte der polnischen Krise (Berlin, 1988), 15–48. 301. Borodziej, ‘Konturen’, 95–116. 302. In this context too, there are significant spatial differences between the incorporated areas and the General Government due to the different conditions applying in each. The prerequisites for the emergence of armed resistance in the incorporated areas were comparatively unfavourable, as the Nazi authorities had a particularly strong grip on the Polish population: the comprehensive ‘intelligentsia campaign’ in autumn 1939 made it difficult to build up conspiratorial structures, as did the mass expulsions and the permanent pressure of Germanization. Against this background, conspiratorial acts were extremely risky – such that the resistance largely failed to integrate broad sections of the population. Regardless of this, individual resistance groups succeeded in carrying out numerous acts of espionage and sabotage – especially in Upper Silesia – but armed forms of resistance did not emerge until the end of 1944 and only in specific regions. In the General Government, on the other hand, conditions for the formation of resistance groups were better for two reasons. First, at least in the first few years of the German occupation, the General Government was free of the sweeping coercive measures that were at the core of attempts to establish a new ethnonational order and that left severe devastation in their wake in the incorporated areas. Second, the Nazi occupation authorities were dependent on a degree of cooperation with

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303.

3 04. 305.

3 06. 307.

308. 309. 3 10. 311. 312. 313. 314. 315.

sections of the Polish population: as already mentioned, local officials were integrated into the administration of the occupied territories at the regional level. This configuration sometimes fostered collaboration, but it also gave Poles scope for action that was unavailable in the incorporated areas. For a detailed account of the incorporated territories, see Pietrowicz, ‘Widerstandsbewegung’, 427–52. On the General Government, see Mazur, ‘Widerstand’, 405–26. For a summary, see Borodziej, ‘Politische und soziale Konturen’. How to assess these internal Polish conflicts is still a matter of intense controversy: Edmund Dmitrów and Jerzy Kułak, ‘Der polnische “Historikerstreit” zur Armia Krajowa’, in Bernhard Chiari (ed.), Die polnische Heimatarmee. Geschichte und Mythos der Armia Krajowa seit dem Zweiten Weltkrieg (Munich, 2003), 807–46. For an excellent overview, see Młynarczyk, Judenmord, 318ff. The Polish Underground State brought together a large number of different political groups. It was headed by a ‘Delegation of the Government of the Polish Republic in the Country’ (Delegatura Rządu w Kraju), which had its own police force and a judicial and educational system, as well as an armed wing: the Home Army (Armia Krajowa). For a comprehensive account, see the individual contributions in Bernhard Chiari (ed.), Die polnische Heimatarmee. Geschichte und Mythos der Armia Krajowa seit dem Zweiten Weltkrieg (Munich, 2003). Włodzimierz Borodziej et al., Polska Podziemna 1939–1945 (Warsaw, 1991), 80ff. The first directive of the Ministerial Committee for Homeland Affairs of 15 November 1940 already stated that acts of armed resistance should be avoided at all costs, since ‘the results would pale next to the repression that such actions would inevitably trigger throughout the country’. Quoted in Jacek Andrzej Młynarczyk, ‘Die zerrissene Nation. Die polnische Gesellschaft unter deutscher und sowjetischer Herrschaft 1939–1941’, in Klaus-Michael Mallmann and Bogdan Musial (eds), Genesis des Genozids. Polen 1939–1941 (Darmstadt, 2004), 145–69, here 152. In view of this prudent and levelheaded strategy, it is hard to understand why the assessment of the leaders of the Polish Underground State is now related exclusively to the Warsaw Uprising. We end up with a one-sided, highly unsatisfactory historical assessment if the commanders of the Armia Krajowa are portrayed merely as gamblers and desperados who exposed Polish civilians to mass German violence with their eyes wide open. See Paul Latawski, ‘The Armia Krajowa and Polish Partisan Warfare, 1939–1943’, in Ben Shepherd and Juliette Pattinson (eds), War in a Twilight World. Partisan and Anti-Partisan Warfare in Eastern Europe, 1939–45 (London, 2009), 137–55. Piotr Gontarczyk, Polska Partia Robotnicza. Droga do władzy 1941–1944 (Warsaw, 2004); Stefan Meyer, Zwischen Ideologie und Pragmatismus. Die Legitimationsstrategien der Polnischen Arbeiterpartei 1944–1948 (Berlin, 2008), 39–58. Młynarczyk, Judenmord, 309ff.; ibid. For an overview, see Marek Jan Chodakiewicz, Narodowe Siły Zbrojne. ‘Ząb’ przeciw dwu wrogom (Warsaw, 1999). Borodziej, Terror i polityka , 235ff. Młynarczyk, Judenmord, 324–29. Borodziej, ‘Politische und soziale Konturen’, 105. District chief Heinz Doering wrote in a letter to his mother, ‘I believe that Poles and Czechs will not revolt as much in 100 years as they do now – assuming there is anyone left’. Quoted in Roth, Herrenmenschen, 33. There are no exact figures on the victims of this prolonged series of attacks. In October 1943, Hans Frank referred to more than 1,000 Germans killed in the

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General Government. See ‘Amtsleitersitzung, 23.10.1943’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 743. 316. Roth, Herrenmenschen, 44. 3 17. Ibid. For numerous examples, see Lehnstaedt, Okkupation im Osten, 177–87. 318. Herfried Münkler, ‘Strategien der Sicherung: Welten der Sicherheit und Kulturen des Risikos. Theoretische Perspektiven’, in Herfried Münkler, Matthias Bohlender and Sabine Meurer (eds), Sicherheit und Risiko. Über den Umgang mit Gefahr im 21. Jahrhundert (Bielefeld, 2010), 11–34.

Part II

‘Polish Bands’ War, Occupation Policy and the Logic of Massacres

‘The Poles’, as Eugen Heißmeyer, head of the SS Main Office, put it in the summer of 1940, ‘are not Norwegians, Dutch or Flemings’.1 As he saw it, occupied Poland differed from other areas under occupation in one respect in particular: ‘[H]ere there are bands’, he emphasized, while also underlining the fact that this led to divergent scenarios of German occupation in Europe: ‘In the east, the situation is different from that in southern Norway, Denmark, Holland, Belgium, Bohemia and Moravia. There peace and quiet prevails.’2 In occupied Poland, however, according to Heißmeyer, there was ‘no peace’ due to the existence of armed bands. ‘Here you must be vigilant and on guard, here we see the flickering of the resistance … here the desire for vengeance smoulders beneath the surface’.3 This made it the task of the SS and police apparatus to put down all insurgencies of ‘Polish bands’ through ‘numerous individual battles and large-scale operations’:4 ‘To arms! Seek out the enemy … and destroy him!’5 In his remarks, Heißmeyer highlights the fundamental importance of the enemy construct of ‘Polish bands’ to the Nazi perception of Poland and its inhabitants. At the discursive level, the ‘Polish bands’ functioned as a means of defining the character of occupied Poland while also demarcating it from other occupied areas. From the Nazi perspective, Poland was a savage, unregulated area, home to violent and devious people who came together to form threatening ‘bands’. It was this perception that aroused distrust and fears, and created scenarios of permanent threat from which – as Heißmeyer underlined – the German occupiers could free themselves only through the use of force.

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Against the background of the analysis of this specific setting, this part of the book focuses on the Nazi approach to ‘Polish bands’ over the entire period of the occupation. Rather than foregrounding the armed conflicts between partisans and the German occupation apparatus, in what follows I seek to illuminate the nexus of anti-partisan efforts and massacres of Polish civilians. To this end, I build on an observation by Juliette Pattinson and Ben Shepherd, who emphasize that the attitude of the civilian population, caught between fronts, is crucial to the outcome of a partisan war.6 Civilians potentially provide partisans with urgently needed supplies and a source of recruits. Partisans can withdraw into the civilian sphere, go into hiding and soak up the latest rumours, but also obtain tangible information on troop movements and the occupiers’ plans. According to Pattinson and Shepherd, partisan warfare is unlikely to be successful without a loyal or at least tolerant attitude on the part of the civilian population.7 Against this background, counter-partisan operations generally aim to prevent partisans from accessing the resource of the ‘civilian population’. In principle, a broad spectrum of action is open to the occupiers in this regard – ranging from attempts to win ‘hearts and minds’ to the use of mass violence in order to ensure the docility of the non-combatant population. It was this framework that put Polish civilians at the heart of Nazi counter-partisan operations. Three overarching aspects are of special importance to my analysis in what follows: the Second World War as a context of action, turf wars and the connection between the imposition of limits on violence and the elimination of all such limits. (1) As a ‘new realm of possibility’,8 the Second World War was a radicalizing context in two respects. First, at a general level it engendered ‘that mental state of emergency whose nationalistic fervour we today had almost forgotten’,9 as Ulrich Herbert has put it. The war led to a marked radicalization of existing enemy constructs and ‘forced through a dichotomous structure of thinking and feeling even among those who in no way shared the Nazis’ views’.10 At the same time, ‘under the dogma of “national security”, many things became possible that would previously have met with sheer incomprehension’.11 The conflict thus became an important source of legitimation for Nazi violence against civilians: ‘Contradictions, objections and reservations were now obsolete’,12 since everything was at stake in the war and German interests had to be enforced by all means necessary.   However, the war was not simply an ‘external factor, … extrinsic to some separate, long-standing perpetrator “character” or “intention”’.13 The specific character of the Nazi war in Poland and Eastern Europe already contained the ‘seeds of radicalism’:14 the ideological foundations

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of the conflict had direct repercussions for the perception and interpretation of negative developments at the front. This allowed setbacks and defeats to be interpreted in a racist manner and attributed to certain groups of the population; as a ‘necessity of war’, it was now permissible to take severe and ruthless action against them. At a time when the very existence of the Nazi Reich was at stake, even violence that was only loosely related to the waging of war seemed increasingly acceptable when conceptualized in this way as a necessity.15 The war was to be won at all costs: this was the Nazis’ paramount goal.   Second, this situation changed occupied Poland’s position within the overall structure of German rule in Eastern Europe. It was a de facto rear area to be mobilized and exploited in order to aid the German war effort. As a condition of possibility, however, from the Nazi perspective this implied one thing above all: in the ‘land of bands’, peace and order must prevail at all costs. This in turn put immense pressure on the relevant authorities in occupied Poland – especially in the General Government, the main arena of the Polish partisan movement. (2) The SS and police apparatus was chiefly responsible for the formulation and implementation of strategies to secure German rule. At the head of the police administration was the Higher SS and Police Leader (Höherer SS- und Polizeiführer, or HSSPF) East,16 who was responsible for ‘leading all forces subordinate to the Reichsführer-SS [Reich Leader SS] and Chief of the German Police’.17 All units of the Ordnungspolizei under a commander (Befehlshaber der Ordnungspolizei, or BdO) were placed by Himmler under the command of the HSSPF East, while the entire apparatus of the Sicherheitspolizei was made subordinate to a Commander of the Sicherheitspolizei (Befehlshaber der Sicherheitspolizei, or BdS).18 To combat the ‘Polish bands’, the HSSPF East could fall back on a dense and many-layered apparatus whose various formations each fulfilled specific tasks.19 Particularly in the early stages of the occupation, the Sicherheitspolizei concentrated on identifying, persecuting and killing those strata of Polish society that underpinned the state and were viewed as the potential nucleus of a future Polish resistance movement.20   In the context of counter-partisan operations, the main role of the Sicherheitspolizei, whose personnel was increased from around 2,00021 to more than 5,00022 men over the course of time, was to provide intelligence. This duty chiefly involved establishing a many-branched network of agents, localizing ‘Polish bands’ and carrying out ‘aggressive interrogations’ of ‘suspected band members’ who had been apprehended. The true backbone of operations against ‘Polish bands’, however, was formed by the various units of the Ordnungspolizei, which was responsible for dayto-day counter-partisan operations and carried out a large number of

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actions both large and small. Due to the deteriorating security situation, the number of these foot soldiers in the fight against partisans increased continuously. The number of Ordnungspolizei rose from 10,61023 in 1940 to 15,000 in 194224 – increasing again the following year to more than 19,000,25 before reaching its peak in 1944 at over 44,000 men.26 These units of the Sicherheitspolizei and Ordnungspolizei were reinforced by Waffen SS troops of a total strength of up to 12,000 men,27 and around 14,000 Polish police; under the command of the German Ordnungspolizei, the latter contributed to major counter-partisan operations on numerous occasions.28   But ‘security’ was a field of activity whose fundamental importance attracted the interest of other occupation authorities that contributed to police security measures in a range of different ways. The civil administration, under Dr Hans Frank,29 was the most important of these. All levels of the three-tier occupation apparatus – which comprised the ‘government of the General Government’30 at the central level, the districts at the regional level31 and the county administrations at the local level32 – were involved in counter-partisan operations in one way or another. While the leadership levels functioned as internal pressure groups, which pushed for a ‘vigorous crackdown’ in consultation with the SS and police apparatus, the civil-administration departments – above all, the main departments of Labour and of Food and Agriculture – fed their expertise and their wishes directly into the planning of operations. Time and again, then, counter-partisan measures were coupled with other political fields, emerging over time as a catch-all measure of German rule: these operations were meant not just to achieve ‘security’ but were viewed as a means of recruiting forced labourers and collecting agricultural quotas. The occupying troops of the German Wehrmacht came to play an active role in counter-partisan measures as well.33 The Military Commander (Militärbefehlshaber)34 was in charge of five Higher Field Commands (Oberfeldkommandanturen) and an operational reserve consisting of two reserve divisions,35 whose soldiers could be recruited by the HSSPF East to fight partisans without too many formalities.   Overall, the cooperation between these various occupation authorities on counter-partisan operations produced a highly ambivalent picture. On the one hand, the fight against partisans created broad zones of agreement between the different actors of the German occupation regime. The destruction of ‘Polish bands’ by the HSSPF East was considered a sine qua non for the enforcement of German interests and was in principle supported by both the civil administration and the Wehrmacht.   On the other hand, the actions of the SS and police apparatus sparked a great deal of conflict within the German occupation regime.

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As the earlier quote from Eugen Heißmeyer shows, the measures taken by the SS and police to achieve comprehensive ‘security’ in occupied Poland were based on the use of mass violence. From their perspective, violence held out the prospect of regaining control of a dangerous situation and eliminating the threat posed by Polish partisan groups. In their internal communication with the other occupation authorities, a specific expectation arose – namely, that in the context of foreign rule the vigorous use of force by the SS and police could achieve security and was in fact about to do so. The other occupation authorities ultimately judged the SS and police apparatus against these expectations, concluding that the promise of ‘security’ had not been kept. Ever more risks and dangers were identified, the sense of threat intensified over time and ever larger areas evaded German control.36 However, the SS and police did not respond to their evident failure to make good on their promise of security by changing strategy. Instead, they maintained course – pouring in yet more resources and stepping up their use of violence.   This resistance to learning, the inability to deviate from the chosen path, was a constitutive feature of the violent security strategies deployed by the SS and police apparatus, which was never to help shore up the German claim to power. Time and again, within the civil administration and the Wehrmacht, this led to doubts about the competence of the SS and police, which were regarded as unproductive and unprofessional. In view of their failures, the Military Commander in particular pushed his claim to responsibility for restoring ‘security and order’, thus triggering recurring debates on competencies in this field. These turf wars were a radicalizing factor in their own right. The more third parties cast doubt on it, the more the SS and police felt pressure to prove their competence. In line with the logic of their security strategies, this implied the need to further intensify their use of violence. At the same time, Himmler tried to ward off the attacks on SS and police competencies by incorporating occupied Poland into a supraregional security architecture. By integrating the Polish territories into the network of ‘band-fighting areas’, he sought to evade criticism of the empty promises made by his regional SS and police apparatus – installing an external figure, in the form of Erich von dem Bach-Zelewski, as ‘Head of the Band-Fighting Units’ (Chef der Bandenkampfverbände). However, this new promise of security also came to nothing, so that, as the front moved ever closer in spring 1944, the SS and police finally lost responsibility for this policy field. Subsequently, until German troops withdrew from Polish soil in January 1945, it was the units of the German Wehrmacht that were officially responsible for securing the occupied territory.

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(3) The violence that was unleashed in the context of Nazi counter-partisan measures and that erupted in countless massacres of Polish civilians posed a specific challenge to military and police leaders. On the one hand, they authorized their troops to use mass violence to annihilate the ‘Polish bands’. On the other hand, this expansion of the zone of permitted violence entailed the risk of uncontrolled escalation, which had to be prevented at all costs. In this context, Jan Philipp Reemtsma has pointed out that organizations with a licence to use violence have to control their members in order to prevent the violence from being turned on their own institution.37 It is true that the units deployed were encouraged to use mass violence: they were assured of backing as they pushed the limits of permissible action. However, Nazi counter-partisan measures were not meant to trigger a private war waged by high-handed soldiers and policemen as this would pose a risk to discipline, to the normative framework of the relevant institution.38 The police and military chiefs thus faced a major problem: if excess violence is deliberately unleashed, lack of discipline and arbitrary acts do in fact typically constitute a significant threat to the stability of institutions. We thus find numerous orders intended to restore discipline and ‘manly self-control’ (Manneszucht) among the troops. The German fight against partisans, then, developed in a field of permanent tension between the elimination and imposition of limits on violence, giving this counter-partisan project a quite specific dynamic.39 Against the background of these observations, the following chapters examine massacres of Polish civilians in the context of measures to combat ‘Polish bands’. In no way does my account aspire to completeness. Instead, I focus on those massacres of importance to specific phases of German antipartisan campaigns. I distinguish between six frameworks that extend over the entire period of Nazi rule and furnish us with comprehensive insights into the development and dynamics of counter-partisan measures. First, I analyse massacres of Polish civilians during the German invasion of Poland in September 1939. Here, I build on the study by Jochen Böhler, which provides an interpretation of the mass killing of Polish civilians by German soldiers and police. The linchpin of his argument is the Freischärlerwahn (‘irregulars psychosis’) – that is, German soldiers’ fear of the ‘devious’ fighting style of the supposedly ubiquitous Polish partisans. Böhler emphasizes the fact that the Wehrmacht was waging a virtual war here, as there was no organized Polish partisan movement in September 1939. Nevertheless, he tells us, the illusionary notion of an omnipresent enemy influenced German conduct and helped bring about massacres of Polish civilians. The analysis of massacres in the context of an imagined partisan

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war forms the basis for my examination of the framework within which the Germans were in fact confronted with Polish partisans. Certain patterns of perception and behaviour emerged here that are linked with subsequent developments in a range of ways. Second, I turn to the spring of 1940 and thus to the moment when the German occupiers were faced by an armed group for the first time. The confrontation with ‘Hubal’ and his men may be viewed as a period of initiation in which the instrument of ‘band-fighting’ operations was used for the first time. To varying degrees, the experiences gained here provide pointers to the following years. I then seek to analyse a situation in which the presence of armed groups was no longer an occasional occurrence but pervasive in certain areas. To simplify only slightly, such groups assembled, especially in the wooded areas in the south-east of the General Government, from the summer of 1942 onwards. The German occupation apparatus perceived this development as a profound challenge, to which it responded with counter-partisan operations. The main formations responsible for these in the summer and autumn of 1942 were smaller units of the Ordnungspolizei; mobile and organized on a decentralized basis, they combed repeatedly through certain areas. I then turn to the year 1943, which shifted the parameters of Nazi ‘bandfighting’ measures in two respects. First, the failure of the strategy pursued hitherto became evident. Around the beginning of 1943, the armed groups in the forests of the General Government saw explosive growth – significantly limiting German power in certain regions. Second, occupied Poland was declared a ‘band-fighting area’ and integrated into a cross-border security architecture. I also examine the final stage of Nazi ‘band-fighting’ measures. This was a period in which the German occupation troops had de facto lost control of large areas. As the Red Army advanced, we can identify another shift of responsibilities: from 1944 on, ‘band-fighting’ operations took place under the aegis of the Wehrmacht. Finally, I look at the putting down of the Warsaw Uprising of 1944 – which saw the first use of counter-partisan measures, previously limited to rural areas, in an urban centre. This transfer of methods to a city environment altered the parameters of ‘band-fighting’ operations, further radicalizing the German approach.

Notes  1. KdS Warschau, Befehl Nr. 26, Betr.: Befehl des SS-Hauptamtes, 21.6.1940 (KdS Warsaw, Order no. 26, Re.: Order Issued by SS Main Office, 21 June 1940), AAN, 214/V-6 (Niemieckie władze okupacyjne 1939–1945), fol. 1ff.

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 2. Ibid.  3. Ibid.  4. Ibid.  5. Ibid.   6. Pattinson and Shepherd, ‘Partisan and Anti-Partisan Warfare’, 677.  7. Ibid.   8. Kundrus and Strotbek, ‘Genozid’, 416.   9. Herbert, ‘Wer waren die Nationalsozialisten?’, 36. 10. Ibid. 11. Kundrus and Strotbek, ‘Genozid’, 416. 12. Ulrich Herbert, Geschichte Deutschlands im 20. Jahrhundert (Munich, 2014), 394. 13. Donald Bloxham, Genocide, The World Wars and the Unweaving of Europe (London, 2008), 3. 14. Ibid., 4. 15. Christoph Dieckmann and Babette Quinkert, ‘“Kriegsnotwendigkeiten” und die Eskalation der deutschen Massengewalt im totalen Krieg. Einführende Bemerkungen’, in Christoph Dieckmann and Babette Quinkert (eds), Kriegführung und Hunger 1939–1945. Zum Verhältnis von militärischen, wirtschaftlichen und politischen Interessen (Göttingen, 2015), 9–32. 16. Himmler filled this key institution within the overall structure of German rule with particularly radical, leading cadres of the SS police apparatus whose loyalty to him was beyond question. First, he installed SS-Obergruppenführer Friedrich-Wilhelm Krüger as HSSPF East. Born in Strasbourg in 1894, Krüger, who had left grammar school before taking the Abitur (the high-school leaving examination) to attend a cadet school, was a veteran of the First World War and, after the German defeat, a member of the Lützow Freikorps. His professional career after leaving the Reichswehr was extremely erratic. He initially worked in the book trade before becoming a member of the board of the Berlin Refuse Collection Service in 1924. After he was laid off, Krüger joined the Nazi Party in 1929, became a member of the SA (Sturmabteilung, or ‘Assault Division’) a year later and joined the SS in 1931. In 1932, he became a member of the Nazi Party parliamentary group in the Reichstag and served as SA-Gruppenführer as a member of Ernst Röhm’s personal staff. Here, he took over the SA’s educational division but was so inept that he provoked severe conflicts with the SA leadership and was finally relieved of his duties in 1935. He then turned his back on the SA and became involved in the SS, where he quickly rose to join Himmler’s leadership team. BAB, BDC, SSO Krüger; Larry V. Thompson, ‘Friedrich-Wilhelm Krüger – Höherer SS- und Polizeiführer Ost’, in Ronald Smelser and Enrico Syring (eds), Die SS. Elite unterm Totenkopf. 30 Lebensläufe (Paderborn, 2000), 320–31; Birn, Höheren SS- und Polizeiführer, 340; Longerich, Himmler, 141. Himmler evidently viewed Krüger’s appointment as HSSPF East in the autumn of 1939 as an opportunity for him to prove himself. See Birn, Höheren SS- und Polizeiführer, 379–80. Krüger remained HSSPF East until November 1943 but was eventually ousted and replaced by the former HSSPF Warthe, Wilhelm Koppe. Born in Hildesheim in 1896, Koppe, a highly decorated First World War veteran and former coffee wholesaler, had joined the Nazi Party in 1930 and the SS in 1932. Before the German invasion, he was commander of the Sicherheitspolizei in Dresden. BAB, BDC, SSO Koppe; Catherine Epstein, Model Nazi. Arthur Greiser and the Occupation of Western Poland (Oxford, 2010), 144f.; Birn, Höhere SS- und Polizeiführer, 339. Koppe was one of the ‘toughest and most assertive HSSPFs’ and enjoyed Himmler’s full confidence, which was prob-

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ably why he was recalled to the General Government in November 1943. See Birn, Höhere SS- und Polizeiführer, 378. 17. Quoted in Birn, Höhere SS- und Polizeiführer, 83. 18. This pattern continued at the regional level, where SS and Police leaders (SSPF) were appointed for the first time as territorial commanders (Territorialbefehlshaber), who were directly subordinate to the HSSPF East. Within the individual districts, the commanders of the Sicherheitspolizei (Kommandeure der Sicherheitspolizei, or KdS) and the Ordnungspolizei (Kommandeure der Ordnungspolizei or KdO) were in turn subordinate to the SSPF. See Führerorganisation der Polizei im Generalgouvernement, 1.11.1939 (Organization of Police Leadership in the General Government, 1 November 1939), BAB, R 58/241; Stellenbesetzung der SS u. Polizei im Generalgouvernement (Staffing of the SS and Police in the General Government), BAB, R 70 Polen/180; Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 100. 19. According to Wolfgang Jacobmeyer, with respect to security issues the General Government was ‘the occupied territory most thoroughly pervaded by SS and police activities during the Second World War’. See Wolfgang Jacobmeyer, ‚Das Generalgouvernement für die besetzten polnischen Gebiete 1939–1945’, unpublished manuscript (Hamburg, 2011), 3. My thanks to Wolfgang Jacobmeyer for kindly making his text available to me. 20. For an example focused on the district of Radom, see Borodziej, Terror. 21. Mallmann, ‘Mißgeburten’, 75. Slightly different figures can be found in Borodziej, Terror, 53. Borodziej assumes a figure of around 2,000 members of the Sicherheitspolizei in the GG, including 479 officers at the KdS Krakow, 321 at the KdS Lublin, 351 at the KdS Radom and 481 at the KdS Warsaw. 22. ‘Besprechung der politischen Angelegenheiten, 21.11.1942’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 574. 23. There were 4 police regiments made up of 13 police battalions and a mounted detachment, 40 mobile platoons (Gendarmeriezüge) and 400 protection police (Schutzpolizisten) on stationary duty (Einzeldienst). See Aufbau der Orpo im GG, 20.8.1940 (Structure of the Orpo in the GG, 20 August 1940), BAB, R 19/97; Einzeldienst der Schutzpolizei des Reiches im GG, 2.7.1940 (Stationary Duty of the Reich Protection Police in the GG, 2 July 1940), AIPN, Reg. GG, no. II/330, fol. 2ff. 24. ‘Besprechung der politischen Angelegenheiten, 21.11.1942’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 574. 25. Borodziej, Terror, 34ff.; Eisenblätter, Grundlinien, 293; Seidel, Deutsche Besatzungspolitik, 63. 26. Ibid.; Marek Getter, ‘Zarys organizacji policji niemieckiej w Warszawie i dystrykcie warszawskie w latach 1939–1944’, Rocznik Warszawski 6 (1965), 256ff. 27. Martin Cüppers, ‘“… auf eine so saubere und anständige SS-mäßige Art”. Die Waffen-SS in Polen 1939–1941’, in Klaus-Michael Mallmann and Bogdan Musial (eds), Genesis des Genozids. Polen 1939–1941 (Darmstadt, 2004), 90–109, here 105. 28. Anordnung HSSPF Ost, 8.7.1940 (Order HSSPF East, 8 July 1940), BAB, R 52 III/43, fol. 54ff.; Adam Hempel, Pogrobowcy klęksi. Rzecz o policji ‘granatowej’ w Generalnym Gubernatorstwie 1939–1945 (Warsaw, 1990), 68ff.; Seidel, Deutsche Besatzungspolitik, 83; Borodziej, Terror, 38ff. 29. For biographical information on Frank, see Dieter Schenk, Hitlers Kronjurist und Generalgouverneur (Frankfurt am Main, 2006); Karol Grünberg and Bolesław Otręba, Hans Frank na Wawelu (Włocławek, 2001); Christian Schudnagies, Hans Frank. Aufstieg und Fall des NS-Juristen und Generalgouverneurs (Frankfurt am Main, 1989).

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30. On the structure and personnel of the ‘Government of the General Government’, see Max Freiherr Du Prel, Das Generalgouvernement (Würzburg, 1942), 375–81. 31. Musial, Zivilverwaltung, 40. 32. For a comprehensive account, see Roth, Herrenmenschen. 33. The total strength of the occupying troops varied over the course of the German occupation, at times substantially. While a total of 550,000 German soldiers were stationed in the General Government in October 1939, the number had fallen to 400,000 by April 1940 before increasing to around 2,000,000 in June 1941 in the course of the military build-up in advance of ‘Operation Barbarossa’. By February 1942, this figure had decreased again to around 300,000 German soldiers before increasing to 550,000 in November 1943. Finally, just before the end of the German occupation, the one million mark was surpassed again in September 1944. See Herzog, ‘Tätigkeit’, 449ff.; Łuczak, Polityka, 411. 34. Organizational structures were subject to constant change. Until 1940, the German troops in the General Government were subordinate to a Commander in Chief East (Oberbefehlshaber Ost), whose office was renamed the Military Commander in the General Government (Militärbefehlshaber im Generalgouvernement) in July 1940. In September 1942, the military command structures were again transformed with a Military District Commander in the General Government (Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im Generalgouvernement) now occupying the top position. In the closing phase of German rule in Poland, finally, the military command staff was designated the Commander in the General Government Army Area (Befehlshaber im Heeresgebiet Generalgouvernement). See Herzog, ‘Tätigkeit’, 447ff.; Leon Herzog, ‘Niemieckie siły zbrojne w okupowanej Polsce w latach 1939–1941’, Wojskowy Przegląd Historyczny 4 (1961), 88–113; Radziwończyk, ‘Niemieckie siły zbrojne’, 103–59. 35. These were the 154th Reserve Division under Lieutenant General Altrichter and the 174th Reserve Division under Lieutenant General Renner; see Herzog, ‘Tätigkeit’, 446ff. 36. For a general account of this dynamic, see Münkler, ‘Strategien’. 37. Jan Philipp Reemtsma, Vertrauen und Gewalt. Über eine besondere Konstellation der Moderne (Hamburg, 2008), 173. 38. Jan Philipp Reemtsma, ‘Institutions of Violence and their Potential Dynamics’, in Wolfgang R. Vogt (ed.), Gewalt und Konfliktbearbeitung. Befunde – Konzepte – Handeln (Baden-Baden, 1997), 151–61. 39. On the Croatian case, see the stimulating reflections of Alexander Korb, Im Schatten des Weltkriegs. Massengewalt der Ustaša gegen Serben, Juden und Roma in Kroatien 1941–1945 (Hamburg, 2013), 347ff.

Chapter 3

Beyond the Border The War in September 1939

 It was a short war that the German Wehrmacht unleashed on 1 September 1939. From the north, west and south, two German army groups comprising a total of 1.5 million soldiers invaded the Second Polish Republic, whose armed forces could do little to challenge the power and dynamism of a technologically sophisticated German war machine.1 Within a few days, the Wehrmacht managed to penetrate deep into the interior, occupying large areas of the country. While Polish troops put up stubborn resistance in many places, embroiling the Wehrmacht in some tough battles, ultimately the Polish approach to waging war – still of a traditional character at times2 – was unable to hold back the German advance. When the Red Army swept into Poland from the east on 17 September 1939, the country found itself in an increasingly hopeless situation – not least because the Western powers, while declaring war on Germany, did not intervene militarily. By 6 October 1939, about five weeks after the German invasion began, the last Polish troops had surrendered. The first Nazi eastern conflict was over. This war was remembered in Germany as the ‘Eighteen-Day Campaign’,3 as triumphal evidence of the superiority of a (supposedly) perfectly calibrated, potent war machine that steamrollered over an overwhelmed enemy.4 Until a few years ago, this operational narrative delimited the framework within which the German war against Poland was discussed. Despite all the requisite differences in the detail, the associated studies revolved around two key tropes. While the term ‘conventional war’5 suggested that Germany had operated within the limits of the international laws of war, the phrase ‘tragic

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entanglement’6 conceded that norm-shattering, criminal acts had occurred while simultaneously externalizing them and assigning responsibility for them to the SS and police apparatus. This discursive order was remarkably hard to dislodge and was unmoved by ‘external’ objections. Although Polish historians soon provided detailed accounts of acts of violence of various kinds by German soldiers and police against Polish civilians, with a certain callousness these findings were largely ignored during the Cold War.7 Only in the last few years have researchers succeeded in providing a more nuanced account of the war against Poland by including practices of violence behind the front lines. On a broad empirical basis, this research has given rise to a new picture of a conflict that was by no means ‘normal’ but in fact extraordinary in many respects – one that significantly expanded the zones of permitted and necessary violence and blurred the boundary between combatants and non-combatants.8 It was a war that opened up new spheres of violence, in which, according to recent estimates, German soldiers and police killed around 20,000 people.9 Essentially, what emerged here for the first time in September 1939 was a new form of war: a ‘battle for nationhood’ (Volkstumskampf) that ‘conflated the unique ideological goals of National Socialism with the traditional military-political objective of establishing a German empire in Eastern Europe’.10 This ‘battle for nationhood’ featured numerous massacres of Polish civilians. In brief, any attempt to reduce this war to a history of military events will inevitably miss the core aspects of the German invasion, which are to be found beyond the field of battle where countless massacres cost the lives of tens of thousands of Polish citizens. In what follows, I aim to tease out the conditions and factors that fostered massacres of Polish civilians during the war of September 1939. To this end, the present study sheds light on the interplay of intention and situation, of impulses emanating from the command level and local initiatives. I begin by considering the planning and preparation for war by military leaders. What expectations of the coming conflict can we identify, and how did these translate into overarching objectives? Crucial here are attempts to justify and legitimize massive expansion of the zones of the permitted and required use of violence. I then turn to the concrete practice of military violence in September 1939, which took on unfettered form through the interplay of commands, situational perceptions and violent initiatives in situ.

Anticipation and Authorization: Laying the Ground for the Invasion On 22 August 1939, Hitler explained to the Wehrmacht leaders present on the Obersalzberg what he expected the imminent German invasion of Poland

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to achieve: ‘The destruction of Poland is the priority. The goal is to eliminate the vital forces rather than reach a specific line. Close hearts to pity. A brutal approach. 80 million people must have their rights. Their existence must be secured. Might is right. The severest possible [approach].’11 Hitler thus signalled to Wehrmacht leaders that the war against Poland would differ from normal conflicts in crucial ways. He outlined a scenario in which war would depart from the parameters of classical power politics and instead take its lead from ethnonational and ideological categories. The coming war was to do more than just crush the Polish armed forces and facilitate the occupation of Polish territories. It was to wipe the Polish nation off the map.12 Hence, what Hitler demanded of his generals was not a war in the classical sense but a ‘battle for nationhood’ in which the use of violence was to be expanded significantly.13 Through this encoding, Hitler erected a normative framework that at least partially suspended international laws governing the wartime treatment of civilians. We can see a particularly powerful example of this mechanism in the ‘International Law of War’ provision approved by the Wehrmacht High Command. ‘A general departure from agreements under the international law of war’, the document stated, ‘may … be decreed by the Supreme Commander of the Wehrmacht’.14 What this provision meant was that Hitler could overrule the normative obligations of international law, which were effectively suspended the moment he presented the war against Poland as a ‘battle for nationhood’. Every war is in fact a ‘normatively diminished order’15 since the prohibition on killing, so constitutive of modern societies, is temporally and spatially nullified. At the same time, every war is also an ‘order of reduced sanctions’16 since the punishment of norm violations is usually carried out selectively at best and only rarely in a stringent manner. However, these general observations do not mean that all conflicts are equally brutal without distinction – as a ‘pacifist sentiment’17 might imply. Wars can generally be differentiated according to the way in which the boundaries between permitted, required and prohibited violence are drawn. Construing the war against Poland as a ‘battle for nationhood’ instituted a particularly radical distinction between ‘Germans’ and ‘Poles’ and required German soldiers to be fundamentally indifferent to the normative obligations of international law. The normative framework of the ‘battle for nationhood’, to put it in a nutshell, tended to exclude Poles from the ambit of norms limiting violence. The roots of mass German violence during the war against Poland, to sum up the foregoing observations, lay in Hitler’s demand that the conflict be conducted as a ‘battle for nationhood’. This was the framework in which the unleashing of extreme violence took place – particularly that suffered by Polish civilians. As it happens, this strict distinction between ‘internal and external morality’18 was congruent with a constitutive experience of German generals and

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soldiers in pre-war Nazi Germany: the establishment of a ‘community of racist exclusion’19 through radical discrimination against the Jewish population. A binary encoding of the world was thus nothing new from a German perspective. It had been a lived practice since the Nazis took power in January 1933.20 When Hitler had concluded his speech on the Obersalzberg, one of those present noted ‘many pensive and worried faces’21 – but this concern evidently related to the timing of the planned invasion and the risk of intervention by the Western powers. A regionally limited war against Germany’s eastern neighbour, which had been viewed as a ‘robber, parvenu and nuisance’22 since the post-war battles of 1918–22, met with broad approval.23 Nor did the deviations from conventional warfare demanded by Hitler trigger any dissent. On the contrary, the generals were impressed by Hitler’s ‘splendid speech’24 and by his determination to ‘put an end to Poland’.25 They were quite ready to wage war against that country with ruthless severity, suspending the constraints on violence imposed by the international laws of war. Analytically, we must relate this fundamental willingness to wage a war in Poland featuring at least selective deviation from traditional norms to the specific expectations harboured by the military leadership. Crucial in this context were certain ideas about the form that the coming invasion would take, the concrete scenarios that the Wehrmacht leadership anticipated in a war against Poland. These expectations were fed by three main factors that were closely intertwined, interpenetrated and generated a specific vision of the coming war. (1) First, the significance of international interwar debates in military theory concerning future conflicts can hardly be overestimated. For the Germans involved in this debate, it was clear that the next great war would be a ‘struggle for survival’ for nations that would have to fight in order ‘to be or not to be’.26 Fundamental to such a struggle was the assumption that war would have to be waged not just against the enemy’s armed forces but against the entire enemy population.27 The anticipation of a future ‘total war’ was thus based primarily on the expectation that the distinction between combatants and non-combatants would disappear. For example, the Handbuch der neuzeitlichen Wehrwissenschaften (‘Handbook of Modern Military Sciences’), published in 1936 by the German Society for Military Policy and Military Sciences (Deutsche Gesellschaft für Wehrpolitik und Wehrwissenschaften), stated that ‘a war in any other form than the total, people’s war, has become absolutely inconceivable. Its target is not just … the enemy arms-bearer but the entire people per se, not just enemy combat zones, but the enemy’s entire country. … War has become total war and once again bears the traits of

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a raw and primal form, the ruthless struggle of all against all. … Such a war gives no quarter to the enemy nation’.28 (2) If the active participation of the enemy civilian population was already a plausible scenario through the lens of the ‘total people’s war’,29 this expectation was further legitimized in the run-up to the war against Poland by the fact that Wehrmacht leaders expected this to be an ‘asymmetrical war’30 in a dual sense: in terms of the balance of power and in relation to the conduct of the war. The German generals took it for granted that their forces were superior to the Polish army in every respect. When, for example, Chief of Staff Franz Halder presented some ‘thoughts on the coming war’ in April 1939, he characterized the Polish army as a ‘large mob of poorly trained men who have no chance in a war against the German army’, adding, ‘Issues of general education also come into play here – the Polish soldier is probably the stupidest in Europe’.31 This overweening disdain reveals the fact that Halder and the other Wehrmacht leaders in no way expected to encounter an equal opponent. They assumed that they would be fighting a significantly weaker, incompetent and overwhelmed Polish army. A triumphant victory over an opponent quite incapable of putting up a decent fight, they believed, would be achieved in no time at all.   This expectation coexisted with another specific perception of the Polish adversary, which also relates to the category of asymmetrical war. This perception reflected patterns of interpretation that had developed in the context of the fighting that continued after the First World War and were centred on the idea of the Poles as a nation of snipers. Due to this specific German image of Poland, the Wehrmacht leadership assumed that Polish civilians would quite inevitably participate in the conflict as irregulars.32 From the generals’ perspective, the expectation of an asymmetrical war against Poland thus had a dual structure. First, Polish soldiers were perceived as incompetent and were not believed to be true opponents in any meaningful sense. At the same time, however, it was anticipated that the Poles would be dishonourable opponents who would form ‘bands’ and fight in a fundamentally devious way. These two perceptions were clearly closely linked: precisely because the Poles were viewed as militarily incompetent, they were suspected of resorting to ‘devious band activities’ to offset this weakness. Arrogance and fear, it seems, merged seamlessly into one another in the German perception of the enemy. (3) Finally, the expectations of the Wehrmacht leaders in the spring and summer of 1939 were fed by concerns that the war against Poland might not remain regionally limited and could develop into a major European conflict if the Western powers intervened. The fear was that the German

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Reich would be unable to cope with such a scenario. Hence, the generals’ expectations were determined not only by an arrogant sense of superiority but also by their assessment that the Reich was on the defensive, a position from which it must free itself through the rapid deployment of severe and ruthless violence. Analysis of expectations among Wehrmacht leaders thus reveals contradictory phenomena. First, we find the anticipation of an asymmetrical war that could be expected to entail the devious fighting of ‘Polish bands’ but could nevertheless be quickly won against a fundamentally weak opponent. This expectation clashed with the sense of being stuck in a defensive role. These different expectations were intertwined with the encoding of the war as a ‘battle for nationhood’ and had already triggered significant shifts in the patchwork of permitted, forbidden and required violence as the Nazi regime drew up plans for the invasion. The Wehrmacht leadership thus expanded the zone of permissible violence in concrete ways in the run-up to the invasion. The generals anticipated a ‘total people’s war’ against ‘Polish bands’ in the context of a potentially threatening global political situation. This provided the ‘good reasons’ that were used to justify the abandonment of the international laws of war with reference to alleged ‘necessities of war’ in the confrontation with a devious enemy or to future German actions as purely reactive countermeasures to ‘Polish brutality’. On 9 August 1939, for example, the Army High Command (Oberkommando des Heeres, or OKH) decreed that in the event of mobilization, ‘as soon as the military situation permits, those of Polish and Jewish nationality capable of military service between the ages of 17 and 45 are to be interned and treated as prisoners of war (but separately from them)’.33 Although this directive could be implemented only to a limited extent, it indicates the potency of the Wehrmacht leaders’ expectations – which indiscriminately envisaged Polish civilians as irregulars.34 Even more important than these specific instructions, however, were the warnings issued to the troops in the run-up to the German invasion concerning the alleged Polish affinity for violence. In a ‘Leaflet Concerning the Peculiarities of the Polish Conduct of War’, the OKH warned German soldiers of ‘fanatically riled up’ Poles: ‘A courteous approach will soon be interpreted as weakness. The pillars of this national agitation are generally the Catholic clergy. … The destruction and poisoning of food supplies is to be expected.’35 At the same time, the soldiers were reminded of the supposedly hopeless situation of the ethnic German minority in Poland, the greatest victims of the Poles’ deviousness and ruthlessness. The OKW (Oberkommando der Wehrmacht) explicitly pointed out that the ‘repressive measures and terror … visited upon the ethnic Germans’ had now taken on ‘the most extreme forms’.36 But such expectations were not only

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circulating at the level of the General Staff. The 208th Infantry Division, for example, warned its soldiers: ‘In line with the devious character of the Slav, the Pole will try to cause the enemy harm through … acts of sabotage. In many [cases], it is the clergymen, known to be fanatical German-haters, who will be responsible for the franc tireur war. … Rabble-rousing activity must also be expected from the [rest of the] population. Approach to the population …, ruthless crackdown if necessary.’37 Such warnings about violence-loving, cunning Poles were legion in the run-up to the German invasion. By the time it was launched, they had diffused ‘down to the lowest ranks of the Wehrmacht units on standby’,38 as Jochen Böhler found after systematic analysis of the relevant sources. These warnings are crucial to the analysis of the dynamics of violence in September 1939. They can be seen as an interpretive offer made to German soldiers by military leaders prior to the invasion, one intended to shape the perception of specific situations in the field. Even before 1 September 1939, then, Wehrmacht leaders had engendered expectations of permanent threat within the exceptional circumstances of a potentially unbounded war against devious ‘Polish bands’. At the same time, this perception facilitated the expansion of the realm of permissible violence in advance of the conflict. To paraphrase Bernd Greiner: assuming that the Poles would baulk at nothing, the Germans had to adopt the same attitude.39

‘Irregulars!’: The War and the Escalation of Violence The focus of the following analysis is on teasing out the interplay between intention and situation in massacres carried out in the context of the German invasion. Three factors are of particular importance here: the perception of Polish civilians as potential irregulars, violence-facilitating orders issuing from the command level in combination with local commanders’ interpretive authority, and attempts to impose limits on the permissible ‘from above’. In the concrete situation of September 1939, these factors were woven together – giving rise to countless massacres of Polish civilians. When German soldiers crossed the German–Polish border on 1 September 1939, in most cases setting foot on Polish soil for the first time, their perception of the country and its inhabitants in this context of conquest was shaped by three closely related interpretative models. First, the German troops, like their predecessors in the imperial army during the First World War, perceived Poland as a savage land: a breeding ground for squalor, filth and destitution. Poland, so it seemed to many of them, was a country devoid of basic civilizational achievements, inhabited by people who ‘almost resemble the negroes in their primitiveness’:40 ‘Fieldstone paving, dirty, low mud houses without

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doorstep or entrance hall, often just holes for windows, and there they sit in front of their dwellings, filthy figures swathed in rags’,41 noted one noncommissioned officer of the 67th Infantry Regiment. The soldiers linked this derogatory perception of cultural otherness with the notion of the Germans’ ‘historical mission’ in the east, as discussed since the mid nineteenth century. The perception of the Poles as culturally alien barbarians provided an opportunity to transfigure the violent invasion into a civilizing mission by German culture-bearers: ‘[T]hat this people must never be reliant on themselves, but always need a firm, guiding hand’42 seemed obvious to the German soldiers. One embarkation officer noted in his diary: ‘Marching through real Polish territory. Dusty and dirty streets. Dilapidated houses. Filthy people. Long villages. Vast wasteland. Worse than Neukamnich. … Complete dump gone to ruin.’43 Second, while these ubiquitous perceptions remained congruent with the classic interpretations that had shaped the German view of Poland since the nineteenth century, in the minds of German soldiers they became amalgamated with specific perceptions of threat. Immediately after the Wehrmacht marched into Poland, the potency of the warnings – or interpretive offers – issued by the army leaders became apparent. German soldiers reported the presence of Polish irregulars throughout the Wehrmacht’s entire area of operations.44 The aforementioned embarkation officer noted in his diary: ‘Defiant population. … The insurgent evil is growing.’45 In his seminal study, Jochen Böhler points out that this specific perception of extensive partisan activity on the part of the Polish civilian population was based on a ‘misperception’,46 and was an essentially ‘erroneous belief ’.47 In September 1939, there was no organized Polish partisan movement. It was not until the winter of 1939–40 that one was formed. The fear of partisan activities was just that: a perception common among German soldiers – albeit one that was in line with the logic of the ‘ethnonational (völkisch) war’ unleashed by the German Reich and that generated specific expectations, the core of which was the assumed participation of the entire enemy population in the war. A nervous tension thus prevailed among the inexperienced soldiers. ‘No trace of the enemy. Opponents unseen’, recorded one unit of the 138th Mountain Infantry Regiment. ‘Only at night, on the lonely country road, in the small windows of wooden huts that seem to crouch treacherously, in the black, yawning emptiness revealed by the half-open door of an abandoned mud-walled cottage, behind a row of bushes at the end of the village – there lurk the ambushers, treacherous attackers ready to pounce.’48 One non-commissioned officer recorded his first impressions of the war as follows: ‘My nerves quiver gently. It is neither fear nor dread, just the tremendous tension. … A sharp look-out is kept in every direction. Wasn’t that a huddled figure over there?’49

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Third, these patterns of perception were reinforced in the first few days of September 1939 by situations in which the rapidly advancing Wehrmacht encountered fierce resistance in the rear areas, organized by soldiers of the Polish army who were scattered, overrun and mobilized too late. In some places this led to unsettling combat situations and seemed to confirm the warnings issued by the Wehrmacht leaders before the war,50 with the Polish soldiers using their superior local knowledge to attack German troops from their hideouts. Their fighting style seemed ‘dishonourable’, ‘cowardly’ and ‘sneaky’ to their German counterparts because they did not fight in the open field. In these confusing, unclear situations, German soldiers tended to attribute gunfire and attacks to the residents of the surrounding villages.51 But the extreme violence executed in September 1939 was not unleashed solely due to troops’ situational perception in situ. We get a true sense of the dynamics of violence only when we analyse reactions at the command level as well. Soldiers’ specific situational perception on the ground translated into countless reports to the command posts concerning alleged irregulars who had attacked German troops. The military leaders, however, did not react uniformly to these incoming reports, but with considerable ambivalence. On the one hand, they did not require their troops to adhere to the relevant legal provisions, according to which ‘irregulars not killed in battle … are to be court-martialled’.52 In the run-up to the war, these provisions had been disseminated among the troops in the form of leaflets. One such publication distributed to the 73rd Infantry Division, for example, stated: ‘Armed resistance by the enemy population is to be ruthlessly put down by force of arms. The population will be called upon to surrender their weapons by public appeal. Individual civilians found in possession of weapons … are to be arrested … and immediately transferred to the divisions as irregulars. They are to be kept in special detention. Spies caught in the act must also be brought before the competent court martial.’53 The immediate shooting of alleged ‘irregulars’ was thus precluded in these regulations. But in the context of September 1939, confronted with countless reports of irregulars, the commanders failed to make their troops aware of the binding force of these regulations. On the other hand, however, the commanders did not give sweeping general instructions to immediately kill all irregulars. In an effort to combat them, they instead issued a whole series of orders that authorized the commanders on the ground to use violence against Polish civilians in line with their interpretation of the situation. General Walter von Reichenau, for example, commander-in-chief of the 10th Army, issued an order that appears to have initially restricted the realm of permissible violence: ‘The troops’ nervousness about gunfights in the rear area must stop. They are often caused by us. Individual cases of genuinely hostile actions must not induce the entire

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unit to begin a disorderly gunfight on the slightest pretence. Burning down houses in retaliation is prohibited.’54 At first glance, von Reichenau thus seems to have issued an order intended to curb German soldiers’ violence against Polish civilians. But he added a sentence to his order that went a long way to demolishing the limits to violence he had just erected: ‘In the event of genuine attacks on the unit or hostile actions of other kinds, ruthless action is to be taken on the spot.’55 With this addition, the commander-in-chief delegated decisions on the use of violence against civilians to the local troop commanders. It was for them to decide whether there had been ‘genuine attacks’ – based on their specific perception of the situation. Von Reichenau thus gave his commanders considerable latitude while at the same time assuring them of backing should they identify ‘genuine attacks’. His reference to ‘hostile actions’, to be responded to with extreme violence, was aimed in the same direction. What exactly ‘hostile actions’ meant, what this term did and did not include, were questions that the order deliberately left open. An order that initially seemed intended to limit the realm of permissible violence thus expanded this realm massively by delegating extensive decision-making powers to the local commanders, giving them the option of arbitrary violence against Polish civilians. On the ground, these orders encountered an explosive mixture of tension and nervousness on the part of troops inexperienced in combat, a mix that triggered numerous massacres of Polish civilians in the first few days after the German invasion. The German soldiers believed themselves to be in an extraordinary situation. As conquerors in a culturally alien country that appeared to them savage and uncivilized, they felt threatened by a population to which they imputed deviousness and ruthlessness.56 The conceit of racial superiority, supposedly confirmed by the impoverished conditions that they encountered, contrasted with the nervousness spreading among the German soldiers. Against this background, the option provided ‘from above’ of using violence against civilians offered a dual solution. It promised to restore ‘security’ and control but also seemed to confirm the superiority of the German ‘master race’ through violent action against Polish civilians. It was in these specific circumstances that German soldiers unleashed extreme violence against Polish civilians in September 1939, with mass shootings taking place in hundreds of villages and towns.57 Often, rather than going by Polish civilians’ actual behaviour, there was a tendency among German soldiers to suspect all Poles of being irregulars without evidence. In many cases, it was in fact ‘friendly fire’ – that is, shots fired by German soldiers in confusing situations – which led to violent rampages against Polish civilians. The dynamics of these massacres can be illustrated in a powerful way in light of the events in Częstochowa (Tschenstochau).58 The town was occupied

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by units of the 42nd Infantry Regiment on 3 September 1939, without encountering Polish resistance. ‘The population is calm’, noted the regiment’s war journal. The next day around noon, however, several shots were allegedly fired at German soldiers in two locations in the city under unexplained circumstances. Immediately afterwards, German soldiers carried out intensive searches of the neighbouring houses, apartments and properties, but without finding any suspicious persons or weapons. Against this background, it seems quite possible that the gunfire was a nervous overreaction by German soldiers who – crowded together in a very small space – were confronted with a threatening situation in a Polish city and, at the least provocation, fought their own burgeoning panic by opening fire.59 In this fear-ridden setting, the German troops interpreted the gunfire as a devious attack by ‘Polish irregulars’. Already tense and nervous, they now became virtually uncontrollable: ‘Some of the clamouring eaters tried to gain entry to fetch the weapons, elbowing each other aside. From inside, a number of men who had already grabbed their weapons tried in vain to push their way to the exit.’60 The commander initially seems to have lost control of his soldiers, who ‘charged off … before he [the battalion commander] could issue any orders’.61 Evidently, the already tense, suspicious and nervous mood of the soldiers of the 42nd Infantry Regiment was heightened by the gunfire. From their perspective, they risked losing control once and for all in an already fragile situation. ‘We ran to our weapons seeking cover’, recalled soldier Johann D. in a post-war statement, ‘and I still remember our company commander, Lieutenant G., yelling: “Fire, fire, fire”’.62 In these specific circumstances, the use of violence became a communicative tool for the German soldiers through which messages could be conveyed in various directions. Mass violence was to leave the residents of Częstochowa in no doubt about the German conquerors’ superiority as well as the costs of continued refusal to submit to their authority. At the same time, the exercise of violence signalled to the German soldiers themselves that an impending loss of control must be prevented through a clear demonstration of dominance. Violence enabled them to assure themselves of their sense of superiority – which had been marred by fear, nervousness and panic. As a result, the German soldiers stormed the surrounding houses and drove thousands of Poles from their homes to the market square. Women, children and the elderly were locked in a church for forty-eight hours without provisions; there they were forced to stand still with their hands up.63 The moment exhausted individuals collapsed as a result of this ordeal, German soldiers set about them with their carbines.64 The soldiers of the 42nd Infantry Regiment clearly revelled in the fear of their victims. At regular intervals, they led groups of individuals out of the church, lined them up facing a wall and fired hundreds of volleys from their submachine guns over the heads of these

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terrified people – many of whom suffered heart attacks and mental disorders as a result.65 In the market square, meanwhile, the soldiers searched the assembled men for weapons. Here, they expanded the concept of weapon. If they found ‘razor blades, razors or pocket-knives’66 on these men, they were labelled dangerous ‘irregulars’ and were shot in front of ditches dug earlier on the outskirts of the city. When the men in the market square – who no longer had any illusions about their fate – became agitated and began to panic, the German soldiers started firing wildly, killing countless men on the spot.67 It was not until the late evening hours that the violence subsided. By then, at least 227 residents of Częstochowa had lost their lives.68 The massacre in Częstochowa exemplifies the increasingly unfettered nature of military violence against Polish civilians and highlights the way in which options for violence granted ‘from above’ were willingly taken up on the ground. The military leadership, meanwhile, reacted ambivalently to the reports of their soldiers’ mass violence in countless villages and towns. While General Wilhelm Ulex, commanding general of the 10th Army Corps, called for moderation and decreed that Poles were to be ‘shot … only if the individuals concerned [can be proven to] have been caught in the act of using the weapon’,69 other generals seem to have had little interest in reining the newly extended zone of permissible violence back in. On the contrary, the surviving records include orders that encouraged further violence. Johannes Blaskowitz, for example, commander of the 8th Army, issued such an order on 4 September 1939. The reason can apparently be found in his soldiers’ practice of handing over suspect Polish civilians to the Einsatzgruppen of the Sicherheitspolizei ‘for the purpose of identifying the perpetrators’: ‘Such a procedure is inexpedient, since only in the rarest of cases can sufficient proof of guilt be provided retrospectively.’ Instead, Blaskowitz called on his soldiers to ‘execute assassins and irregulars, as well as civilians who are found in possession of weapons and ammunition’.70 However, the historical record includes numerous orders that indicate that by no means all forms of violence against civilians were permitted in September 1939. For example, on 10 September, Fedor von Bock, commander of Army Group North, issued the following order: ‘If shots are fired from a house behind the front lines, the house will be burned down. The local council head or, where no such person exists, respected local residents are to be brought to court on grounds of strong suspicion of aiding and abetting. If shots are fired from a village behind the front lines and it is impossible to determine which house the shots came from, the entire building will be burned down.’71 However, von Bock underlined, ‘there is no room for arbitrary acts and the strictest discipline should be maintained’.72 This order exemplifies the generals’ inconsistent approach to the increasingly unbounded violence on the ground. On the one hand, von Bock’s orders

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stimulated and legitimized the use of ruthless violence against Polish civilians. His main aim was undoubtedly to eliminate barriers to violent action: he assured the soldiers of backing for the ‘pacification’ of the country through extreme violence. On the other hand, the order points up the fundamental challenge facing military leaders in September 1939. Although they massively expanded the zones of permissible violence, it was crucial to prevent uncontrolled escalation. By no means should German soldiers be allowed to use any form of violence. Arbitrary measures were to be prevented and ‘manly self-control’, as von Bock emphasized, was to be maintained under all circumstances. The murder of Polish civilians was thus permitted as an element of collective military ‘pacification measures’. But this did not mean carte blanche for undisciplined soldiers to vent their frustration on the civilian population. In order to restore discipline among the troops, some generals resorted to quite unusual methods. Von Reichenau, for example, ordered ‘particularly unruly characters … to be tethered to a vehicle for several hours’.73 The commander of the 17th Infantry Division, meanwhile, instructed his soldiers as follows: In the last few days a fair number of senseless gunfights have taken place against mostly non-existent irregulars. In addition, farmsteads and villages from which shots had allegedly been fired were simply set on fire. This state of affairs must cease immediately, as it not only harms the troops’ morale, but also poses a great risk to their leadership and movements. … To prevent further such occurrences, I command that: 1) From today, motorized parts of the division and all the combat trains will march with unloaded carbines. In the event of an attack by enemy irregulars, the men will load their weapons only on the orders of the unit leader and then proceed to drive off the irregulars in orderly fashion. No leader or member of a combat train is to carry a hand grenade. … 2) It is forbidden to set fire to a house or to throw hand grenades, even if shots have been fired from a house.74

This order makes two things clear. First, it underlines once again the fact that the mass violence visited upon Polish civilians by German soldiers in September 1939 was not triggered by the oft-mentioned attacks by ‘Polish irregulars’. The 17th Division was obviously aware of the ‘irregulars psychosis’ afflicting German soldiers. Second, the order brings out the reasons the military leadership felt compelled to intervene. Humanitarian or legal factors, such as the need to protect Polish civilians’ lives, played little or no role here. Essentially, the leaders feared that the army units might come apart at the seams. Arbitrary measures were to be restricted; an uncontrolled escalation of violence prevented. The focus, then, was always on the troops’ discipline. The fate of Polish civilians was of interest only from this point of view.

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The numerous orders intended to restore discipline among the troops indicate that as the Wehrmacht pushed into Polish territory, its soldiers were becoming increasingly difficult to control. We can isolate two key reasons for this development. First, in this context we need to keep in mind the oft-noted feelings of insecurity and nervousness among the German soldiers, which they sought to overcome through the ruthless use of violence.75 This in turn highlights the formative force of perceptions of the Polish population not only as inferior but also as uniquely devious and prone to violence. The fear-laden situation of the conquest of foreign territories, inhabited by a population that had been multiply demonized, engendered excessive violence that could scarcely be contained ‘from above’. Second, the war in September 1939 evidently provided the German soldiers with the opportunity to exercise near-unlimited power on a daily basis. The declared inferiority and lack of rights of the Polish population opened up wide scope for arbitrary acts. Countless abuses; rapes; and, above all, looting indicate that acts of selfauthorized, undisciplined violence were perpetrated with remarkable regularity.76 This underscores the fact that the use of violence in September 1939 was not purely a matter of rational calculation but developed a momentum of its own that repeatedly became detached from the goals and intentions of the military leaders. From the soldiers’ perspective, everything seemed to be allowed and possible in the context of the massacre. The mass violence inflicted on Polish civilians by German soldiers developed in a specific set of circumstances. The first crucial element here was certain expectations at large in the run-up to the war, culminating in multiple warnings about the ‘cunning’ and ‘ruthlessness’ of Polish civilians. In the first few days of the invasion, these expectations were translated into specific perceptions of the concrete situation on the ground – supposedly typified by large-scale participation of Polish civilians in the fighting. The commanding generals reacted to the flood of reports on the presence of alleged irregulars by issuing violence-enabling orders that delegated decisions on how to respond to the commanders in situ. On the basis of their interpretations of the situation, they expanded the realm of permissible violence and unleashed numerous acts of mass slaughter. A total of 714 massacres by German soldiers have been reconstructed, in the course of which over 16,000 people were killed.77 The violence was supposed to be controlled and integrated into a military command system. Countless orders intended to restore ‘manly self-control’, however, point to processes of selfauthorization that were interpreted as a danger to the institution of the armed forces. The fact that the orders issued to restore military discipline had little effect on the ground can be put down to two factors: the fear and nervousness of inexperienced troops and their sense of near-unlimited power over a despised Polish population.

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Order and Annihilation: The Murder of the Polish Intelligentsia It was not just the soldiers of the Wehrmacht who overran the eastern border on 1 September 1939. Hot on their heels were the Einsatzgruppen of the Sicherheitspolizei, special formations that – congruent with previous expansionist moves78 – were supposed to eliminate potential enemies in a targeted manner while the military advance was ongoing.79 The Einsatzgruppen were undoubtedly one of the most murderous instruments ever deployed in the history of Nazi violence. According to Ulrich Herbert, they were responsible for ‘almost all deportation, extermination and annihilation operations … above all … in the occupied territories and in Eastern Europe in particular’.80 They are rightly regarded as ‘the most effective murder weapon prior to the invention of the death camps’.81 Their ‘first major operational field’82 was the Polish territories in autumn 1939, where their unfettered violence was directed primarily against those strata of Polish society identified as underpinning the state. The mission of the Einsatzgruppen was code-named ‘Operation Tannenberg’, lending their actions a profound historical dimension in two respects. First, as an admonitory symbol, ‘Tannenberg’ recalled the fifteenth-century military defeat of the Teutonic Order at the hands of a Polish–Lithuanian army, which put an end to the former’s ascendancy in the Baltic region. Although this was essentially a battle between two multi-ethnic armies, a specific reception privileging national categories took off in the mid-nineteenth century. Once again, a leading role was played here by the discipline of history in Germany – which interpreted the order’s history as a ‘symbol of the successful presence of German culture in Eastern Europe’.83 This interpretive model dovetailed with the mythic glorification of a specific ‘German mission in the East’, which was intended to legitimize German claims to large areas of Eastern Europe. The knights of the order symbolized those ‘German culture-bearers’ who had supposedly brought the blessings of Western civilization to a savage country. In this context, the defeat at Tannenberg was seen as a fateful event that had turned the ‘natural order’ of the world upside down as the ‘cultivated West’ suffered defeat at the hands of the barbaric East.84 Over time, German historians succeeded in firmly anchoring ‘Tannenberg’ in Germans’ collective consciousness as symbol and warning of the ‘eternal struggle’ between Germans and Poles.85 Second, ‘Tannenberg’ referred to a battle during the First World War near the Masurian Lakes on 30 August 1914, in which the 8th Army under Paul von Hindenburg succeeded in defeating the Russian Narev Army. This military victory not only laid the foundation for the Hindenburg mythos86 but was also henceforth generally regarded as avenging the Teutonic Order’s ignominious defeat.87 The code name ‘Operation Tannenberg’ constructed

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historical continuity between the Middle Ages and this police action – evoking the threat posed by the ‘savage hordes’ of the East, against which Germans must defend themselves with all available means. With fierce determination, the Germans, like von Hindenburg in 1914, must leave the Slavic peoples in no doubt about their superiority. It was against the background of German self-positioning within this historical–ideological framework that preparations and planning began in the summer of 1939 for the deployment of the Einsatzgruppen as part of the invasion of Poland. Fundamental to subsequent German actions was the drawing up of lists of individuals identified as ‘Poles who rose to prominence in the context of the battle for nationhood (Volkstumsauseinandersetzung)’.88 These formed the foundation for constantly updated, special wanted lists while concurrently conveying a particular enemy construct and the objectives of the measures taken by the Sicherheitspolizei in September 1939. Above all, these lists identified members of the Westmarken Association and volunteer forces who had participated in the Upper Silesian uprisings of 1920–21. After this initial step, we can distinguish between four key preparatory measures that were implemented under the direction of Werner Best in the Main Office of the Sicherheitspolizei, thus establishing the organizational and personnel structures for the mission in Poland. (1) In July and August 1939, Best orchestrated the establishment and composition of the Einsatzgruppen. The initial plan of early July 1939 was to put together four such formations of ‘350 to 400–450 men’ each,89 but by mid-September the number had increased to seven Einsatzgruppen, whose sixteen Einsatzkommandos comprised a total of around 4,250 men.90 If Best recruited these men ‘on the basis of their expendability’91 from SD divisions and from State Police (Staatspolizei, or Stapo) and Criminal Police (Kriminalpolizei, or Kripo) stations near the border, the commanders of the Einsatzgruppen and Einsatzkommandos were carefully and specifically selected for deployment in Poland.92 They were convinced Nazis, ideological perpetrators whose violent careers – to simplify only very slightly – had been shaped by their involvement in four contexts of action and socialization.   First, a third of all these commanders had participated in the battles of the First World War as young front-line combatants and had first-hand experience of killing by soldiers on a massive scale.93 The horrors of trench warfare and bloody shock-troop operations constituted a profound turning point for them. They had crossed an important line by participating in the mass killing of human beings for the first time.   Second, almost all later leaders of the Einsatzgruppen and Einsatzkommandos had been involved in the right-wing extremist milieu

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of the Freikorps and other paramilitary formations, whose violence after the First World War was directed against the despised Republic of Weimar and its representatives.94 Veritable ‘networks of right-wing extremist and ethnonational violence’95 emerged, in which violence was declared a vehicle for restoring lost German greatness. In this context of socialization, the later commanders had also gained their first experiences of the ‘battle for nationhood’ on the German–Polish border. In an atmosphere saturated with deep bitterness and hatred, some of them had taken part in the quelling of the Upper Silesian uprisings and exercised extreme violence against despised ‘Polish bands’ and Polish civilians. The commanders’ biographical profiles also highlight the formative power of the student milieu in the Weimar Republic. Almost all of them had had an academic education at Weimar universities, often obtaining a doctorate. This underscores the relevance of the climate at these institutes of higher education – pervaded by ethnonational radicalism, antisemitism and racism – which became catalysts for the development of an anti-democratic, anti-liberal and violence-oriented world view.96 The experiences gained within this specific culture of hate and violence were ultimately supplemented by socialization in the Nazi milieu.   Third, and notably, these commanders had often joined the Nazi Party and SS well before the National Socialists took power in 1933.97 By no means mere careerists who had joined these organizations solely to improve their professional prospects, their early involvement suggests staunch Nazis just waiting for an opportunity to translate their ideological convictions into political and social practice. Even before 1933, in what was later glorified as the ‘Time of Struggle’ (Kampfzeit), they moved within an environment in which the exercise of violence was part of everyday political confrontation. As Sven Reichardt has noted,98 collective violence against political enemies became an integrating factor within the Nazi milieu; violence engendered community. In the words of Joseph Goebbels, ‘Blood cements us together.’99 After 1933, the later commanders of the Einsatzgruppen and Einsatzkommandos had risen to leadership positions within the SS and police apparatus and were now actively involved in creating a society based on racist exclusion. As heads of Stapo stations throughout the Reich, they were directly responsible for implementing antisemitic measures and, through policing practices, advanced the total disenfranchisement of the German Jews.100   Fourth, and simultaneously, in line with their self-image as ‘doctors treating the national body’, they took action against all forms of deviant behaviour, which – within the framework of a sweeping ‘biologization of the social’101 – was now ascribed to a hereditary

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predisposition. They steered the social exclusion of all ‘community aliens’ (Gemeinschaftsfremde), which included political opponents. It was the exercise of violence, imprisonment through ‘protective custody’ and torture in Stapo station cellars that put the Volksgemeinschaft into practice. This was a community whose essential characteristic was the stigmatization and social isolation of all those considered ‘alien to the people’, for whom there was no place in the envisaged ‘ethnonational order’.102 Even before 1939, then, these commanders had experienced a wealth of violence in different milieus and contexts of action. The idea that violence was a legitimate tool of transformative policies seemed to them a fundamental lesson of their political socialization. Nonetheless, their deployment in Poland marked a turning point. ‘Taking people off the streets through protective custody orders or putting them on trial had been part of the Gestapo’s routine. Killing people out in the open, meanwhile, was not as yet a regular policing tool and had only been practiced in exceptional cases.’103 (2) The SS and police apparatus attempted to enhance the Einsatzgruppe and Einsatzkommando commanders’ readiness for the upcoming deployment by imparting specific knowledge about the social, economic and political structures of the Second Polish Republic. To this end, the SD Main Office amassed memoranda from the German embassy in Warsaw and reports from press organs serving the German minority and Stapo stations along the border.104 The basic problem, however, was an obvious lack of competence: only one member of the SD was able to speak Polish.105 Somewhat perplexed, one memorandum stated, ‘For the next generation of experts on Poland and with respect to the Polish question in general, nothing significant has come from the agencies established to meet these needs.’106 The SD was unable to provide reliable information about the country and its people, instead relying on a mixture of superficial knowledge and prejudice. As the currently most important Polish organization, the SD repeatedly identified the Polska Organizacja Wojskowa, which had been active only from 1914 to 1918 and had long since been disbanded, along with a group supposedly called Prometey that evidently never existed.107 We are left with the general impression that the SD’s concept of Poland was stuck in the nineteenth century: the nobility and clergy were still considered the driving forces of society, while no attention at all was paid to trade unions and political parties, for example.108   Finally, in the run-up to the German invasion, a summer course was put on for commanders at the SD school in Bernau. Over twelve days of instruction, the commanders attended a variety of lectures delivered by several speakers dealing with economic, military and policing matters

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as well as the various national minorities. However, this attempt to impart such knowledge about the country and its people seems to have overwhelmed the attendees. ‘Given the wealth of material offered’, it was ‘impossible at this point to assume even modest mastery of the subject’,109 to quote the sober assessment of those running the training course. (3) Coordinating talks were held with representatives of the Wehrmacht, which were necessary because Hitler had invested the commander-inchief of the army, General Walther von Brauchitsch, with executive authority: ‘All police forces … must therefore operate according to the instructions and in accordance with the wishes of the holders of executive authority and those answerable to them’.110 On 29 August 1939, two days before the German invasion – at a working meeting with Colonel Eduard Wagner, quartermaster general in the Army High Command – Best and Reich Security Main Office head Reinhard Heydrich reached an agreement on ‘the deployment of Gestapo groups in the area of operations’.111 Here, the ‘Guidelines on the Foreign Deployment of the Sicherheitspolizei and SD’112 served as the basis for discussion. The remit of the Einsatzgruppen was conveyed by the following ‘standard phrase’:113 ‘The task of the Einsatzkommandos … is to combat all anti-Reich and anti-German elements in enemy territory behind the fighting troops.’114 The Einsatzgruppen were explicitly instructed to arrest ‘individuals identified on the wanted list, Reich German emigrants and residents who resist the measures implemented by the German authorities or who are obviously bent on causing unrest and, because of their position or standing, are capable of doing so’.   The arrests were to be carried out in two waves. The ‘first instalment’ of 10,000 people and the second of 20,000 were to be arrested on the basis of ‘File A-1’.115 The actions of the Einsatzgruppen were to be ‘resolute in every situation and towards everyone while acting appropriately’:116 ‘The mistreatment or killing of arrested persons is strictly forbidden and, insofar as such actions are undertaken by other persons, to be prevented.’117 The ‘Guidelines’ agreed with the Wehrmacht thus included no order to kill certain sections of the Polish population. In fact, they massively restricted the realm of permissible violence: ‘Force may only be used to crush resistance.’118 Looking back, Wagner confided in his diary that his negotiating partners had been ‘inscrutable types, Heydrich particularly disagreeable’.119 But this apparently made no difference to the positive course of the talks: ‘We quickly came to an agreement.’120 This is all the more remarkable as the ‘Guidelines’ used airy phrases to skate around the relationship between the Einsatzgruppen and the Wehrmacht, omitting any reference to a chain of command.121

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(4) Fourth and finally, Best, Heydrich and Himmler gave the Einsatzgruppe and Einsatzkommando commanders verbal instructions regarding the impending deployment, some of which deviated from the ‘Guidelines’ agreed with the Wehrmacht. On 18 August 1939, all commanders of the Einsatzgruppen and Einsatzkommandos gathered for a meeting in Berlin.122 There are no written records of its content, but it was discussed several times in the 1960s as part of criminal investigations. In the course of his interrogation, Lothar Beutel, head of Einsatzgruppe IV, recalled that the ‘duties of the Einsatzgruppen [had been set out] in broad outline’:123 ‘We were informed at that time that our primary task was to secure the area behind the fighting troops, and that we also had to thwart and combat resistance movements and provide security for the units following behind.’124 If this outline of their remit was still congruent with the ‘Guidelines’, the commanders were nonetheless furnished with a completely new set of possible instruments: Details were disclosed only to the extent that it was explained to us that everything was permissible within the framework of the fight against resistance movements and groups, that is, both executions and arrests. The decision as to which measure was to be taken was down to the executing bodies, that is, the EKs [Einsatzkommandos] subordinate to the Command Staff. … The scope and type of measures were determined by day-to-day events during the first few days of the Polish campaign. That is, decisions as to what was necessary were made on the spot, once again with the executing organs, in other words the Einsatzkommandos, naturally making the necessary decisions.125

Contrary to the suspicions of Alexander B. Rossino, by no means did this amount to the issuing of a ‘killing order’ on 18 August 1939.126 Instead, in the run-up to the invasion, Himmler, Heydrich and Best expanded the zone of permissible violence and delegated decisions on the means to be used to the commanders in situ, who could choose the option of killing based on their perception of the situation. In addition, the educated Polish elite was clearly singled out at the meeting: ‘At that time there was no mention of explicit measures against the Polish intelligentsia. However, it was pointed out and was in any case inherently obvious that the engine of the resistance movements was to be found in the Polish intelligentsia.’127 So it was no longer just the people included in the lists who were to be targeted but the entire ’Polish intelligentsia’ – that is, a whole segment of Polish society, of a character that was admittedly nebulous and open to interpretation, was declared the enemy. How to proceed in the detail, meanwhile, was left at the discretion of the commanders, who were granted comprehensive licence to use violence ‘from above’. ‘A general liquidation order’, recalled Dr Hans Gerke, liaison officer of Einsatzgruppe IV to the 4th Army, ‘… was not issued. For it was not the

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policy at the time to express such things so clearly. Instead, general reference was made to the “elimination” [Ausschaltung] of the Polish intelligentsia and the resistance. What form this “elimination” was to take was not clearly stated. Such things were left to the initiative of the executing party’.128 From the perspective of the upper echelons of the SS and police apparatus, this ‘policy’ to which Gerke referred – that is, the expansion of the zone of permissible violence, the articulating of an enemy construct and the assurance of backing for decisions made in situ – reflected the unknowns of the situation. For the mass killing in autumn 1939 was akin to a foray into unknown territory. Nobody could be sure in advance how the deployed troops would react, whether they would even be ready and able to shoot thousands of people and what effects the unleashing of deadly violence would have. Hence, the issuance of orders facilitative of violence may be interpreted as putting out tentative feelers to determine what was possible.129 Such an understanding captures the process of violence more precisely than all mechanistic interpretations that, working with a top-down model, assume that commands formulated ‘above’ were merely implemented on site. With what concrete expectations the men of the Einsatzgruppen went to war is difficult to reconstruct in retrospect. In the course of a police interrogation in 1965, a member of Einsatzgruppe IV stated: ‘The tasks we were expected to perform in the event of a war against Poland were not explained to us. Instead, we were urged to take certain precautionary measures against the Polish population. It was said that wells had probably been poisoned … . We were also informed that there were well-trained volunteer forces on the Polish side and that partisan activity was to be expected.’130 This suggests a striking parallel with the warnings issued within the Wehrmacht about the Polish people. Apparently, the Einsatzgruppe commanders also utilized the idea of a specifically Polish deviousness and affinity for violence in order to prepare their men for the coming mission. At the same time, it was implied that the mission would help avert a humanitarian catastrophe: ‘It was claimed … that the ethnic Germans in Polish territory were in the greatest danger and … that the advance of the Wehrmacht units into Poland was a race to save the lives of the ethnic Germans.’131 The Main Office of the Sicherheitspolizei was evidently convinced that its troops’ propensity for violence would be increased through strategic use of the discourse of victimization. In the expectation of a war against a particularly ruthless enemy, equipped with comprehensive enemy constructs and sweeping licence to use violence, the Einsatzgruppen crossed the German–Polish border in early September 1939. Already in the first few days of the invasion, the SS and police apparatus further enlarged their personnel for deployment abroad. At the behest of the Wehrmacht132 – which, as we have seen, believed it was in a war with supposedly ubiquitous Polish irregulars – police personnel underwent a massive

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increase. A total of twenty-one police battalions and two mounted units were created, forming the ‘police steamroller behind armies’,133 to which Chief of Staff Halder referred with considerable satisfaction.134 War, Violence and Radicalization Immediately after the invasion, the perceptions at large among the German police were shaped by the same interpretive models that had already influenced the soldiers of the Wehrmacht. A police battalion from Dortmund, for example, recorded its first impressions in a report titled ‘Insects, Filth and Other Polish “Specialties”’: ‘But what a sight we see before us! Filth! Insects! Polish filth! Is there any other way to describe it? Decency forbids me to do so.’135 One of the companies making up the battalion referred to ‘[f ]ilth and stench that only the Pole can endure. In addition, squadrons of bugs and lice run across beds, tables and floors.’136 For the German policemen, all these phenomena were ‘signs of Polish subhumanity’137 – of a people whom they viewed as the ‘scum of humanity’.138 In this perceptual context, German SS and police formations were quick to use mass violence against the residents of Polish villages and towns. We have few surviving sources to tell us about this early violence, so we must rely on statements from Polish survivors for insights into the situation on the ground. Władysława Wieniecka, for example, a resident of Danzig, recalled how her husband and brother were arrested and confined to a school a few days after the German invasion. There, German police tortured and killed countless male residents, finally throwing them in the cellar, where the corpses began to pile up: ‘My sister-in-law managed to get his body released. My brother’s face and head had been butchered.’139 The mass violence carried out by the various police formations in the autumn of 1939 unfolded in the context of two key developments. First, the leadership of the SS and police apparatus made a large number of radicalizing decisions that caused their units’ concrete approach to become gradually more severe. We can distinguish two basic tendencies here. In light of the ‘irregulars psychosis’ so rampant in the Wehrmacht, Himmler issued the following decree as early as 3 September 1939: ‘Polish insurgents caught in the act or with a weapon in their hands are to be shot on the spot.’140 Meanwhile, Kurt Daluege, head of the Ordnungspolizei, sent the following cable to his units: ‘Hang Polish francs tireurs from the lamp posts, in other words where everyone can see them.’141 But Himmler’s order to kill seemed overly restrictive to SS Senior Assault Unit Leader (SS-Obersturmbannführer) Dr Hans Fischer, commander of Einsatzgruppe III. He issued markedly more sweeping instructions: ‘Captured ringleaders found without weapons, and therefore not

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executed immediately, must be executed if it is clear that, as ringleaders, they organized the locals’ armed resistance after the withdrawal of the Polish troops.’142 Fischer thus decoupled the identification of francs-tireurs from specific actions: ‘caught in the act or with a weapon in their hands’, Himmler had ordered, but for Fischer these were no longer to be the key to decisions on executions. Yet these violence-facilitating orders to combat alleged francs-tireurs clearly clashed with the situation on the ground: ‘Organized resistance groups made up of Polish civilians’, recalled the head of the Kripo division on the staff of Einsatzgruppe I, ‘did not exist at the time in my opinion. The Polish army had disintegrated and in my experience the population was paralyzed by the sudden collapse. No one was thinking about resistance’.143 Once again, it is clear that the omnipresence of Polish irregulars was a fantasy, that the partisan war was a virtual one existing solely in the minds of the German conquerors. Second, a series of meetings of military leaders took place in September and October 1939 that fleshed out the violent practices to be carried out against Poland’s political classes. What we find here is a process of gradual radicalization. While the first meeting, on 7 September 1939, stipulated that the Polish elite would ‘be sent to German concentration camps’,144 it would appear that in the days immediately following the Nazi leadership decided to adopt a markedly harsher approach. As early as 8 September, Heydrich issued the following decree: ‘We want to spare the little people, but the nobility, the clerics and the Jews must be killed.’145 Chief of Staff Halder informed his staff the next day that it was ‘the intention of the Führer and Göring to annihilate and exterminate the Polish people’.146 And on 12 September, Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, head of military intelligence, informed Colonel-General Wilhelm Keitel, head of the Wehrmacht High Command, of ‘the imminent executions and extermination measures, which are above all to target the Polish intelligentsia, the nobility, the clergy, and in general all those elements that can be regarded as agents of national resistance.’147 The shift to ‘ethnonational extermination’ (volkstümliche Ausrottung)148 was subsequently communicated to the SS and police formations. At the next meeting of military leaders, also attended by all Einsatzgruppe commanders, Heydrich stated that of ‘the political leadership … in the occupied areas a maximum of 3 per cent remain’,149 making it clear to those present that ‘this 3 per cent must also be rendered harmless’.150 Lothar Beutel, head of Einsatzgruppe IV, later recalled this meeting of military leaders as follows: ‘I remember that one of the points made at this meeting was that the fewer the surviving members of the Polish intelligentsia, the less resistance there would be in Poland in future.’151 Further, this expansion of the zone of mandated violence was bound up with the gradual detachment of the police units from their subordinate

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relationship with the Wehrmacht. It has been pointed out many times that the latter protested against the actions of the Einsatzgruppen and other police formations,152 though it was by no means humanitarian motives that prompted the German generals to raise concerns. In fact, the military leadership saw the deployment of SS and police formations as welcome support for their own ‘pacifying’ operations – but the extant documents indicate that they viewed the police with professional mistrust, doubtful that they were competent to use force appropriately. The army commanders viewed the violent actions of the Einsatzgruppen as counterproductive in three respects. First, the massacres carried out by the police units were considered shortsighted and detrimental to the enforcement of German authority, as they were likely to provoke unrest and resistance. Second, the generals were concerned about German prestige in general and the reputation of the Wehrmacht in particular. Finally, and most importantly, they viewed the police’s violent actions as a threat to the maintenance of discipline among their own troops. As with their own soldiers’ rampages, it was concerns about possible repercussions for their men’s behaviour and the stability of the Wehrmacht’s normative framework – the ‘risk of brutalizing’153 German soldiers – that prompted the military leadership to intervene. Against this background, a dual conflict unfolded in the first three weeks of the war. On the ground, the police units’ actions led to a series of disputes with the army – which regarded their approach as an affront. At the leadership level, the tensions took the form of turf wars and clashes over the chain of command. It emerged that the Wehrmacht – in view of the fundamental political decisions to expand the zone of required violence – was acting from an increasingly weak position. On 20 September, Hitler himself pointed out to von Brauchitsch that the Einsatzgruppen had to ‘perform certain tasks central to national policy [volkspolitische Aufgaben] in the occupied territory’154 that lay ‘outside the responsibilities of the commander-in-chief ’.155 Heydrich subsequently acted to free the Einsatzgruppen from their subordinate position. Henceforth, they would ‘take orders directly from the Head of the Sicherheitspolizei’.156 As a consequence of these two developments – the expansion of the zone of mandatory violence and the securing of police room for manoeuvre – the police formations stepped up their killing in the second half of September.157 Klaus-Michael Mallmann has pointed out that these executions did not occur at the same time as the rampages by German soldiers. The soldiers carried out mass executions in the first half of September in particular, the number of which subsequently declined – at least, for a time – due to the interventions of individual generals. At the same time, due to verbal instructions ‘from above’, the SS and police units dropped their ‘relatively moderate’158 approach in favour of a more murderous one.159

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In some cases, however, there were major spatial differences in the practice of killing. The focus of the murders was undoubtedly in the western Polish areas and, especially, West Prussia. This indicates that the frequency of executions was still intimately linked with situational factors.160 West Prussia and the ‘Polish Corridor’ were the epicentre of German–Polish clashes in the interwar period and, immediately after the German invasion, were also the scene of the most vicious rampages against members of the German minority. From the perspective of the SS and police formations, a particularly tough and ruthless approach here seemed not only justified but necessary in order to enforce German claims to authority.161 ‘Around the beginning of October’, recalled a member of the 16th Einsatzkommando, Dr Rudolf Tröger, the commander of this unit, announced at a meeting: ‘“I have just been speaking to the Reichsführer-SS. He has decreed that the Polish intelligentsia is to be eliminated!” Dr. Tröger thus made it clear that the members of the Polish intelligentsia were to be killed. … From this point on, in any event, the arrests and executions of members of the Polish intelligentsia in the Danzig/Westpr. area abruptly began.’162 Just one month later, the results of this approach were calculated: in this region alone an ‘estimated 20,000’163 people had been murdered. General Walter Petzel, head of Military District Command XXI, noted that ‘there were … public executions in almost all the larger settlements’, including in the Poznań region; ‘the selection criteria were highly variable and often incomprehensible, the implementation often undignified’.164 Petzel thus highlighted two fundamental problems entailed in police killings in autumn 1939. First, as I emphasized earlier, the ‘Polish intelligentsia’ as an enemy construct by no means encompassed a clearly defined stratum of the Polish population. This was a category that was open to interpretation and had to be elaborated by the commanders on the ground based on their perception of the situation. As a result, among other things, at times hairdressers, road overseers, chemists and farmers were declared members of the Polish intelligentsia and shot dead.165 Elsewhere, the arbitrary actions of the police went so far that even members of the German minority were killed.166 Second, Petzel’s revealing remark about the ‘undignified’ implementation of executions indicates that the mass killing of people – like any kind of work – requires a certain amount of professionalism and routine.167 In the autumn of 1939, however, the killing seems to have posed challenges for the German police that sometimes overtaxed them: ‘As I see it, people should at least have been shown how to carry out executions’, stated one member of Einsatzkommando 3/I indignantly in retrospect, in order to prevent people ‘being shot in the neck quite haphazardly so that, as already mentioned, death did not occur immediately’.168 These excessive demands left their mark

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on the units involved. Stress-induced illnesses and mental disorders were common.169 Due to these experiences of frustration, police sought ways of letting off steam – finding them in excessive alcohol consumption and extreme violence. For executions were often accompanied by a range of other violent acts that gave these events their particular character. The execution of two Poles by the 91st Police Battalion, as observed by three Wehrmacht soldiers, provides an insight into the dimensions of unbounded violence.170 According to their report, a large crowd had gathered in an open area, which was not cordoned off, to watch the executions – with some of those assembled laughing and taking photographs. The two victims, a man and a young woman, were forced to dig a ditch. While they were shovelling, a ‘policeman with a steel helmet on’ appeared, evidently arousing gleeful anticipation among the spectators: ‘Here’s the man for the job’,171 was the phrase that rang out from among the ranks of those present. As he made his way through the excited crowd of spectators, which drew his attention to the young woman’s appearance in particular, the policeman commented: ‘I’m just curious to see if she’s even got pants on. We’ll find out in a minute. I’ll be sorting the pair of them out in any case’.172 ‘Just get the furnace heated up nicely’,173 he called to another policeman, who replied, ‘We’ve already got a fire going in it.’174 The soldiers took this exchange to mean that ‘those next to the glowing furnace were still to be tortured’.175 Their report highlights the decisive role played by the spectators. Far from being passive observers, they did much to shape the course of events through their cheers and by spurring one of the policemen on. When the crowd began to clamour for him to give the Polish man a ‘good pasting’, he struck the shovelling captive so hard with a spade that ‘the blade immediately flew off and into the ditch’.176 When the crowd yelled ‘that the woman was much worse’,177 the police officer responded by beating her with the handle of his spade; she collapsed in a screaming, bleeding heap. He then rained blows upon her, as she lay on the ground unable to get up, in an attempt to force her to continue digging. The woman’s skirt had moved up to her knees, revealing her underwear, which was ‘almost completely soaked with blood down to her knees’.178 Disappointed, the policeman turned to the crowd: ‘Now she’s got the monthlies as well. No chance of any fucking now.’179 The two seriously injured Poles were then killed by shots to the neck. Scenarios of this kind were far from unusual in the autumn of 1939, especially in the western Polish regions. After executions, policemen often indulged in bouts of drunken revelry during which they repeatedly ‘boasted of having shot another hundred or more Poles. “The damned brains just splattered everywhere”’.180 Time and again, forms of sexual violence took place during these drinking sprees, chiefly directed against the female serving

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staff of pubs. After the war, Marianna Kazmierczak, eighteen years old at the time, recalled the carousing of German police: I had to serve everyone, bringing them schnapps and beer. They ended up tipsy, and the atmosphere was very merry, as if they were intoxicated. They sang and danced. … These drinking sessions were repeated after every mass shooting. The shootings took place often, sometimes several times a week. These drinking sessions dragged on into the late evening hours; sometimes they were longer, other times shorter. The uniformed Germans behaved brutally towards me. Once, no in fact a few times, they grabbed me outside and tried to rape me.181

The sources do not allow us to determine the exact extent of police violence, but it is plausibly assumed in the scholarship that more than 40,000 people were executed in the course of these measures intended to annihilate the Polish intelligentsia. This includes 30,000 people killed in Danzig-West Prussia alone; 10,000 in Wartheland; 1,500 in East Upper Silesia; around 1,000 in the Zichenau district; and 5,000 in the General Government, located in central Poland.182 These murders carried out by the SS and police formations were an integral part of the German conquest of Poland, being viewed as a fundamental prerequisite for imposing German rule. As Hitler stated on 17 October: ‘Steps must be taken to prevent’ a ‘Polish intelligentsia from setting itself up as a ruling class. The formation of national cells must not be permitted. Implementing all this requires a tough battle for nationhood, which leaves no room for any legal obligations. The methods will be incompatible with our other principles.’183 The massacres, in brief, were a means of establishing a Nazi order in Poland, which was supposed to nip any form of potential resistance in the bud while sending an unmistakable signal of German superiority to the conquered Polish society. And yet, as we have seen, there is more to them than rational calculation. We can discern elements of the momentum of massacres, of their individual appropriation by the perpetrators – who could do as they pleased within the specific setting of the massacre, with its highly condensed spatial and temporal frame. Here, the massacre in fact emerges as an opportunity structure that set few limits on its perpetrators and gave free rein to the exercise of violence. This violent demonstration of German strength was a radical break with the history of the German–Polish ‘battle for nationhood’, constituted an initiation into mass murder for the German units deployed and cast dark shadows over the years of German occupation to come: there was no turning back from the ‘solutions’ pioneered in this context.

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Notes 1. On the history of this operation, see Horst Rhode, ‘Hitlers erster “Blitzkrieg” und seine Auswirkungen auf Nordosteuropa’, in Klaus A. Maier et al. (eds), Das Deutsche Reich und der Zweite Weltkrieg. Die Errichtung der Hegemonie auf dem europäischen Kontinent (Stuttgart, 1979), 79–158. 2. There is in fact an astonishingly persistent myth that the Polish cavalry attacked German armoured units in the first few days of September. For an admirably clear account, see Böhler, Überfall, 95f. 3. The phrase was coined by Nazi war reporter Rolf Bathe. See Rolf Bathe, Der Feldzug der 18 Tage. Chronik des polnischen Dramas (Berlin, 1939). See also Böhler, Überfall, 189–91. 4. This notion, of course, downplays the not inconsiderable shortcomings of German warfare, which were already apparent in September 1939 and were centred on the provisioning but also, above all, the training of soldiers. See Böhler, Auftakt, 56. 5. On the concept of conventional war, see Ernst Nolte, Der Faschismus in seiner Epoche. Action francaise – italienischer Faschismus – Nationalsozialismus (Munich, 1984), 451. 6. The term was coined by Martin Broszat. See Broszat, Nationalsozialistische Polenpolitik, 28. For a clearer account, see Jochen Böhler, ‘“Tragische Verstrickung” oder Auftakt zum Vernichtungskrieg? Die Wehrmacht in Polen 1939’, in Klaus-Michael Mallmann and Bogdan Musial (eds), Genesis des Genozids. Polen 1939– 1941 (Darmstadt, 2004), 36–56. 7. See, especially, Szymon Datner, ‘Wehrmacht a ludobójstwo (przyczynek do dziejów drugiej wojny światowej)’, Biuletyn Żydowskiego Instytutu Historycznego w Warszawie 4 (1952), 86–155; Szymon Datner, ‘Crimes Committed by the Wehrmacht during the September Campaign and the Period of Military Government (1.9.–25.10.1939)’, Polish Western Affairs 3 (1962), 294–338; Szymon Datner, 55 dni Wehrmachtu w Polsce. Zbrodnie dokonane na polskiej ludności cywilnej w okresie 1.9.–25.10.1939 r. (Warsaw, 1967); see also Tatiana Berenstein and Andrzej Rutkowski, ‘Niemiecka administracja wojskowa na okupowanych ziemiach polskich (1 września – 25 października 1939 r.)’, Najnowsze Dzieje Polski 6 (1962), 45–67. 8. For the essentials, see, especially, Umbreit, Militärverwaltungen; Mallmann und Musial, Genesis; Rossino, Hitler; Hürter, Heerführer; Böhler, Auftakt; Toppe, Militär; Pohl, Herrschaft. 9. Böhler, Auftakt. 10. Rossino, Hitler, xiv. 11. ADAP, Serie D, vol. 7, 171f. On the various extant versions of the speech, see Winfried Baumgart, ‘Zur Ansprache Hitlers vor den Führern der Wehrmacht am 22. August 1939. Eine quellenkritische Untersuchung’, Vierteljahrshefte für Zeitgeschichte 16 (1968), 120–49. 12. Broszat, Nationalsozialistische Polenpolitik, 9. 13. Manfred Messerschmidt, ‘Größte Härte …’. Verbrechen der Wehrmacht in Polen. September/Oktober 1939 (Bonn, 2005), 9f. 14. ‘H.Dv. 231/I, Dv. 64, Berlin, 1.9.1939’; quoted in ibid., 10. 15. Von Trotha, ‘Pazifizierungskrieg’, 43f. 16. Ibid. 17. This is Jan Philipp Reemtsma’s phrase, an attempt to conceptualize the political left’s levelling critique of the first Wehrmacht exhibition. See Jan Philipp Reemtsma, ‘Trauma und Moral. Einige Überlegungen zum Krieg als Zustand einer kriegführenden

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Gesellschaft und zum pazifistischen Affekt’, in Jan Philipp Reemtsma, Mord am Strand. Allianzen von Zivilisation und Barbarei (Munich, 1998), 347–68. 18. Von Trotha, ‘Pazifizierungskrieg’, 44. 19. Sönke Neitzel and Harald Welzer, Soldaten. Protokolle vom Kämpfen, Töten und Sterben (Frankfurt am Main, 2011), 47–66. 20. Jürgen Matthäus has repeatedly pointed out the importance of the pre-war years. See Jürgen Matthäus, ‘“Warum wird über das Judentum geschult?” Die ideologische Vorbereitung der deutschen Polizei auf den Holocaust’, in Gerhard Paul and KlausMichael Mallmann (eds), Die Gestapo im Zweiten Weltkrieg. ‘Heimatfront’ und besetztes Europa (Darmstadt, 2000), 100–24, here 100f. 21. ‘Aufzeichnung Liebmanns, November 1939’, in Baumgart, Ansprache, 146. 22. Hürter, Heerführer, 157. 23. Army Chief of Staff Franz Halder, for example, commented on the looming conflict with Poland as early as the spring of 1939 with palpable satisfaction: ‘Here I think I am expressing exactly what many of you feel when I say that the end of “friendly relations” with Poland (to which, of course, neither side was truly committed) comes as a tremendous relief.’ Quoted in Christian Hartmann and Sergej Slutsch, ‘Franz Halder und die Kriegsvorbereitungen im Frühjahr 1939. Eine Ansprache des Generalstabschefs des Heeres’, Vierteljahrshefte für Zeitgeschichte 45 (1997), 482–83. Lieutenant General Nikolaus von Falkenhorst, later commanding general of the 21st Army Corps, remembered after the end of the Second World War how ‘unbearable and ignominious’ the existence of a Polish state on the former Prussian heartland had been ‘for every upstanding German’: ‘The great dream of the German East was the old eastern border from 1914, no more, but also no less.’ Quoted in Hürter, Heerführer, 157. General Erich Hoepner also declared himself satisfied in a letter to his wife: ‘The Poland question must after all be resolved at some point.’ Hoepner to his wife, 1 September 1939, quoted in ibid., 157. 24. Klaus Gerbet (ed.), Generalfeldmarschall Fedor von Bock. Zwischen Pflicht und Verweigerung. Das Kriegstagebuch (Munich and Berlin, 1995), 33 (22 August 1939). 25. Georg Meyer (ed.), Generalfeldmarschall Wilhelm Ritter von Leeb. Tagebuchaufzeichnungen und Lagebeurteilungen aus zwei Weltkriegen (Stuttgart, 1976), 167 (22 August 1939). 26. Hürter, Heerführer, 113; Kuss, ‘Vernichtungskrieg’, 83ff. 27. Markus Pöhlmann, ‘Von Versailles nach Armageddon. Totalisierungserfahrungen und Kriegserwartung in deutschen Militärzeitschriften’, in Stig Förster (ed.), An der Schwelle zum Totalen Krieg. Die militärische Debatte über den Krieg der Zukunft 1919–1939 (Paderborn, 2002), 323–91; Pohl, Herrschaft, 40–45. 28. Handbuch der neuzeitlichen Wehrwissenschaften, vol. 1, 173, quoted in Hürter, Heerführer, 114. 29. Jan C. Behrends, ‘Rezension zu Jochen Böhler, “Auftakt zum Vernichtungskrieg”’. Retrieved 29 November 2021 from hsozkult.geschichte.hu-berlin.de/rezensionen/id=​ 8061. 30. On the constellation of asymmetrical war, see, especially, Greiner, Krieg, 44–55. 31. Quoted in Hartmann and Slutsch, ‘Halder’, 485f. 32. For a general account, see Böhler, Auftakt, 36–41. 33. ‘OKH, Sonderbestimmungen zu den Anordn. f. d. Vers., 9.8.1939, Abschnitt 5.a)’, quoted in Böhler, Auftakt, 39. 34. For example, on 18 September 1939, the deportation of women and children to the reception camp in Nuremberg was stopped due to overcrowding. The Prisoners of War Authority (Kriegsgefangenenwesen) in the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht (OKW) stated

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35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63.

that ‘ethnic Germans and Jews are to be returned to Poland immediately on the direct orders of the Führer. No more Jews are to be deported. There are more civilians in the camps than soldiers, including people over 65 years of age and women with 3-monthold children’. Quoted in Böhler, Auftakt, 39. ‘OKH, GenStdH,12. Abt. (III), Nr. 1343/39 geh., Merkblatt über Eigenarten der polnischen Kriegführung, 1.7.1939’, quoted in Böhler, Auftakt, 40. ‘OKW Abt. Iva, 1220/39 geh., Orientierungsmaterial für Unterrichtung der Truppe, betr. Volkstumspolitik, Wirtschaft, Wehrmacht, 23.8.1939’, quoted in ibid. ‘208. ID, Merkblatt für Nachrichtengewinnung und Auswertung, Spionageabwehr und Polen, 26.8.1939’, quoted in ibid. Jochen Böhler, ‘Intention oder Situation? Soldaten der Wehrmacht und die Anfänge des Vernichtungskrieges in Polen’, in Timm C. Richter (ed.), Krieg und Verbrechen. Situation und Intention: Fallbeispiele (Munich, 2006), 165–72, here 170. Greiner, Krieg, 192. ‘Uffz. H. (IR 67), Ber. “Ein polnisches Dorf! (Quartiermachererlebnis)”’, quoted in Böhler, Auftakt, 44. Ibid. ‘Ber. “Ein polnisches Dorf!”’, quoted in Böhler, Auftakt, 44. Tagebuch Willy H., Eintrag 7.9.1939 (Diary of Willy H., entry 7 September 1939), AAN 214 (Niemieckie Władze okupacyjne 1939–1945), xiii-6. Probably a reference to the village of Kamnica in northern Poland. For numerous examples, see Böhler, Auftakt, 60–75. Tagebuch Willy H., Eintrag 8.9.1939 (Diary of Willy H., entry 8 September 1939), AAN 214 (Niemieckie Władze okupacyjne 1939–1945), xiii-6. Böhler, Auftakt, 19. Ibid., 157. ‘Jg. S (II./GJR 138), Ber. “Der unsichtbare Feind”, 4.9.1939, BA-MA, RH 18/145’; quoted in Böhler, Auftakt, 60. ‘Uffz. K. (Feldpost-Nr. 18088), Ber. “Erl.Ber. aus dem Polenkrieg”, BA-MA, RH 53– 18/146’; quoted in ibid., 61. Böhler affirms this on several occasions in his study. Böhler, Auftakt, 60–75. Ibid., 62. Quoted in Toppe, Militär, 297. The relevant legal provisions were the Wartime Regulations for Criminal Procedures (Kriegsstrafverfahrensordnung, or KStVO) and the Wartime Special Penal Code (Kriegssonderstrafrechtsverordnung, or KSSVO). Ibid. ‘OB AOK 10. von Reichenau, Schreiben an d. Kd.Gen. des V., XI., XIV., XV. und XVI. AK, 11.9., BA-MA, RH 24–11/4a’; Böhler, Auftakt, 109. Ibid. Wildt, Generation, 437. For a wealth of examples, see Böhler, Auftakt, 76ff.; Böhler, ‘Tragische Verstrickung’, 40ff. Toppe, Militär, 295ff.; Böhler, Auftakt, 98–107; Böhler, Überfall, 145–49; Umbreit, Militärverwaltungen, 151–52. In line with this, see Böhler, Auftakt, 106. ‘Bericht des Gefr. K. der 2. Kp. des I./IR 42’, quoted in ibid., 101. ‘Aussage Georg K., 16.7.1985’, quoted in ibid. ‘Aussage Johann D., 1.3.1984’, quoted in ibid. Umbreit, Militärverwaltungen, 151.

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64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73.

Ibid. Ibid. Böhler, Auftakt, 105. Ibid. Ibid., 106. ‘X. AK, Tagesbefehl Nr. 1 [n.d.]’, quoted in Böhler, Auftakt, 148. ‘8. Armee, Bes. Anordn. f. d. Vers. Nr. 11, 4.9.1939’, quoted in ibid., 149. ‘HG Nord, Befehl an Armee, 10.9.1939’, quoted in ibid., 152. Ibid. ‘AOK 10, Ia, Maßnahmen zur Aufrechterhaltung der Disziplin, 2.10.1939’, quoted in ibid., 189. 74. ‘17. Division, Ia, 4.9.1939, Divisionsbefehl für das Verhalten der Truppe im Operationsgebiet’, quoted in Toppe, Militär, 298f. 75. ‘In Lobodno action must be taken against NCOs and rank and file who are firing their weapons without cause. The court martial will eventually have to deal with these incidents. The gunfights and fire-setting triggered by nervousness, emotional insecurity and instability are impairing manly self-control and damaging the army’s reputation, pointlessly destroying dwellings and provisions and causing the people hardship, some of which could undoubtedly be avoided. These lessons should really have been common knowledge among the troops since the World War.’ See ‘KTB 31. Inf. Div., 3. 9.1939’, quoted in Umbreit, Militärverwaltungen, 152–53. 76. ‘Our good mood was furthered heightened by the superb dinner’, recalled one soldier, who explained that ‘[d]uring the day, our “Minister of Organization” had paid a visit to a number of homes with the “big front-door key” – in other words the carbine.’ See ‘Alpenkorps in Polen. Im Auftrag des Generalkommandos XVIII. A.K.’, quoted in Umbreit, Militärverwaltungen, 187. 77. Datner, 55 dni, 619f. 78. Mallmann, ‘Menschenjagd’, 291ff. 79. For a comprehensive account, see Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen. 80. Ulrich Herbert, Best. Biographische Studien über Radikalismus, Weltanschauung und Vernunft 1903–1989 (Bonn, 1996), 13. 81. Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 11. 82. Helmut Krausnick, Hitlers Einsatzgruppen. Die Truppe des Weltanschauungskrieges 1938–1942 (Frankfurt am Main, 1985), 26. 83. Frithjof Benjamin Schenk, ‘Tannenberg/Grunwald’, in Etienne François and Hagen Schulze (eds), Deutsche Erinnerungsorte, vol. 1 (Munich, 2001), 438–54, here 441. 84. Ibid., 440–42. 85. Ibid. 86. For a detailed account, see Wolfram Pyta, Hindenburg. Herrschaft zwischen Hohenzollern und Hitler (Munich, 2007). 87. Schenk, ‘Tannenberg/Grunwald’, 446–52. 88. Entwurf SDHA Stabsführer II 2, 22.5.1939: Zentralstelle II P (Polen), BAB, R 58/7154 (Draft SDHA Staff Leader II 2, 22 May 1939: Central Office II P [Poland], BAB, R 58/7154); see also Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 15. 89. ‘Vermerk SD-Hauptamt II 12, 8.7.1939, BAB, R 58/7154’; reprinted in Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 116f. 90. Rossino, Hitler, 11–13; Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 18f. 91. Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 20. 92. For a detailed account of the commanders’ biographies, see ibid., 19–42.

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93. 94. 95. 96.

97. 98. 99. 100. 101. 102. 1 03. 104. 105. 106. 107. 108. 109. 110. 111. 112. 113. 114. 115. 1 16. 117. 118. 119. 120. 121.

Ibid., 45. Ibid. Mallmann and Paul, ‘Sozialisation’, 11. Ulrich Herbert: ‘“Generation der Sachlichkeit”. Die völkische Studentenbewegung der frühen zwanziger Jahre in Deutschland’, in Frank Bajohr, Werner Johe and Uwe Lohalm (eds), Zivilisation und Barbarei. Die widersprüchlichen Potentiale der Moderne. Detlev Peukert zum Gedenken (Hamburg, 1991), 115–44; see also Michael Kater, Studentenschaft und Rechtsradikalismus in Deutschland, 1918–1933. Eine sozialgeschichtliche Studie zur Bildungskrise in der Weimarer Republik (Hamburg, 1969). Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 43. Sven Reichardt, Faschistische Kampfbünde. Gewalt und Gemeinschaft im italienischen Squadrismus und in der deutschen SA (Cologne, 2002). Joseph Goebbels, Das erwachende Berlin (Munich, 1934), 126; also quoted in Mallmann and Paul, ‘Sozialisation’, 13. For evidence of individual cases, see Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 20–42. Ulrich Herbert, ‘Traditionen des Rassismus in Deutschland’, in Ulrich Herbert, Arbeit, Volkstum, Weltanschauung. Über Fremde und Deutsche im 20. Jahrhundert (Frankfurt am Main, 1995), 11–29. Wildt, Volksgemeinschaft. Mallmann, ‘Menschenjagd’, 294. Borodziej, Terror, 27. Ibid., 28. Quoted in ibid. Ibid., 29. Ibid. SD-Hauptamt I/2 an III (SD Main Office I/2 to III), 7.7.1939, BAB, R 58/827; see Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 71; Borodziej, Terror, 29. ‘OKH, GenStdH, 6. Abt. (II), 24.7.1939, Betr. Fall “Weiß”, Sonderbestimmungen zu den Anordnungen für die Versorgung’, quoted in Krausnick, Truppe, 39. Elisabeth Wagner (ed), Der Generalquartiermeister. Briefe und Tagebuchaufzeichnungen des Generalquartiermeisters des Heeres General der Artillerie Eduard Wagner (Munich, 1963), 103. ‘Richtlinien für den auswärtigen Einsatz der Sicherheitspolizei und des SD (undated/ August 1939), BAB, R 58/241’; reprinted in Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 117–21. Ibid., 16. Ibid., 117. Hans-Adolf Jacobsen (ed.), Generaloberst Franz Halder. Kriegstagebuch, vol. 1 (Stuttgart, 1962), 44. Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 118. Ibid., 119. Ibid. Wagner, Generalquartiermeister, 103. Ibid. For example, under the heading ‘Relationship with the Wehrmacht’, the guidelines merely stipulated that ‘permanent contact [is to be] maintained’ in order to ensure ‘smooth communication’. See Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 118.

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122. On this date, Werner Best noted, ‘Instruction for leaders of a large-scale Sicherheitspolizei operation’; see ibid., 55. 123. ‘Vern. Lothar Beutel, 20.7.1965’, reprinted in ibid., 121f. 124. Ibid. 125. Ibid. 126. Rossino, Hitler, 15. For a similar analysis, see also Dorothee Weitbrecht, Der Exekutionsauftrag der Einsatzgruppen in Polen (Filderstadt, 2001). Weitbrecht has since revised her ideas; see Dorothee Weitbrecht, ‘Ermächtigung zur Vernichtung. Die Einsatzgruppen in Polen im Herbst 1939’, in Klaus-Michael Mallmann and Bogdan Musial, Genesis des Genozids. Polen 1939– 1941 (Darmstadt, 2004), 57–70. Jochen Böhler too still assumed that an order to kill had been issued in August 1939: ‘An execution order was in fact given verbally to the Einsatzgruppen … before the start of the invasion.’ See Böhler, Auftakt, 203. 127. ‘Vern. Lothar Beutel, 20.7. 1965’, reprinted in Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 121. 128. ‘Vern. Dr Ernst Gerke, 2.11.1966’, quoted in ibid., 55f. 129. Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 79. 130. ‘Vern. Horst W., 23.6.1965, BAL, B 162/6123, Bl. 405’; reprinted in Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 122. 131. Ibid. 132. ‘14th Army needs police for rear area’, noted Chief of Staff Halder on 3 September. See Jacobsen, Kriegstagebuch, vol. 1, 57. 133. Quoted in ibid., 62. 134. Mallmann, ‘Mißgeburten’, 71; Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 19. 135. Bericht: Wanzen, Dreck und andere ‘polnische Spezialitäten’. Was ein Polizeibataillon auf seinem Marsch nach Polen erlebte, BAB, R 19/403, Bl. 5 (Report: Insects, Filth and Other ‘Polish Specialties’. What a Police Battalion Experienced on its March to Poland, BAB, R 19/403, fol. 5). 136. Ibid., fol. 7. 137. Ibid., fol. 4. 138. Ibid., fol. 10. 139. ‘Aussage Władysława Winiecka, 29.9.1973’; reprinted in Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 123. 140. Quoted in ibid., 56. 141. Vermerk CdO (Note CdO), 5.9.1939, BAB, R 19/334, fol. 1. 142. ‘Vermerk CdZ beim AOK 8, 6.9.1939’; reprinted in Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 124. 143. ‘Vernehmung Georg Schraepel, 16.4.1964’; reprinted in ibid., 133. 144. Vermerk über Amtschefbesprechung am 7.9.1939 (Note concerning Meeting of Office Heads on 7 September 1939), BAB, R 58/825. 145. Helmut Krausnick and Harold C. Deutsch, Helmuth Groscurth: Tagebücher eines Abwehroffiziers 1938–1940 (Stuttgart, 1970), 201. 146. Ibid., 202. 147. ‘Aussage Erwin Lahousen, 30.11.1945’, in IMG, Prozeß, vol. 2 (Nuremberg, 1947), 492ff. 148. Ibid. 149. ‘Protokoll SD-Hauptamt Stabskanzlei I 11, 27. 9.1939: Amtschef- und Einsatz­ gruppenleiterbesprechung am 21.9., BAB, R 58/825’; reprinted in Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 144f.

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150. Ibid. 151. ‘Vern. Lothar Beutel, 20.7.1965’; reprinted in ibid., 121f. 152. Hürter, Heerführer, 183–88; Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 88; Gerd R. Ueberschär, ‘Der militärische Widerstand, die antijüdischen Maßnahmen, “Polenmorde” und NS-Kriegsverbrechen in den ersten Kriegsjahren (1939–1941)’, in Gerd R. Ueberschär (ed.), NS-Verbrechen und der militärische Widerstand gegen Hitler (Darmstadt, 2000), 31–43. 153. Klaus-Jürgen Müller, ‘Zur Vorgeschichte und Inhalt der Rede Himmlers vor der höheren Generalität am 13. März 1940 in Koblenz’, Vierteljahrshefte für Zeitgeschichte 18 (1970), 95–120, here 113. 154. Erlaß ObdH/Gen.Qu. (Qu.2): Tätigkeit und Aufgaben der Polizei-EG im Operationsgebiet, 21.9.1939 (Decree ObdH/Gen.Qu. [Qu.2]: Activity and Tasks of the Police Einsatzgruppe in the Area of Operations, 21 September 1939), BA-MA, RH 20–14/178; see also Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 62. 155. Ibid. 156. SD-Hauptamt Stabskanzlei I 11: Amtschefbesprechung 19.9.1939 (SD Main Office Staff Secretariat I 11: Meeting of Office Heads on 19 September 1939), BAB, R 58/825; see also Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 60. 157. Weitbrecht, ‘Ermächtigung’, 62. 158. Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 86. 159. Ibid., 87. 160. Ibid., 86. 161. A status report produced by EK Bromberg stated: ‘The campaign initiated against the Polish intelligentsia is as good as completed. … Of the Polish intelligentsia (teachers, members of the Western Association) and those who had risen to prominence as German-haters and agitators against Germanity, 250 were liquidated in the course of the last week.’ Quoted in EK Bromberg, Lagebericht v. 4.11. 1939 (EK Bromberg, Situation Report, 4 November 1939), BAB, R 70 Polen/83, fol. 14ff). 162. ‘Vern. Max-Franz Janke, 10.7. 1969’; reprinted in Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 165f. 163. Dr. Rudolf Oebsger-Röder: Notwendigkeit der propagandistischen Bearbeitung der Polen in Westpreußen, undat./Ende Oktober 1939 (Dr. Rudolf Oebsger-Röder: Need for the Propagandistic Handling of Poles in West Prussia, undated/end of October 1939); BAB, R 70 Polen/83, fol. 49ff.; also reprinted in ibid., 184–86, here 185. 164. ‘General Walter Petzel an BdE, 23.11. 1939’; reprinted in ibid., 194f. 165. ‘Bekanntmachung des Bürgermeisters von Schmiegel, 30.9.1939’; reprinted in ibid., 157f. 166. ‘Aussage Josef Lemke, 19. 6.1959’; reprinted in ibid., 188f. 167. Killing as work is discussed in depth in Welzer, Täter. 168. ‘Vern. Fritz Liebl’; reprinted in Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 196f. 169. This has been demonstrated in a particularly convincing way with respect to Einsatzkommando 3/I. See ibid., 76. 170. Befehlshaber Oberost, Vortragsnotizen für Vortrag Oberost beim Oberbefehlshaber des Heeres am 15.2.1940 in Spala (Commander Upper East, notes for speech on Upper East under the auspices of the Commander in Chief of the Army on 15 February 1940 in Spala), BA-MA, RH 53–23/23, fol. 23ff. 171. Ibid., fol. 24. 172. Ibid. 173. Ibid.

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174. 175. 176. 177. 178. 179. 180.

Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., fol. 25. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. ‘Aussage Josef Lemke, 10.2.1971’; reprinted in Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 168f. 181. ‘Aussage Marianna Kazmierczak, 12.10.1971’; reprinted in ibid., 170f. 1 82. For a synthesizing account, see ibid., 87f. 183. ‘Besprechung des Führers mit Chef OKW über die künftige Gestaltung der polnischen Verhältnisse zu Deutschland, 20.10.1939’, in IMG, Prozeß, vol. 26 (Nuremberg, 1947), 378ff.

Chapter 4

Initiation and Practice ‘Hubal’ and the Beginnings of Counter-Partisan Operations

 In the spring of 1940, SS and police units under Friedrich-Wilhelm Krüger, Higher SS and Police Leader East, carried out a series of massacres in the rural areas of Radom district. Members of the 51st Police Battalion, the 8th SS-Totenkopfstandarte (SS Death’s Head Regiment) and the SS-Kavallerie (SS Cavalry) murdered 937 people – mostly men of so-called ‘recruitable age’, between sixteen and sixty years. These massacres occurred in the context of the very first Nazi counter-partisan operations. In September 1939, as I have shown, German soldiers’ fears of the supposedly ubiquitous Polish partisans’ ‘devious’ fighting methods turned out to be a chimera. But in the winter of 1939–40, German occupation troops were in fact confronted with an organized Polish partisan group for the first time. This unit is still primarily associated with its commander, Henryk ‘Hubal’ Dobrzański, who was holed up with his men in a rural part of Radom district. The operations intended to combat Hubal and his men are central to the following observations. I focus on why this first counter-partisan operation generated so much extreme violence, seeking to tease out the various factors that facilitated, fostered and legitimized the use of mass violence against civilians and established a realm of permissible violence in which savage disregard for locals was the order of the day. My analysis breaks down into three parts. First, I identify some specifics of this first Polish partisan unit and, in particular, shed light on its relationship to the emerging Polish Underground State. I then turn to the radicalizing factors and escalation mechanisms inherent in German violence. Finally, I consider survivors of the massacres and the

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subsequent realities of their lives. What actually happens in a village that loses all its male residents within a few hours, in which only the elderly, women and children remain?

Between the Fronts: Hubal and His Men Wolfgang Jacobmeyer has portrayed Dobrzański as a legendary figure, a dazzling personality. This was a highly decorated cavalryman; a veteran of Piłsudski’s legions; a bon viveur and internationally successful showjumper; a professional soldier who nonetheless – due to his obstinacy, Jacobmeyer tells us – made ‘a somewhat poor fit with the drill-sergeant culture of military service’.1 Owing to his unwillingness to conform to the hierarchical structures of the armed forces, his career increasingly stalled. In 1938, this recalcitrance led to his transfer to the Polish Army Reserve.2 When the Wehrmacht invaded Poland on 1 September 1939, Dobrzański was in Grodno, on the eastern edge of the Second Polish Republic, as the deputy commander of a newly established Uhlan regiment. After the Polish army’s defeat, Dobrzański refused to surrender and went to ground, along with several of his fellow officers, in the forests of Radom district. There, in the winter months of 1939–40 under his pseudonym of ‘Hubal’, he assembled between 1503 and 3004 scattered soldiers of the Polish army – the core of the first Polish partisan unit under Nazi rule. Three aspects in particular are significant to subsequent developments. First, Hubal and his men did not comprise a partisan unit that made its presence felt through assassinations or attacks on members of the German occupation apparatus.5 Nonetheless, the group occasionally carried out dramatic operations. On one occasion, for example, its partisans broke into the game reserve of the Spała Hunting Lodge, headquarters of the Army Command Ober Ost (Upper East), killed and gutted a bison and hung its bloody pelt over the entry gate. Dobrzański’s goal was a symbolic one: to represent the prestige of the regular Polish army in the now occupied country.6 Still, his men carried out a number of attacks on members of the Polish autonomous administration and furnished themselves with basic supplies by requisitioning a wide variety of items from nearby farms. They were particularly keen to conduct themselves with propriety: The men wore Polish uniforms without insignia and clearly set great store by coming across as regular soldiers. For example, documents were stamped with the Polish eagle above the words ‘Special Unit of the Polish Army, Major Hubal’. The confiscation of horses was limited to Polish military horses that the German administration … had signed over to Polish farmers. Proper requisition certificates were issued in such cases. The necessary funds were

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obtained through raids on Polish tax collectors gathering taxes on behalf of the occupying power.7

Second, the sheer existence of an armed group clashed with the concept of resistance cultivated by the Union of Armed Struggle (Związek Walki Zbrojne), which was answerable to the Polish government in exile. The latter’s strategic thinking, as we have seen, revolved around a national uprising, which was envisaged as occurring when German rule was on the point of collapse. Until then, all forms of armed resistance – especially the activities of partisan groups – were to be avoided. The informing precept was to protect the Polish civilian population. No grounds should be provided for German ‘retaliatory measures’: ‘The Polish government prohibits military operations in the home territory under all circumstances; … the effect of these actions would be out of all proportion to the reprisals’, to quote a statement issued by the government in exile.8 Against this background, on several occasions Dobrzański was told to dissolve his unit and take his place within the Union of Armed Struggle. But he was unwilling to insert himself into the hierarchical structures of the Polish underground, and always resisted. Even a final warning that he faced trial as a subversive before an underground court made no impact: ‘Major Dobrzański’s conduct in Końskie is irresponsible as he has twice disobeyed orders to disband the partisans … . I am in pursuit of Dobrzański. I wish to send him over the border and in future I will turn him over to a court.’9 None of these initiatives proved successful, however, while the associated fears were to be amply borne out. Third, from a German perspective the emergence of Hubal’s partisan group seemed to lend plausibility to the specific enemy construct of ‘Polish bands’, whose roots lay in the activities of the Freikorps after the First World War. Oberost Johannes Blaskowitz discerned a manifestation of the ‘centuries-old school of Polish insurrectionism’,10 which made it vital to abandon a tentative, passive approach in favour of an immediate show of strength – a direct demonstration of power. The German leadership resolved to ‘cease tolerating this state of affairs’.11 It was in this context that the first counter-partisan operation was conceived in occupied Poland. Launched on 29 March 1940, by 12 April the same year it had resulted in a series of massacres of Polish civilians.

‘We Shot at Everything That Came into Our Sights, Even Women and Crows’ In what follows, I foreground the factors that fostered massacres of Polish civilians within the framework of the counter-partisan campaign that was

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now beginning. Analytically we can separate these factors, but in historical reality they were intertwined – constituting a framework for a broad spectrum of violence against the inhabitants of the rural parts of the Kielce region. I discuss a total of five aspects in more detail below: turf wars, the framework of the partisan war, the general suspicions harboured by the German occupiers about the civilian population, techniques of command and the logic of the massacres. Originally it was the apparatus of military occupation – or, to be more precise, the 372nd High Field Command (Oberfeldkommandantur 372) – that became aware of Hubal’s partisan unit in March 1940.12 With the help of Polish informers it proved possible to determine the partisans’ whereabouts – triggering initial planning for a major counter-partisan operation within the High Field Command, with the 650th Infantry Regiment being tasked with launching an attack on this ‘Polish band’.13 However, these plans quickly became obsolete when the SS and police apparatus successfully claimed responsibility for the field of ‘security’.14 Their authority in this field was, however, already a matter of controversy in the spring of 1940. The High Field Command had substantial doubts about the competence of the SS and police: ‘The conception and implementation of the operation revealed considerable shortcomings of leadership and training in the SS units deployed’,15 to quote the subsequent assessment of the Wehrmacht, which ascribed ‘only negligible military value’16 to the SS and police forces. Poetically gifted members of the 372nd High Field Command even penned an ironic poem that circulated among the troops under the title ‘The Battle of Kamienna’: The SS set off on the war path now await with resolve but no fear the ghostly rider on his white horse [Schimmelreiter], the major with the red beard!17

This ridiculing of SS incompetence culminated in scarcely concealed delight: Let’s say it out loud that his fate we bewail though it’s SS and police on his tail!18

This turf war was to prove a radicalizing factor as the operation unfolded: it put the SS and police under considerable pressure to prove their doubters wrong. Since failure would have meant loss of face, while also harbouring the risk of reigniting the question of responsibilities, the HSSPF East, FriedrichWilhelm Krüger, was determined to wipe out Hubal and his men at all

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costs. From the perspective of the SS and police, this required the rapid and ruthless use of brutal violence. The operations of the SS and police, as they developed against this background, can be divided analytically into three stages: initiation, intensified counter-partisan measures and unlimited violence against Polish civilians. (1) The first mission to combat the partisan group centred on ‘Hubal’ took place on 29 and 30 March 1940. First, the 51st and 104th police battalions19 were deployed under the command of Friedrich Katzmann,20 SSPF Radom. An operational plan, evidently drawn up in haste, initially envisaged two attack wedges that would advance towards the villages of Gałki and Hucisko.21 For the German units, this mission meant entering into the specific, asymmetrical situation of partisan war. There were two key aspects to their experience in this regard. First, they were left in no doubt that ‘[m] aterial superiority … in such wars is not necessarily an advantage’,22 since the ‘weak side only survives if it refuses to engage in the kind of warfare for which the strong side is prepared and that it is best at’.23 Against this background, Hubal’s troops avoided open confrontation in pitched battles; through deft evasive action they repeatedly eluded the German forces, thus remaining virtually impossible to track down.24 In this context, Dobrzański’s excellent local knowledge played an essential role – enabling him to find his way around the woods, go to ground, hide and ‘flee’ at any time. The police battalions were at a clear disadvantage in this respect – not least because, in the run-up to the mission, merely rudimentary and in any case inadequate efforts had been made to reconnoitre the terrain.25 The result of this knowledge gap was as predictable as it was frustrating for the policemen deployed: they failed to locate the ‘Polish bands’. The planned attacks on Gałki and Hucisko achieved nothing; there was no trace of Hubal’s men. At an early stage, then, partisan war proved a sobering and disillusioning case of chasing shadows for the SS and police units.26 Second – and closely bound up with the above – they were brought back down to earth by the fact that it was Hubal and his men who determined the temporal and spatial parameters of confrontation. Congruent with the logic of partisan warfare, they could decide the place and time of any armed clash. The outnumbered partisans thus posed a deadly risk to the German troops since attacks were unpredictable and could potentially take place anywhere. Through ambushes and sudden attacks, the partisans were always in a position to surprise and kill members of the SS and police. Blindsided German units often had little option but to beat a hasty retreat. On 30 March, for example, the police battalions were ambushed by Dobrzański’s men, who attacked them with machine guns – killing four men and wounding five others, some seriously, and setting several police cars alight with hand grenades. Only with great effort did the police battalions manage to retreat

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without further losses.27 From the Nazi perspective, the attempt to fight partisans thus proved a frustrating and fear-laden business: battling an enemy that eluded their grasp, the invading forces faced fatal threats at every turn. These feelings of threat and insecurity stood in sharp contrast to the German occupiers’ racist conceit of superiority, which imputed to them an invulnerability both physically and in terms of status. At certain moments, the ‘Polish sub-humans’ made two things clear: they rejected the race-based German claim to power and they were a serious threat to the occupiers. The reaction of the SS and police to these sobering experiences consisted essentially of intensifying their counter-partisan efforts, as they went all out to restore their unsettled self-image. (2) A number of historians have pointed out that HSSPF Krüger continued to rely on the men of his SS and police apparatus following the pitiful failure of this initial effort to ‘fight bands’. Due to his institutional territoriality, he could not bring himself to ‘fall back on the troops of the Wehrmacht with their [superior] local knowledge’.28 Yet attempts were evidently made to involve the Wehrmacht in the second phase of the operation, which was now under way. The SSPF Radom, Friedrich Katzmann, apparently requested the ‘support of the aircraft and artillery’ of the 372nd Infantry Division.29 The division commander was quite willing to provide these forces, but only on the condition that the division would lead the entire operation.30 The 372nd Infantry Division probably perceived its potential provision of additional forces as an opportunity to take over responsibility for ‘band-fighting’ measures.31 HSSPF Krüger, however, was absolutely determined to anchor responsibility for such ‘security measures’ in the SS and police apparatus, and rejected the divisional commander’s offer. Only now did Krüger draw on personnel from across the General Government,32 mustering the 51st, 104th, 111th and 181st police battalions, four companies of the Volksdeutscher Selbstschutz, the 8th and 11th regiments of the SS-Totenkopfverbände (SS Death’s Head units), the 1st SS Cavalry Regiment and some smaller units of the gendarmerie.33 Although the 372nd Infantry Division was not involved in the operation, its units were placed on alert and had set up pickets.34 The operational plan for this second attempt at ‘pacification’ envisaged the cordoning off of a wooded area near Skarżysko-Kamienna.35 This area was then to be successively reduced through concentric movements until Dobrzański and his men were captured. At the same time, this operation targeted potential Dobrzański supporters whose presence Krüger suspected particularly among the male population of the enclosed area. As a result, this mission was concurrently conceived as a large-scale crackdown on ‘accessories’ – whom the units were to track down, arrest and ultimately transport to prisons.

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After the area had been sealed off, the operation began on 1 April 1940. The units deployed ‘combed through’ the settlements within it, arresting 183 men from the villages of Gałki, Mechlina, Stefanowka, Szałas and Komorników in the first two days.36 They transported the men from assembly points to the surrounding prisons, where they were executed after a short time.37 Once again, however, the true goal of this ‘pacifying’ operation was not achieved. Despite the increase in personnel, Krüger’s troops did not succeed in arresting Dobrzański and his men. The operation had failed to meet ‘even the most primitive of requirements’,38 to quote the Wehrmacht’s typically acerbic assessment. By the early hours of 2 April, the career soldier Dobrzański had already managed to break through the porous police barrier. He escaped with most of his men, killing around 15 members of the SS and police in the process.39 (3) Once the operation had failed again, Krüger withdrew the majority of his troops so that only the 51st Police Battalion, the 8th SS-Totenkopfstandarte and three squadrons of the SS Cavalry remained.40 They were supposed to continue to search for Dobrzański’s supporters in the villages of the region, arrest them and take them to Radom’s prisons. In this third stage, however, an already tense mood among the German forces due to the miserable failure of the first two phases escalated, culminating in a series of massacres of male residents of the villages and hamlets in the cordoned-off area. The repeated failure of their own operations evidently caused considerable disorientation among the remaining units. In order to reconcile this new debacle with their world view, the men of the SS and police needed an explanation that made sense of their failure while leaving intact their racist conception of the world and its order. One way out of this dilemma was the supposition that the civilian population had provided Dobrzański with all sorts of support. The German units viewed the residents of this rural area with an attitude of general suspicion that potentially eliminated the notion of non-participants and innocents. For example, the commander of the 8th SS-Totenkopfstandarte claimed, ‘Enemy is withdrawing on all sides and seeking refuge in civilian clothing in the villages of the enclosed area’.41 But this was almost certainly wrong, as the local people appear to have responded with much reserve to the appearance of an armed group in their region. In February, Dobrzański’s men were already complaining of ‘numerous cases of friction with unfriendly people’.42 But the SS and police troops were evidently beyond such realities. The assumption they were working with gave them the opportunity to make sense of their experiences of frustration with an asymmetrical partisan war without unsettling their racist conception of the world: they were fighting not just partisans but the inhabitants of entire regions. As a result, the German troops now made virtually no distinction between villagers and Hubal’s partisan unit. An order issued to units of the SS Cavalry, for example,

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stated, ‘In view of the fighting methods of the irregular Polish troops, nonGermans in the zone of action are to be fired upon immediately.’43 A file memo composed after the mission gives us an idea of the consequences of this indiscriminate approach for the residents of this rural area: ‘We shot at everything that came into our sights, even women and crows.’44 The slightest suspicion that partisans might be hiding in certain houses prompted the men of the 8th SS-Totenkopfstandarte to throw hand grenades through windows and set entire buildings ablaze. Occasional explosions within the burning buildings, meanwhile, convinced the SS men – in classic circular fashion – that they had done the right thing: ‘The local people’s support for the Polish bands … was thus established beyond doubt.’45 In addition to this expanded concept of the enemy in the context of a ‘pacification campaign’ that had failed several times, once again another key radicalizing factor was the occupiers’ recognition of their own vulnerability and the mortal dangers involved in partisan warfare. It was the death of SS-Hauptsturmführer Staufer, commander of the 7th Company of the 8th SS-Totenkopfstandarte, that ignited this explosive situation. Even Polish survivors of the massacres that now began remember ‘tragic 7 April’, the day on which ‘a German was shot in Królewiec’,46 as a turning point.47 Staufer and his company had advanced into the village of Królewiec, where he was shot dead by a ‘uniformed Polish man’, as a report later stated, during a house search.48 SS and police leaders reacted by enlarging the zone of required violence, with SS-Oberführer von Jena ordering the execution of ten male villagers as an ‘atonement measure’.49 However, this order was implemented in an expanded form when, shortly afterwards, HSSPF Krüger ordered the murder of all able-bodied men in Królewiec and the torching of the village.50 The companies of the 8th SS-Totenkopfstandarte then shot 82 men between the ages of 16 and 60. Far from being carried out in the quiet seclusion of a clearing, the massacre was executed in public and with great brutality: like a band of marauders, the SS men murdered the men in the presence of the village’s women and children, fired wildly, drove men into burning houses or stabbed them to death with their bayonets. Julia Janus, a resident of Królewiec, described the course of this operation to Polish public prosecutors after the war: ‘The Germans first cordoned off the entire village, drove the residents from their homes and then torched the farms. I saw how the Germans took Józef Janus and Stanisław Maleszka, who were both still alive, into a house and set fire to it. Bronisław Koś was also burned alive. … Not all men died immediately. I saw the wounded writhing on the ground; I saw trembling bodies. The Germans stabbed them to death with bayonets.’51 Harrowing scenes were thus played out in the village. One teacher recalled how ‘the sound of pistol shots became mixed with the screaming and crying of women and children’.52

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Meanwhile, after the murder of all Królewiec’s male residents, SS-Oberführer von Jena stated: ‘All in all, it can only be emphasized once again that all those involved approached the tasks set for the battalions with a great readiness for action and much interest, and once again gave expression to the troops’ admirable character throughout the entire operation. All leaders, NCOs and SS men … did their duty in an exemplary manner and demonstrated their fighting spirit when encountering the enemy.’53 Immediately after this operation, Krüger extended this radical command, previously limited to the village of Królewiec, and ordered the arrest and evacuation of all able-bodied men in the surrounding villages. To understand the actions that ensued, it is important to emphasize that in his order Krüger’s main goal was not the murder of all able-bodied men but rather their deportation to German prisons. An order issued to the 3rd Squadron of the SS Cavalry, for example, stated: ‘The objective of this mission is to surround all the villages in the combat zone for the advancing police troops and to take the entire male population prisoner. Evacuation will be carried out by the incoming police troops.’54 In essence, then, in the first instance this order – in comparison with the operation in Królewiec – entails a renewed restriction on the realm of required violence: Krüger explicitly instructs his subordinates to take prisoners. In the last two sentences, however, he rows back on this and expands the field of permitted violence again in certain circumstances: ‘In case of resistance, all men between the ages of 17 and 60 are to be shot dead and the entire village reduced to ashes. Every attempt to escape will trigger immediate execution.’55 What was to be considered resistance, which actions were included in this category, remained open. Krüger left it to his commanders in the field to determine this; they should take appropriate measures based on their interpretation of the situation. This opened up considerable room for manoeuvre for the commanders and their men in situ. It was their engagement, their initiative, that did much to shape how the subsequent action unfolded. Little evidence remains to tell us about the course of the operation that was now under way. It is certain that more than 2,000 men from at least fifteen villages in Końskie county were carted off to the surrounding prisons.56 The raid and the transfer to the prisons were marked by a broad range of attacks by German police and SS men as well as countless, sometimes severe abuses of the captured Poles.57 However, the Germans did not stop at carrying out arrests as ordered: with reference to ‘attempts to escape’ or ‘acts of resistance’, the SS and police troops repeatedly used the opportunity to forgo arrests and instead to shoot the male inhabitants of entire villages. Mass shootings took place in Niebo, Adamów, Małachów Fabryczny, Gałki, Szałas Stary, Hucisko and Stadnicka Wola as well as in other unknown locations, costing the lives of at least 240 people, the vast majority of them men between the

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ages of 16 and 60.58 This surge of violence undoubtedly had a communicative dimension: in inter-institutional communication with the Wehrmacht, it was intended to signal that the SS and police troops had actively and successfully met the challenge of partisan warfare – based on the number of ‘bandits’ shot. The largest-scale massacre occurred on 11 April in the village of Skłoby. During the night, the 51st Police Battalion and units of the Selbstschutz surrounded Skłoby, entered the village in the early hours of the morning, drove the men from their homes and locked them in a gymnasium. With the help of an interpreter, presumably from the ranks of the Selbstschutz, one by one the Poles had to state their age. Anyone under the age of 14 and over 65 was instructed to leave the gym. Following this selection process, about 265 men remained in the building; they were herded into trucks and then executed in a forest near the village.59 The reason given for this mass shooting, as the few survivors recalled, was collective support for Dobrzański and his men. Concrete acts of resistance or attempts to flee evidently did not occur, so that going by the command issued the men should actually have been taken to a prison. But here the unit commanders used their discretion, which allowed them to expand the zone of permitted violence on their own initiative in certain circumstances. Although the order permitted the killing of people only in cases of resistance or flight, the events in Skłoby show that these terms were by no means unambiguous and were open to interpretation. What resistance was, which actions were counted as such and at what point in time – these questions were left to the discretion of the commanders on the ground, who could thus decide whether the entire male population of a village was executed or not. After the mass shootings, the policemen and Selbstschutz men in the village of Skłoby fetched fuel cans from their vehicles and went from house to house dousing the walls with petrol. The women and children who had stayed behind soon discovered that their entire village was about to be burned to the ground: ‘It smelled of petrol. We carried our things out in a great rush and led the cattle outside. As the flames shot up, large flakes of snow began to fall. The cows lowed. We sat there with the children and stared into space. A great weeping rose up. The snow fell upon us.’60 For German actors on the ground, the partisan war evidently formed a frame of reference in which the use of violence against civilians made sense. Even years later, under interrogation by West German police, Eugen N., a member of the 51st Police Battalion, presented this violent approach as appropriate.61 When asked whether, in the context of the action against ‘Hubal’ and his men, his unit had taken violent measures against the people of this rural area, N. initially replied evasively, by clarifying terminology: it all depended on what was meant by ‘violent measures’. ‘Assaults on individual

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Polish citizens’,62 according to N., had never occurred. However, N. elaborated, ‘if by violent measures you also mean combat operations against partisans and the measures to which this inevitably gave rise’, then ‘truthfully’,63 as he emphasized, he must state that such acts did indeed occur. The appearance of Hubal’s partisan unit had convinced N. ‘that the Poles had apparently failed to come to terms with defeat in war and were unwilling to respect the current occupying power’.64 Thus, ‘from time to time’, N. went on, ‘of course something effective [had to be] done by the occupying power’.65 Among the ‘measures to which [counter-partisan operations had] inevitably [given] rise’, which were still a matter of course for N. years later, he included the ‘shooting of people, burning down houses, looting, etc.’.66 The offensive thoughtlessness with which he presented his behaviour even in the context of a preliminary legal investigation clearly indicates how reasonable and legitimate it seemed to him to use violence against civilians in the context of partisan warfare. In this sense, ‘counter-partisan operations’ were in part a means of reading and interpreting situations, one that declared the use of mass violence against civilians a ‘meaningful’ act in every respect. In the exceptional circumstance of partisan warfare, N. suggested, what would otherwise be forbidden was allowed: the mass killing of human beings. SS and police leaders expressed clear agreement with their men’s interpretations and decisions: ‘In any case, uncompromising action was taken. The tasks set, in the form of burning down guilty villages as an act of atonement and dispatching bad elements, were carried out in such a proper and upstanding SS-like manner that any doubts about the men’s strength of character were dispelled.’67 This powerful pat on the back and aggressively communicated self-satisfaction not only express the normative orientations of a racial warrior who had long considered mass violence an acceptable way of dealing with ‘Polish subhumans’. It can also be read as a kind of communicative pre-emptive defence, as a response to the criticism certain to come from the ranks of the Wehrmacht in particular. Not only had the Oberost assailed the unprofessional execution of the ‘pacifying operation’ but the Commissioner for the Four-Year Plan in the General Government (Beauftragter für den Vierjahresplan im Generalgouvernement), Major General Robert Bührmann, criticized the fact ‘that in the course of the Radom events a number of miners were shot and two pure mining villages were burned down, whose residents are said to have participated in the insurgency’.68 Such criticism of the operation’s lack of professionalism and economic irrationality naturally raised the question of responsibility again: this threat of interference in the competencies of the SS and police was also to be countered with reports of alleged successes. For, regardless of all the massacres, the

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German occupation apparatus still faced a challenge from a Polish partisan group: Hubal and his men remained in the forests of Radom district. After the debacle of the policing operation, however, the Wehrmacht now claimed a leadership role in fighting the ‘Polish bands’. In order to avoid turf wars, the 372nd Infantry Division did not describe its approach as fighting partisans but rather as a ‘regimental exercise with live ammunition’. In late April 1940, after carrying out reconnaissance and with the help of denunciations from Polish farmers, the division dispatched two infantry regiments, which succeeded in encircling Dobrzański’s group in the woods near Studzianna. Although some of the partisans managed to flee once again, Dobrzański himself was killed in the course of the battle. The leader of the first Polish partisan group, the eccentric Major Henryk Dobrzański, was dead, but members of his unit were still on the run: ‘In Konskie county the security situation still leaves much to be desired. We are likely dealing with … members of Major Hubala’s [sic] band, who are carrying out attacks and acts of violence on their own initiative.’69 The SSPF Radom, who claimed authority in this matter, deployed the 51st Police Battalion, a unit that had already played a role in the operation in early April, to track down these final ‘members of the remnants of Hubala’s [sic] band’. The archives, however, contain very little information on the operations now under way. The events can be reconstructed only roughly from a scant situation report composed by the head of the Ordnungspolizei. On 6 June 1940, the battalion encountered Dobrzański’s men near Lipa, about 20 km southwest of Końskie. Once again, the operation apparently ended in a fiasco: the partisans again managed to escape, which the frustrated policemen apparently thought possible only with the active support of the locals.70 The 51st Police Battalion responded, as it had done two months earlier, with a major crackdown in the villages and hamlets, in which, according to the report, ‘150 people … were handed over to the SD’71 – in other words, were shot dead. While some partisans managed to escape, this operation spelt the end of the first Polish partisan group: on 25 June 1940, the survivors finally disbanded the unit.72 A total of 937 people fell victim to operations aimed at Dobrzański and his men, the vast majority of them men fit for military service from the hamlets and villages in those regions in which Hubal was thought to be. Life Goes on: Villages without Men Yet the story goes on after the killing. What happens in a village that loses all its male residents within a few hours – in which only the elderly, women and children remain? How does life continue in a village where only charred remains recall the houses where people once lived?

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We owe scattered insights into life after the massacre to the work of Polish author Krzysztof Kąkolewski, who travelled to Skłoby after the war and simply listened to the survivors.73 They told him how they had tried – surrounded by hot ashes, in the bitter cold – to bring some stability to lives turned upside down. All 265 men in the village between the ages of 14 and 60 had been murdered in a very short period of time. In the first instance, the challenges faced by the women were practical in nature. Immediately after the German troops’ withdrawal, these included looking for accommodation, for ways to avoid constant exposure to the cold in a burned-down village. They moved as a group into those cattle sheds that had not gone up in flames or into the few cellars, which could accommodate up to thirty women and children. The survivors of the massacre effectively became cave dwellers. At some point, in the first few days after the massacre, a woman looking for something edible in the forest discovered a hand sticking out of the ground. Even decades after the war, one woman remembered what happened next: She runs into the village, tells us that the earth is stirring, and now everyone begins to shout. We all run into the forest. I will never forget this running, how the women fell and raced, overtaking one another. They dig in the earth with their hands. Now everything is known. Neither my pupils nor my husband nor my father-in-law nor my brother-in-law are alive; my brother is dead, our acquaintances too. No one is alive. All gone. A terrible howling. Women faint.74

The women dug without pause for three days until they had unearthed all the men. They made coffins and buried every one of them. The massacre had turned gender relations upside down. Skłoby was a fatherless community. Not one child had a father. This was a community without men, a community of women. They had to do heavy physical labour formerly carried out by the men of the village: tilling the fields, ploughing and slaughtering. This changed only when, over the course of time, carpenters, roofers and bricklayers came to the village from the surrounding area and began to rebuild the houses. Some of them stayed and married the widows. There was real competition between women for the few available men. These included the slight 17-year-olds who had managed to pose as 14-year-olds and thus escaped the massacre. Over time, they too married significantly older women and became stepfathers to children only slightly younger than themselves. When Kąkolewski went to Skłoby decades after the war, he visited the fourth year of primary school and asked the children (of around ten years of age) who among them had ‘lost their grandfather back then’.75 ‘Hands go up as if in response to an easy question from the teacher’.76 No child failed to raise their hand.

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Hubal, Counter-Partisan Operations and the Nazi History of Violence The appearance of the armed group around Major Henryk Dobrzański in the forests of Radom district in the spring of 1940 marks the moment when the German occupying power was confronted for the first time with an organized partisan group. While the supposed mass appearance of groups of armed irregulars in September 1939 turned out to be a product of German soldiers’ and policemen’s imagination, six months later the Germans did in fact face an armed partisan unit. Initially, this was a matter of isolated events – strictly limited, both spatially and temporally: it was not until two years later, in the summer of 1942, that more partisan groups formed on a much larger scale in several regions of occupied Poland. Nevertheless, the events of spring 1940 were of major importance to the history of Nazi violence in three ways. First, German ‘pacification’ operations seemed to confirm all the fears of the Polish government in exile and its representatives in the occupied country. The excessive violence against Polish peasants living in the area in which the partisan group around Dobrzański was operating would have been avoided, they believed, if Hubal had submitted to their claim to leadership. For more than two years, the formation of partisan units was to play no further role in discussions on forms of resistance. Only in the summer of 1942 did the leadership of the Polish underground decide to form partisan groups in the rural areas of occupied Poland when the Germans began to implement an even harsher form of occupation policy. Second, this first ‘pacification’ operation served to legitimize the radicalization of security measures in the General Government. The fight against Dobrzański and his men is part of the prehistory of the planning and implementation of the ‘Extraordinary Pacification Operation’, in the course of which around 3,500 members of the Polish ruling class were murdered. The presence of an armed group in the forests of Radom district was used to justify intensified efforts to combat potential resistance groups among the Polish intelligentsia.77 Third, the German occupation apparatus responded to the challenge posed by Dobrzański’s partisan unit by adding another element to the Nazi history of violence: in the spring of 1940, the SS and police initiated ‘band-fighting’ measures. For the first time, a violent practice was implemented that was to mould the confrontation with partisan groups in German-occupied Europe as a whole from 1941 onwards – initially in South-eastern Europe and the Soviet Union, and finally in Western Europe as well. By the spring of 1940, all the key features were essentially present: the deliberate elimination of the distinction between partisans and civilians; a practice of all-encompassing suspicion, which effectively abolished the notion of non-participants; and, finally, the exercise of mass violence against the inhabitants of those villages

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and hamlets located in the same area as partisan groups. ‘Band-fighting’ was from the outset partly a means of communication: a message of credible threat to Poles that was intended to force their compliance, and a powerful signal to the SS and police ranks that they could still take effective action even in the disorienting, frustrating and threatening circumstance of partisan war. As early as spring 1940, ‘band-fighting’ was both an immediately understandable and – given the acute shortage of personnel – economic means of intimidation and, at the same time, a practice of self-assurance by actors in the fear-laden scenario of partisan warfare.

Notes   1. Wolfgang Jacobmeyer, ‘Henryk Dobrzański (“Hubal”). Ein biographischer Beitrag zu den Anfängen der polnischen Résistance im Zweiten Weltkrieg’, Vierteljahrshefte für Zeitgeschichte 20 (1972), 63–74, here 65.  2. Ibid.  3. ‘372. Infanterie Division, Dr. Schreihage: Geschichte des Korück 581 (OFK 581) und der 372. Inf. Division (OFK 372) 1939–1940 (Ausarbeitung in amerikanischer Gefangenschaft), BA-MA, RH 26–372/2’; first quoted in Jacobmeyer, ‘Dobrzański’, 68.  4. Bogdan Hillebrandt, Partyzantka na Kielecczyźnie 1939–1945 (Warsaw, 1967), 27; Jacobmeyer, ‘Dobrzański’, 68.  5. Cüppers, Wegbereiter, 56.   6. Jacobmeyer, ‘Dobrzański’.   7. ‘Schreihage, Geschichte, BA-MA, RH 26–372/2’.   8. Quoted in Jacobmeyer, ‘Dobrzański’, 68.   9. ‘Meldung Nr. 17, 15. April 1940’, quoted in ibid., 69. 10. Oberost, Chef des Generalstabes, Bericht über eine Polizeiaktion im GG (Oberost, Chief of the General Staff, Report on a Police Operation in the GG), 9.4.1940, BA-MA, RH 53–23, fol. 79–88. 11. Ibid., fol. 80; ‘Schreihage, Geschichte, BA-MA, RH 26–372/2’. 12. ‘Schreihage, Geschichte, BA-MA, RH 26–372/2’. 13. Ibid. 14. Ibid. 15. Ibid. 16. Ibid. 17. Ibid. 18. Ibid. 19. Cüppers, Wegbereiter, 57. 20. Katzmann was born in 1906 in the Ruhr area as the son of a miner. After attending primary school and an apprenticeship as a carpenter, he evidently failed to establish himself professionally: long years of unemployment, especially from 1928 to 1933, were only occasionally interrupted by minor casual jobs. In 1928, this unsuccessful individual decided to join the Nazi Party and two years later became a member of the SS as well. This was followed by a rapid rise within the SS and police apparatus. After just four years, he was appointed SS-Standartenführer and at the young age of 28 he took command of the 75th SS-Standarte ‘Widukind’ in Berlin. After being promoted to

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SS-Oberführer, Himmler appointed him SS and Police Leader (SSPF) in Radom district in November 1939, where he developed a close relationship with Governor Karl Lasch. In autumn 1941, Katzmann followed Lasch to the new district of Galicia as SSPF. Here, he was responsible for the mass shootings of the Galician Jews and their deportation to the extermination camps associated with ‘Operation Reinhardt’. On 30 June 1943, in a notorious report, Katzmann announced that the district of Galicia was ‘free of Jews’. See BAB, BDC, SSO Fritz Katzmann; Młynarczyk, Judenmord, 88; Sandkühler, ‘Endlösung’, 426–29; Birn, Höheren SS- und Polizeiführer, 338; Raul Hilberg, Täter, Opfer, Zuschauer. Die Vernichtung der Juden 1933–1945 (Frankfurt am Main, 1992), 55; Andrzej Bodek and Thomas Sandkühler (eds), Der Katzmann-Bericht: Bilanz eines Judenmordes im Distrikt Galizien (Berlin, 1995). SS personnel chief Maximilian von Herff stated in an assessment of Katzmann: ‘K. is younger and more flexible than his physical appearance would suggest. An old SS man, the model of the seasoned fighter and daredevil … but has a strong tendency to get bogged down in minor details. Unequivocal successes in cases where he can operate in person and directly and act according to his own rules. No great tactician or diplomat … . Just the type for spadework in the East.’ See Beurteilung (assessment by) Maximilian von Herff, BAB, BDC, SSO Friedrich Katzmann; Sandkühler, ‘Endlösung’, 428; Dieter Pohl, Nationalsozialistische Judenverfolgung in Ostgalizien 1941–1944 (Munich, 1996), 416. 21. Oberost, Chef des Generalstabes, Bericht über eine Polizeiaktion im GG (Oberost, Chief of Staff, Report on a police operation in the GG), 9.4.1940, BA-MA, RH 53–23, fol. 79–88, here: fol. 81. 22. Greiner, Krieg, 44. 23. Ibid., 45. 24. For a comprehensive account of this logic of partisan warfare, see ibid., 44–56. 25. Oberost, Chef des Generalstabes, Bericht über eine Polizeiaktion im GG (Oberost, Chief of Staff, Report on a police operation in the GG), 9.4.1940, BA-MA, RH 53–23, fol. 79–88, here: fol. 81. 26. Greiner, Krieg, 50. 27. Oberost, Chef des Generalstabes, Bericht über eine Polizeiaktion im GG (Oberost, Chief of Staff, Report on a police operation in the GG), 9.4.1940, BA-MA, RH 53–23, fol. 79–88, here: fol. 81. 28. Cüppers, Wegbereiter, 57. 29. ‘Schreihage, Geschichte (history), BA-MA, RH 26–372/2’. 30. Ibid. 31. Ibid. 32. Wehrmacht leaders sharply criticized Krüger’s decision after the event, though their response must be viewed against the background of their failure to gain responsibility for security. The Oberost complained that the mustering of SS and police troops from different areas of the General Government merely satisfied Krüger’s personal vanity while having disastrous consequences for security policy, such as rendering the long-planned arrest of around 1,000 ‘leaders of the Polish insurgency’ unfeasible – an operation that, as the Oberost warned, was ‘infinitely more important’ than fighting ‘the Polish bands’. See Bericht OberOst (OberOst report), BA-MA RH 53–23; see also Cüppers, Wegbereiter, 57; Jacobmeyer, ‘Dobrzański’, 71. 33. Madajczyk, Hitlerowski terror, 286; Seidel, Besatzungspolitik, 190; Cüppers, Wegbereiter, 57. 34. Schreihage, Bericht (Report). 35. Ibid.

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36. Madajczyk, Hitlerowski terror, 287; Seidel, Besatzungspolitik, 191. In this respect, Martin Cüppers’s interpretation is not entirely correct. He states that in the first few days of the operation ‘the predominantly military motives for the deployment of the SS [were] clearly recognizable’. In view of the large-scale raids carried out in parallel and the subsequent shootings, such an interpretation seems doubtful at best. See: Cüppers, Wegbereiter, 57. 37. Ibid. 38. Oberost, Chef des Generalstabes, Bericht über eine Polizeiaktion im GG (Oberost, Chief of Staff, Report on a police operation in the GG), 9.4.1940, BA-MA, RH 53–23, fol. 79–88, here fol. 84. 39. Schreihage, Bericht (Report). 40. Cüppers, Wegbereiter, 57. 41. Bericht an den Generalinspekteur der SS-Totenkopfstandarten über Einsatz in der Zeit vom 5.–9.4.1940 nordwestlich Kielce bei Mniow (Report to the Inspector General of the SS-Totenkopfstandarten on deployment in the period 5 to 9 April 1940 north-west of Kielce near Mniow), BAL, B 162/3798, fol. 74. 42. Zygmunt Morwaski, ‘Privatbrief an Hauptmann Kalenkiewicz, 9.2.1940’, quoted in Jacobmeyer, ‘Dobrzański’, 70. 43. ‘KTB 3. Schwadron, 7.4.1940, BA-MA, RS 4/310’; first quoted in Cüppers, Wegbereiter, 57. 44. OB Ost an ObdH (OB Ost to ObdH), 9.4.1940, BA-MA, RH 1/58. 45. Bericht an den Generalinspekteur der SS-Totenkopfstandarten (Report to the Inspector General of the SS-Totenkopfstandarten), BAL, B 162/3798, fol. 74. 46. ‘Aussage einer Lehrerin aus Końskie’, quoted in Fajkowski, Wieś (n.p.). 47. See also Cüppers, Wegbereiter, 57. 48. Bericht an den Generalinspekteur der SS-Totenkopfstandarten (Report to the Inspector General of the SS-Totenkopfstandarten), BAL, B 162/3798, fol. 74. 49. Ibid. 50. Ibid.; see also Cüppers, Wegbereiter, 57. 51. ‘Bericht Julia Janus’, quoted in Fajkowski, Wieś (n.p.). 52. ‘Bericht Lehrerin aus Końskie’, in ibid. 53. Bericht an den Generalinspekteur der SS-Totenkopfstandarten (Report to the Inspector General of the SS-Totenkopfstandarten), BAL, B 162/3798, fol. 81. 54. Befehl 1. SS-T-RS an 3. Schwadron (Order from 1st SS-T-RS to 3rd Squadron), 7.4.1940, BA-MA, RS 4/683; Cüppers, Wegbereiter, 58. 55. Ibid. 56. Seidel, Besatzungspolitik, 191. 57. Madajczyk, Hitlerowski terror, 287. 58. Ibid., 286f.; Seidel, Besatzungspolitik, 191. 59. ‘Aussage Zdzisław M. Rurarz’, quoted in Richard C. Lukas (ed.), Out of the Inferno. Poles remember the Holocaust (Lexington 1989), 156f. 60. Ibid. 61. Vern. Eugen N. (Interrogation of Eugen N.), BAL, B 162/3798, fol. 174ff. 62. Ibid. 63. Ibid. 64. Ibid. 65. Ibid. 66. Ibid. 67. ‘Einsatzbericht Kdr. 1. SS-T-RS, 10.4.1940’, quoted in Cüppers, Wegbereiter, 58.

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68. Diensttagebuch Frank, Bd. 4 (Mai-Juni 1940) (Duty journal Frank, vol. 4 [May–June 1940]), 3.5.1940, BAB, R 52 II/177. 69. Chef der Orpo, Lagebericht (Head of the Orpo, Situation report), 31.5.1940, BA-MA, RH 53–23/25. 70. Ibid. 71. Chef der Orpo, Lagebericht (Head of the Orpo, Situation report), 25.6.1940, ibid. 72. Jacobmeyer, ‘Dobrzański’, 238. 73. Krzysztof Kąkolewski, ‘Allerheiligennacht’, Polen 6 (1968), 36f. 74. Ibid., 36. 75. Ibid. 76. Ibid. 77. ‘A whole range of indications and actions’, stated Hans Frank at a meeting in May 1940, ‘might prompt the conclusion that there is a wave of resistance, organized on a large scale, among the Poles in the country and that major violent events are about to break out. Thousands of Poles are said to be already assembled in secret circles, armed and supposedly being induced, in the most incendiary fashion, to commit acts of violence of all kinds. … a case in point being the civil war-like uprising under the leadership of Major Hubala [sic] in Radom district.’ See Diensttagebuch Hans Frank, Bd. 4 (Mai-Juni 1940) (Duty journal Hans Frank, vol. 4 [May–June 1940]), 23.5.1940, BAB, R 52 II/177.

Chapter 5

Removal of Constraints Fighting Partisans through a ‘Small-Scale War’ in 1942

 In many ways, 1942 marked a profound turning point in the history of the German occupation. In the face of stubborn resistance from the Red Army, which forced the troops of the Wehrmacht into an unexpectedly prolonged military conflict, the parameters of German occupation policy shifted over time: long-term plans gradually took a back seat in favour of medium and short-term policy goals.1 As a result, in 1942 a number of lengthy, multiply interwoven processes came together. These cannot be dated to a specific year but had in some cases already been set in motion; in others they occurred a little later. Still, as the culmination of various developments, ‘1942’ signifies a turning point. First, various strands of German ‘Jewish policy’ in the General Government were fused together into the systematic murder of Polish Jews in the Bełżec, Sobibór and Treblinka extermination camps. Regional campaigns of mass murder that had been launched in late autumn 1941 and spring 1942 in the districts of Galicia and Lublin were transformed into a geographically comprehensive programme of mass murder in summer 1942 – one characterized by mass shootings, violent ghetto clearances and deaths from asphyxiation in the gas chambers of the extermination camps.2 Furthermore, in a parallel complex of violence, from autumn 1941 the planned mass death of Soviet prisoners of war began in transit camps throughout the territory of the General Government. By 15 April 1942, according to a list produced by the quartermaster general under the military commander in the General Government, 292,560 Soviet prisoners of war

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had died of woefully inadequate nutrition, infectious diseases and bitter cold. A further 17,256 prisoners of war had been ‘handed over to the SD’ and executed. In total, 85.7 per cent of all Soviet prisoners of war in this area lost their lives.3 Finally, in 1942, the civil administration of the General Government was confronted with vehement demands from various central authorities in Berlin for an increase in the region’s contribution to the war economy. In 1942, using brutal violence, the General Government delivered 398,959 forced labourers, 504,000 tonnes of grain, 237,000 tonnes of potatoes and 33,000 tonnes of meat – more than ever before under German rule.4 All in all, the exploitation and extermination measures of 1942 raised the violence of the German occupation regime in the General Government to a wholly new level. For large parts of the Polish civilian population, this phase of radicalization became a painful and humiliating experience of burgeoning impoverishment, existential threat and omnipresent violence. The figures envisaged for the ‘rounding up’ of forced labourers could only be achieved through violent police operations and outright manhunts,5 while food rations for Polish citizens were so meagre that those in the upper echelons of the occupation apparatus referred openly to ‘absolute starvation’.6 In the context of the mass murder of Polish Jews and Soviet prisoners of war, this practice of German occupation rule led to the routinization of violence and the brutalization of everyday life in the General Government. This aggravated situation in 1942 forms the historical framework for the appearance of large armed groups in the forests of the General Government. These were initially refugees from camps for Soviet prisoners of war, which extended across the country from October 1941 onwards. In light of the mass deaths of such captives, tens of thousands seized the opportunity of escape and hid in the woods.7 These fleeing Soviet prisoners of war were joined by around 50,000 Polish Jews who had managed to escape in the course of ghetto liquidations and deportations to the extermination camps – particularly in the wake of the dissolution of the ghettos and the murder of their ‘inmates’ from the summer of 1942 onwards.8 These refugees from the two major complexes of violence were initially purely groups of survivors, only some of whom formed armed partisan groups over the course of time. For many young Poles, meanwhile, the brutal recruitment of forced labourers in 1942 was the decisive event prompting them to abscond into the woods in order to avoid deportation to the Reich.9 There, they formed or encountered communist10 and bourgeois11 partisan groups, which at times stood in sharp contrast to one another. The activities of these various groups chiefly aimed to restrict the German occupation administration’s capacity for effective action: establishments forming part of the municipal administration were destroyed and German and Polish

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administrative staff increasingly fell victim to attacks, while lists of quotas and workers were destroyed – as were tax lists and criminal records.12 Unlike the Soviet partisan movement in Belarus, at no time did the armed groups in the forests of the General Government attain any real military significance. Nevertheless, over the course of time they came to represent an enduring threat to German rule in certain regions of the General Government – undermining German programmes of exploitation through assassinations, sabotage and raids.13 Hence, from the perspective of the German occupation apparatus, by the middle of 1942 a situation perceived as threatening had developed that no longer permitted a tentative, let alone passive, approach but demanded an immediate show of strength – a clear demonstration of power. Against the background of a prolonged war with the Soviet Union, the presence of ever stronger armed groups in the territory of the General Government thus put the German authorities under considerable, subjective pressure to act if they wished to avoid disruptions to the crucial transport system and ensure that their apparatus of exploitation and extermination remained effective. In view of this aggravated situation, Governor General Hans Frank was emphatic: ‘We have to lash out.’14 In particular, these threatening scenarios put the German security apparatus in the General Government under tremendous pressure: ‘This is perhaps now a warning that it is impossible to rule a savage country in a “nice” way’, to quote Gottlob Berger, head of the SS Main Office, in a private letter to Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler. The principle informing policing in the General Government must now be: ‘Better to shoot two Poles too many than one too few.’15 In the specific set of circumstances of 1942, the security apparatus resorted to the violent methods used in ‘band-fighting’ – which were to become an everyday phenomenon in rural areas from this point on. This changed the nature of German rule there. The scholarly consensus is that German occupation had been fairly mild in the rural regions of Poland. Some even consider Polish farmers to have been among the winners of the occupation, as they benefited from the intensification and modernization of agriculture as well as from high food prices on the black market.16 Against this background, ‘band-fighting’ operations marked a massive expansion of violent practices into rural areas, so that from 1942 onwards life in certain regions of the General Government became considerably more brutal and can hardly be compared with the first few years of German rule. In what follows, I attempt to reconstruct the wave of destruction that now swept through rural areas. To this end, I shed light on the field of tension lying between intention and situation in the implementation of violent measures.17 I pay special attention to the diverse patterns of justification that made the use of mass violence against civilians possible in the first place. I investigate which legitimation strategies

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fostered the exercise and dynamization of violence and created that zone of the permitted use of violence in which the occupiers could largely disregard the needs and rights of the civilian population.18

Security and Massacres On 11 May 1942, as part of a briefing for the presidents of the main departments, Deputy Governor General Josef Bühler gave a talk on the ‘tense security situation’19 for the first time. In his opinion, this entailed ‘deliberate sabotage’ that was having disastrous ‘effects not only on the transport system, but also on agriculture and labour deployment’.20 According to Bühler, the main setting for the ‘evil of banditry’ was Lublin district.21 This concern about ‘security’ in this district, expressed at the central level, triggered a plethora of activities at the regional level aimed at restoring peace and order. This was the first major ‘band-fighting’ operation since the spring of 1940, and it was to set the course for the years to come.22 The regional SS and police apparatus, under the command of SSPF Odilo Globocnik, was in charge of this operation. To ‘pacify’ the area between the Wieprz and Bug rivers, Globocnik mustered all available forces and divided them into two large groups – each of which was given specific tasks. The first group – chiefly composed of the 3rd Mounted Police Division, the 41st Reserve Police Battalion, the SS Cavalry Squadron Cholm and 300 Trawniki men – was to seal off the area.23 Within this cordoned-off zone, the local gendarmerie units and the Polish police forces were then to take action against the armed groups. Globocnik decided that they would be joined by several Sonderein­ satzgruppen (special task forces) in ‘civilian dress’, which were supposed to imitate the partisans’ fighting style and, by ‘scouring [the area] in the manner of the bands’, track them down and destroy them.24 The SSPF gave the units deployed in the interior a comprehensive enemy construct to take along with them: ‘Very close attention’, Globocnik explained, ‘must be paid to the local residents’ attitude. In this context too, any individual who appears suspicious in any way is to be arrested. … The term suspicious is to be applied as broadly as possible’.25 Interrogations of arrested persons were to be carried out ‘with appropriate vigour’. In particular, Globocnik underlined to his units that ‘firearms are to be used in response to any form of suspicious behaviour’.26 Here, we can already discern a fundamental tendency inherent in Nazi ‘bandfighting’, which targeted the civilian population in rural areas in particular. The key means of expanding the combat zone was the call for a particularly sweeping interpretation of the term ‘suspicious’. This concurrently had the effect of authorizing the use of firearms beyond conventional norms: whatever the level of suspicious behaviour ascribed to Polish residents, they were

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to be shot without mercy. In the same vein, HSSPF Krüger issued the following order: ‘When serious criminals and bandits are arrested, firearms are to be used immediately if there is even a hint of an attempt to resist or flee.’27 He expressly underlined that it ‘is undesirable [to shoot] only after several promptings’.28 Once this planning process had been completed, the first major ‘bandfighting’ operation in Lublin district began on 18 May 1942. After the forces responsible for sealing off the ‘band-infested area’ had done so, it was repeatedly combed through by gendarmerie units together with the Sondereinsatzgruppen, until 31 May 1942. These units evidently used mass violence against the civilian population and carried out numerous massacres both large and small.29 In a report to the military commander in the General Government, the 379th OFK stated that there had only been ‘gunfights in two cases’ so ‘there does not appear to be evidence of the pervasive arming’30 of the local population. In the first two days alone, the units shot dead at least 100 people, arrested around 400 others and set fire to 70 farmsteads, which – as a later report stated – ‘were inhabited by the bandits or their accessories’.31 The exact number of victims can no longer be reconstructed, but it is likely that several hundred people were murdered. In his final report, Globocnik referred to ‘around 500 individuals’32 who had been shot dead in the course of this operation. Among them were all the inhabitants of the village of Kryniczki, ‘which was known to be a nest of bandits and partisans’.33 Following the massacre of its residents, the gendarmerie units burned the village to the ground.34 The violent actions of the German units under Globocnik’s leadership were initially viewed very favourably within the civil administration. Referring directly to this operation, Ernst Zörner, the governor of Lublin district, announced with palpable satisfaction that ‘appropriately vigorous action is being taken to respond to the presence of partisans and bandits’.35 Zörner confidently emphasized the fact that, following Globocnik’s operation, ‘overall security [has been] more or less ensured in most parts of the district’.36 But by no means everyone shared his optimism. At the central level, the representatives of the main departments were concerned about the ‘deterioration of the security situation in Lublin district and [the] presence of partisans’.37 Globocnik had evidently failed to wipe out the armed groups in this area. In fact, according to Governor General Hans Frank, ‘excessive execution measures’38 had aggravated the situation. This remark, too, highlights a basic structure of Nazi ‘band-fighting’ that was fundamentally dysfunctional. It was the violent actions taken against the rural civilian population – leaving no one in any doubt about the violent core of Nazi rule – that created such excellent recruitment opportunities for the armed groups in the first place.

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Hence, just two weeks later, on 18 June 1942, representatives of the Government of the General Government and the heads of the SS and police apparatus in the General Government came together for a ‘police meeting’ to discuss the security situation, which had come to be perceived as grave.39 In an introductory presentation, HSSPF East Krüger outlined the situation ‘at first glance’40 as serious in view of the ‘numerous reports of acts of violence, robberies, etc.’,41 but added that ‘to the east of the General Government … the situation is far worse still’.42 As the cause of this worsening security situation, Krüger identified the flight of Soviet prisoners of war who had ‘spent the winter in the homes of Polish farmers’. From the HSSPF’s perspective, German rule in occupied Poland thus faced a fundamental challenge that could only be overcome through tremendous effort and intelligent coordination – especially from the security apparatus. As Krüger saw it, this state of affairs was worsened by two further aspects. First, a new problem was developing here that could not be resolved through recourse to previous solutions. It was ‘of course not possible’, he stated, ‘in an area of this size, to carry out an operation of the kind carried out in Konskie in the spring’ of 1940.43 For Krüger, the particular set of problems emerging in the summer of 1942 could not be compared with that of 1940, when only ‘a few hundred men’44 of the ‘Hubal band’ had to be subdued. In other words, from the HSSPF’s perspective, the past offered only limited guidance for the present. Second, Krüger noted that due to the meagre staffing level, there were not enough police to ‘destroy the partisans root and branch’.45 The German security apparatus came to two conclusions in light of this admission of its weakness. (1) Heinrich Himmler ordered an increase in security personnel by transferring various police forces to the General Government. Among other things, he also ordered, by express letter, the establishment of a Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion ‘for temporary deployment in the General Government’.46 Made up of active officers and reservists who had been detached by gendarmerie stations all over the Reich, as a supraregional executing force the battalion later led counter-partisan operations both large and small in a number of districts. Under the command of Gendarmerie Major Erich Schwieger, the battalion, mostly in platoon or group strength, launched a number of ‘actions’ to repeatedly comb through individual ‘band-infested’ areas. (2) The security apparatus aimed to overcome its disorientation by devising new solutions. The SS and police tried to adapt to the new situation, searching feverishly for suitable strategies that would enable their troops to meet the challenge posed by large armed groups in the forests of occupied Poland. We can distinguish two basic ways in which the SS and

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police developed their modus operandi for ‘fighting bands’. First, an effort was made to draw on the troops’ experience during ongoing operations. In the summer of 1942, for example, the mission commanders (Einsatzführer) were ‘obliged to report deployment experiences’47 and ‘to submit suggestions on improvements and changes to fighting methods in operations against armed … bands’48 to their superiors. The ‘experience gained in operations in forested areas and marshland’49 was considered particularly ‘valuable’.50   Second, at the same time all operations were to be evaluated through a ‘manoeuvre critique’ – ‘i.e., to be discussed with the troops in the interest of training and further enhancement of operational capability’51 – as soon as a given operation had been completed. These internal attempts at optimization were mirrored by efforts to integrate external advice and assistance. In early July 1942, for example, the Kommandostab Reichsführer-SS (Command Staff Reich Leader SS), at that time Himmler’s central coordinating body for ‘band-fighting’, widely distributed reports on ‘band-fighting’ operations in the occupied Soviet territories to the SS and police apparatus in occupied Poland.52 This can be interpreted as a form of knowledge transfer in which ‘band-fighting knowledge’ circulated between the different areas of occupied Europe. The dynamics of violence that typified ‘band-fighting’ in occupied Poland were thus related to German violence in the occupied Soviet areas. We can discern mutual influences here that created close links across Himmler’s empire and were intended to ensure a degree of uniformity in the German approach.53 This process came to an end in August 1942. By then, a specific set of recommendations had emerged from the evaluation of internal and external reports, which gave German ‘band-fighting’ its specific character henceforth. Three dimensions are particularly important to the present study. (1) At the strategic level, the SS and police established the ‘concentric cleansing method’54 as the standard procedure for German ‘band-fighting’. In essence, this entailed ‘simultaneous attack by several units from different directions, advancing on a central point’.55 Such a procedure was rated as ‘highly apt and promising’,56 since it had already ‘achieved very good results’.57 The ‘concentric cleansing method’ was based on the encirclement of an area by the units deployed, each of which was assigned a certain sector. Once the attack began, it was the task of the individual units to move within their respective sector to the centre of the demarcated area by a certain point in time. The troops thus streamed towards the centre of the circle from all sides and were to

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‘comb through’ all the settlements that they passed through in their sectors as seamlessly as possible. The objective was to cast a close-knit net over the area specified.58 (2) Furthermore, at the operational level, the systematic inclusion of the civilian population as a target of violent measures emerged as a key principle of Nazi ‘band-fighting’. This expansion of violence occurred on the basis of two patterns of interpretation that were closely intertwined and ultimately boiled down to the elimination of any substantive distinction between action and sheer existence. The first key development in this context was that the residents ‘of every locality, even the smallest … were held accountable, without forbearance, for the presence of bandits in their settlement or its immediate vicinity’.59 Polish farmers were thus made collectively liable for ‘band activities’ near their villages and hamlets: ‘Damage caused by so-called bandits to German assets and property or those serving German interests … must be paid [for] by the inhabitants of the settlement concerned … with their lives’.60 Second, and closely related to this, German ‘band-fighting’ was based on a comprehensive definition of the enemy that revolved around the open-ended categories of ‘accomplices’ and ‘accessories of the bands’. Here, the German units sweepingly placed locals under general suspicion, adhering to an enlarged enemy construct that potentially did away with the notion of the innocent or uninvolved: ‘Every local person’, as a corresponding order put it, ‘is a suspected accomplice or accessory, insofar as his loyalties are not absolutely clear to us’.61 This essentially made the entire Polish rural population ‘suspect band members’ and thus fair game. ‘Accomplices and all those who [give] them protection and support’,62 as was explicitly underlined, were ‘to be ruthlessly exterminated’.63 HSSPF Krüger articulated the guiding principle of Nazi ‘band-fighting’: the goal was to ensure ‘that the abetters [Gehilfen] and accessories receive the same punishment as the perpetrators. Whether the person concerned acted out of fear of retaliatory measures by the bandits’ was ‘irrelevant and can preclude guilt only in exceptional cases’.64 In essence, both traditional and situationally generated interpretive patterns converged here. In the situation of an asymmetrical partisan war, ideas concerning a fundamental Polish affinity for violence, deviousness and ruthlessness were amalgamated with a diffuse sense of anxiety and menace. To simplify only slightly, the SS and police apparatus in occupied Poland tried to respond to both aspects by expanding the zone of permitted and required violence: ‘Any softness’, it was claimed, ‘would be detrimental to our goals’.65 (3) In addition, these two structural features – the ‘concentric cleansing method’ and the systematic inclusion of the general population in the process of violence – point to another characteristic of Nazi

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‘band-fighting’. In practice, their interaction opened up great scope for decision-making to the commanders and troop leaders on the ground, and in two respects. First, it is important to bear in mind the specific spatial context of Nazi ‘band-fighting’: the settings for these operations were remote regions on the periphery of German rule. This entailed a certain distance from the central, command-issuing authorities and furnished the commanders and rank and file in situ with a considerable degree of autonomy when implementing and planning operations.66 Second, and closely related to this, the specific system of command characteristic of Nazi ‘band-fighting’ must be included in our analysis. Typically, the SS and police leaders or the commanders of the Ordnungspolizei issued general orders to restore ‘security and order’ in certain areas and reviewed the results of the operations after the fact on the basis of the daily or weekly reports submitted by their units.   In situ, then, it was the mission commanders who endowed these framework commands with meaning in their immediate environment through feats of interpretation, adapting them to prevailing conditions. In line with the leadership system of mission-type tactics, decision-making powers were thus delegated to the commanders – who lent meaning to the commands within their field of action at their own situational discretion.67 This applies in particular to the concrete approach taken in the context of the ‘concentric cleansing method’. The intensity with which villages were ‘overhauled’ (searched); what the ‘combing through’ of certain areas actually meant; the exact manner in which the ‘investigation, identification and selection of bandits, accessories or other suspects and untrustworthy persons’68 were carried out; how broadly or indeed narrowly the terms ‘suspicious’, ‘untrustworthy’, ‘accomplice’ or ‘accessory’ were interpreted – the configuration of all these components of ‘band-fighting’ operations was at the discretion of the individual commanders on the ground. They thus became ‘masters of life and death’ in the rural areas of occupied Poland.69 This shows once again that action taken within hierarchical structures is by no means limited to issuing and following orders, which are rarely formulated in an unambiguous way. Orders, as I have emphasized on many occasions throughout this book, have to be interpreted and adapted to local contexts of action. As a rule they entail varying scope for interpretation, which actors in situ can use to take autonomous action within certain parameters. ‘In a reversal of the increase in discretion at the top of hierarchies that is otherwise typical of bureaucracies’, as Ralph Jessen put it in a different context, ‘the policeman at the grassroots, “on site”, had a “power to define” the situation that was limited only very slightly by broad blanket clauses and a few rules of action’.70

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In this framework, countless ‘band-fighting’ operations were carried out in occupied Poland from the summer of 1942 onwards in an attempt to achieve, ‘rigorously and ruthlessly’, the ‘total pacification of the areas under German administration’,71 as demanded by Himmler on 9 July 1942. Initially, the action taken against armed groups in the forests of the General Government was by and large an ordinary task for the troops of the Ordnungspolizei. Scattered throughout rural areas, they carried out ‘bandfighting’ as an everyday practice in the shape of small-scale operations and daily raids. In this context, they committed countless massacres, both large and small, of the local population. The Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion, in particular, plagued the remote rural areas of the Radom and Lublin districts with such excessive violence that there were murmurings in other units that ‘this gendarmerie battalion drove through the countryside, ruthlessly shooting everything that crossed its path’.72 A graphic account of the daily practices of the battalion in Lublin district is provided by the records of a radio team that was assigned to the battalion’s motorcycle rifle platoon and accompanied it to the Janów region north-east of the San. The operation there took place ‘because the inhabitants of the villages and settlements in this forested area have closed ranks almost completely with the bands’.73 In light of this, ‘a rigorous overhaul’74 of all the villages in the region was to be carried out: ‘We must ensure that the bands in these … areas can no longer maintain accomplices and accessories. Band hideouts are to be burned down and destroyed completely.’75 It was against the background of these particular commands that this ‘band-fighting’ operation unfolded. In a breathless style, the note-taker recorded the events of 29 September 1942: 07:00 departure for Kolonie Osowek. All the villagers were assembled and, after a lengthy interrogation, around 15 accessories were done away with. 1 farmstead was set on fire. Then at 10:30 departure for Osowek. There, too, the villagers were assembled before the headman’s house and 14 suspects, and one bandit who fled, were executed. At 12:40 we received orders to burn down three specified villages, which have become known as hideouts for criminals. … I received instructions by radio to continue to Kruczina … . The operation was already in full swing when the radio team arrived there. The number of those shot is not known; it may have been around 10. The village was completely burned down. … Departure to location 014 [sic]. Two thirds of the village had been deserted by the residents; the rest were shot and the whole village was set on fire. Another operation could not be carried out afterwards because the entire platoon was deployed to fight a forest fire. At 18:30 all threat [of fire] had been eliminated and the platoon moved into its quarters.76

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In a report, Major Schwieger stated: ‘In phase II, the motorcycle rifle platoon … shot a total of 45 accessories and fugitives. The platoon did not come into contact with the enemy.’77 In addition, ‘around 15 to 20 farmsteads, which had served the bands and accessories as hideouts, [were] burned down’ during this operation.78 This example demonstrates that the violence did not arise from the dynamics of a bitter partisan war – in the sense of actual fighting – but amounted to an option of ‘preventive’ violence consciously chosen in advance.79 The German troops encountered very few armed groups: ‘It was a so-called partisan mission. But I have to admit that we must have combed forests for three days without finding a single partisan.’80 The SS and police apparatus legitimized this procedure as a measure necessary in every respect. After all, as they saw it they were in a violent conflict with ‘Polish bands’ fighting ‘in a relentless, cruel and underhand’81 way: ‘They can, therefore, only be combated with their own methods and must be ruthlessly exterminated.’82 In the context of this ‘band-fighting’, the key terms ‘bandit’, ‘accomplice’ and ‘accessory’ were gradually mixed up on the ground – engendering definitional ambiguities, connotations of omnipresent threat and a propensity for the use of violence at the least provocation. The example of the small village of Bialka illustrates this dynamic. In the early hours of 7 December 1942, troops of the 1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion in cooperation with the Parczew Rifle Platoon and a ‘hunting commando’ (Jagdkommando) of the 25th Police Regiment encircled the village of Bialka on the eastern edge of the large, impenetrable Parczew Forest.83 This forest was considered particularly ‘band-infested’: a hideout and refuge for various armed groups. In his operational order to the troops under his command, Gendarmerie Captain Kurt Rogall, deputy commander of the gendarmerie battalion, stated categorically, ‘Inhabitants of the village of Bialka have been identified as accessories to banditry.’84 The village came into the crosshairs of the battalion because ‘virtually no robberies [have been] carried out in this locality.’85 For Kurt Rogall and the men of the gendarmerie battalion it was clear from this evidence that ‘the majority of these people had to be accessories to banditry, if not bandits themselves’.86 The gendarmerie and the rifle platoon were to ‘overhaul’ the houses and stables of the village, and search for partisans, suspected partisans and accessories, while ‘Jews and refugees [were] to be shot’. The operation was led by Lieutenant Ostleitner of the gendarmerie, who stormed into the village with his men, drove the residents from their homes and assembled them in the market square for questioning. When interrogating locals, the gendarmerie battalion was always to use ‘the harshest means’. It was taken as read that often a ‘bandit’ would only become ‘talkative’ once ‘an accessory [had been] shot next to him’.87 In the course of these interrogations,

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Lieutenant Ostleitner and his men established ‘incontestably’ that 101 men in the village were ‘accessories’ of the ‘bandits’.88 They were then shot. Here, we can discern a fundamental problem of Nazi ‘band-fighting’. In the vast majority of cases, troops failed to capture the armed ‘bands’ as they had often withdrawn into the surrounding forests prior to the German attack. ‘It was not possible to apprehend armed bands’,89 stated a report by the 1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion. Nevertheless, the operation had not been a failure. ‘81 local accessories’90 were, after all, shot in just one day. Against this background, we can put the escalation of violence and the brutalization of everyday life in the countryside, the incineration of countless villages and the multiple massacres carried out in the context of ‘bandfighting’ chiefly down to radical orders relating to the bandits’ supposed ‘accessories’. These orders, meanwhile, entailed an ambivalent relationship with the removal of constraints on violence. As a rule, they were authorizations to use violence with civilians the chief and explicit target. For example, the men of the 3rd Mounted Police Detachment were instructed by their commander, on coming into contact with suspicious civilians, to follow the principle of ‘always being the first to shoot’.91 In practical terms, the commander elaborated, this meant ‘that firearms are to be used at the merest hint of an attempt to resist’.92 At the same time, however, he was keen to prevent an uncontrolled escalation of violence. He thus immediately reined the zone of violence back in: ‘On the other hand, the indiscriminate killing of suspicious individuals is criminal and undignified folly that I forbid in the strictest terms. I forbid absolutely all forms of nonsensical firing.’93 However, no sooner had he imposed this limit to violence than he rescinded it in the next paragraph: ‘Given the special character of partisan fighting, the use of aimed fire only cannot be demanded.’94 Two aspects are of particular importance with respect to these contradictory and ambivalent orders on ‘band-fighting’. First, they presented the option of initiating violence; they authorized the use of force. This did not mean, however, that any form of violence was permitted: ‘Indiscriminate shooting and the squandering of ammunition’ were prohibited.95 While the zone of permitted violence was significantly expanded in the context of ‘band-fighting’, this did not cover every form of high-handed individual action. The intensive use of violence was certainly encouraged, but it was supposed to take place within the collective structures of order and obedience. These orders thus always aimed to achieve the escalation of violence while concurrently monitoring those carrying it out.96 Second, in these ambivalent commands we can discern the initially unsettling attempts by the perpetrators, which I discussed earlier, to introduce a distinction between legitimate and illegitimate conduct in the context of mass murder. In the aforementioned order, for example, the commander

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of the 3rd Mounted Police Detachment forbade his men from carrying out all ‘acts based on impure motives and selfish reasons’.97 To put it bluntly, the goal was to establish the category of legitimacy in a situation of mass murder. ‘Band-fighting’ opened up a space for action in which virtually everything was allowed, but only for the ‘right’ reasons. The core objective of these orders was the enforcement of an ‘SS-like’ attitude, which demanded a ruthless approach to the enemies of the Third Reich but ruled out greed, selfishness, bloodlust and similar motivational structures that might indicate character flaws. In no way did these considerations revolve around the lot of the victims, who were exposed to violence in a wide range of forms. Instead, the objective was to secure the troops’ alleged ‘reputation’, to stabilize the normative framework of the SS as an institution and to guarantee the sound functioning of the apparatus of violence. But the mere fact that it was repeatedly necessary to recall the prohibition on ‘violent excesses’ in orders on ‘band-fighting’ indicates that the ideal of the ‘upstanding’ SS warrior and the reality of German violence were worlds apart. Nothing illustrates this better than the treatment of women in the context of ‘band-fighting’, which increasingly declared the traditional limits applying to military conflicts to be an irrelevance. German ‘band-fighting’ broke with the ‘masculine matrix of war’,98 the cultural understanding of war as a conflict between men. Increasingly, these traditional parameters of warfare shifted, in that women too were now integrated into a radicalized projection of the enemy.99 Single women, in particular, were suspected of providing the armed groups with support, assistance and protection as ‘bandit brides’ and ‘gun women’. For example, in the course of a number of patrols in rural areas, the 1st Gendarmerie Battalion soon identified several women as ‘bandit brides’ whose homes contained ‘large quantities of meat and sausage products’. Commander Schwieger noted with satisfaction in his duty journal: ‘One success was the neutralization of female accessories. 3 women were living alone at the very edge of the forest in a newly built house. Here the bandits had taken their pleasure with the women. Such lairs must be identified and destroyed everywhere to prevent them from providing hideouts for bandits again in the coming winter.’100 In general, the commander was of the opinion ‘that a great many single women and young girls give support to the bandits in this way, some being forced and others acting on a voluntary basis. It will be necessary to burn the bandits’ hideouts found in this way to the ground’.101 Schwieger warned that ‘women are paid far too little attention’ and that ‘they are potentially even more dangerous than the men’.102 In the course of ‘band-fighting’ operations, the troops of the German Ordnungspolizei broke through the remaining mental barriers to unleash a potentially limitless war against the rural Polish population. During an interrogation by the Hesse State Office of Criminal Investigations, a former

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member of the 1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion gave an insight into the dynamics of these operations: ‘Everything we found in the forest during such a search, regardless of whether armed or unarmed, very old or very young, woman or man, we shot on the spot.’103 Occasionally, the Sicherheitspolizei even found it necessary to curb their colleagues’ zeal by pointing out that prisoners were not to be shot immediately but first interrogated as possible bearers of important information.104

Entanglements: Murder of Jews, Food and Forced Labour At the same time, ‘band-fighting’ in occupied Poland moved into ‘fateful proximity’105 to all the key policy fields of the German occupation that shaped the year 1942 and that did much to lend dynamism to the violence exercised in the context of ‘band-fighting’ operations. In what follows, I thus outline the interweaving of counter-partisan operations with parallel complexes of violence and exploitation measures through a number of oblique perspectives. Historians have frequently highlighted the connection between counterpartisan efforts and the murder of Jews.106 ‘Band-fighting’ operations provided a framework in which Jewish refugees who had gone underground or into hiding were tracked down and murdered in so-called ‘Jew hunts’, while also facilitating the dissolution of the remaining ghettos in rural areas and the execution of their inhabitants.107 In the everyday practice of ‘band-fighting’ on the ground, the Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion, for example, feared ‘that the bandits would receive a considerable boost from the escaped Jews’. The battalion thus considered it an ‘urgent task to clear things up at last’.108 One of its members recalled the nexus of ‘band-fighting’ and the ‘final solution’ as follows: At that time, before moving out for a police operation, the group leader or platoon leader, depending on the strength of our forces, would state that in the event of us searching forests or villages for partisans, suspected partisans or weapons, any Jews found were to be shot without further ado, regardless of whether they were men, women or children, whether these Jews were partisans, suspected partisans or free from suspicion … . It was clear to all of us that as soon as any Jews were found they were ‘to be bumped off’.109

An example serves to demonstrate this connection. On 12 July 1942, German police units carried out a ‘band-fighting’ operation in the village of Garbatka-Letnisko following an attack on a train in the area. More than 300 residents of Garbatka and the surrounding villages were arrested and shot

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dead in an ‘atonement measure’. In the course of this operation, German police also stormed into the Garbatka ghetto and killed around 30 Jews on the spot. A larger group of around 60 Jews were shot in the surrounding woods; the police deported 74 Jews from Garbatka to the Auschwitz concentration and extermination camp, where they were soon murdered.110 Heinrich Himmler retrospectively rationalized these ‘operations’ in a speech to generals in Sonthofen: ‘The ghettos, however closed they may have been, were the headquarters of every partisan and band movement.’111 The presence of small armed groups in the forests of occupied Poland was a source of great concern to German decision makers, especially with regard to the General Government’s contribution to the war economy. To meet the sweeping demands emanating from the central authorities in Berlin for agricultural products and forced labourers, ‘band-fighting’ operations were increasingly linked with the collection of quotas and the recruitment of forced labourers. Close cooperation arose between the SS and police apparatus on the one hand and the civil administration on the other with respect to the planning and implementation of ‘band-fighting’ operations. For example, in view of the increased demand for the delivery of agricultural quotas, Karl Naumann, head of the Main Department for Food and Agriculture, requested that the SS and police ‘enforce their acquisition … with all the executive means at your disposal’.112 Hence, from the perspective of the troops deployed, certain measures used in the context of ‘band-fighting’ were legitimized by the war economy. In the context of the violence justified in this way, the principle was that ‘damage caused by so-called bandits to German assets and property or those serving German interests, especially crop supplies … , [must be paid for by] the inhabitants of the settlement concerned with the loss of their homes and lives. We can accept no excuses because we know that the bandits and their accessories are in the villages and are known to the population.’113 On 7 August 1942, the 2nd Battalion of the 25th Police Regiment, the Józefów Cavalry Platoon and parts of the Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion surrounded the village of Aleksandrów, about 15 km south-east of Biłgoraj.114 As the mission report later stated, the villagers ‘refused to support the German state by declining to deliver any quotas’.115 They were also supposedly known to be supporting partisan groups in the woods ‘as far as possible’. As a result, from the perspective of the German police they no longer had any function and thus had lost their right to exist. The village was surrounded, with all residents between the ages of 12 and 60 being evacuated and deported to the Majdanek concentration camp. The cattle, grain and all agricultural implements were requisitioned by the German police and distributed to the surrounding villages. ‘Following the evacuation of the village, Aleksandrów was simultaneously set ablaze from all sides and razed to the ground.’116

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The recruitment of forced labourers was also combined with ‘band-fighting’. In mid-September 1942, a directive from the General Plenipotentiary for Labour Deployment (Generalbevollmächtigter für den Arbeitseinsatz), Fritz Sauckel, began to circulate in the offices of the commander of the Lublin Ordnungspolizei, according to which the General Government was ‘to provide 140,000 workers for deployment in the Reich in the food and armaments industries by the end of the year [1942]’.117 As part of their counter-partisan operations, the German police forces increasingly abducted young men for forced labour. By this point, due to years of experience of violent German rule, virtually no one signed up for labour deployment voluntarily. As a consequence, the German occupation apparatus used brute force in an attempt to comply with Berlin’s demands. ‘The younger part of the population is afraid of being registered for external deployment’, noted Erich Schwieger, ‘and thus shows that it is unwilling to take part in the development work to be done. Hence, we had no compunction about shooting such elements if they attempted to escape.’118 The motto of the 1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion was: ‘If it runs, grab a gun.’119 Years after the end of the Second World War and German rule in Poland, the measures taken in this context were characterized by members of the German gendarmerie as entirely appropriate. In 1962, Theodor M. described how he ‘had been assigned to a unit several times with other comrades’, which ‘rounded up young Polish males to send them to Germany for labour deployment’.120 M. recalled how units surrounded the relevant villages ‘as usual in such operations’,121 stormed in and searched for men of working age: ‘What would happen is that two of us would go into a house and if we came across a suitable man he was asked to come with us. If he failed to do so voluntarily, we still had to take him along with us.’122 When the investigating detective asked whether excesses, mistreatment or other acts of violence had occurred in this context, M replied: ‘No. If a Pole got a kick up the arse now and then, I don’t consider that mistreatment.’123 And in operations of this kind, as he recalled, the unit’s basic ‘band-fighting’ principle applied: ‘Shots were fired during every operation.’124 The beginnings of ‘band-fighting’ coincided with a significant radicalization of German occupation policy, which was characterized by the murder of Polish Jews, the planned mass death of Soviet prisoners of war, intensified exploitation of Polish agriculture and recruitment of forced labourers on a massive scale. The development of partisan groups was closely connected with this brutalization of occupation policy and created a sense of imminent threat on the part of the German occupation apparatus, which it sought to counter with the violent methods used in ‘band-fighting’. ‘Band-fighting’ became intermeshed with the radicalized policy fields of 1942, forming a framework for action, stripped of constraints, in which a broad spectrum of violence was

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carried out against civilians in rural areas. German counter-partisan measures must be placed systematically within the multiply intertwined structures of violence against various groups of victims; in addition to Jews and Soviet prisoners of war fleeing the major complexes of violence of 1942, it was the Polish rural population that these actions affected most. On the basis of a radical conception of the enemy, ‘band-fighting’ developed into a multitude of smaller campaigns against the rural Polish population in which violence was used against all potential troublemakers in order to restore ‘security’. In practice, this approach led to the burgeoning routinization of violence in rural areas. According to statistics produced by the Commander of the Sicherheitspolizei, it had cost the lives of 17,386 ‘bandits’ by the end of 1942.125

Threat and Reward: Forms of Cooperation One significant characteristic of Nazi rule in Poland, as mentioned earlier, was the tension between the maintenance of the state monopoly on violence and its dual modification – that is, the expansion and privatization of state violence against ‘members of foreign races’. To this end, the Nazis instituted a specific order of violence that established a far-reaching distinction between those who were allowed to use violence and benefit from it, and those who were not permitted to use violence but had to suffer it. In the first two years of German rule, this dividing line largely corresponded with ethnic criteria. While ethnic Germans were granted broad licence to use violence and were empowered to do so, Poles were deprived of any right to use violence and were declared legitimate targets for acts of violence. In this respect, too, ‘1942’ marked a turning point. In the context of ‘band-fighting’, the parameters of this Nazi system of violence – which had previously ensured that solely Reich and ethnic Germans had the right to exercise violence legitimately – began to shift, at least to a degree. In certain situations and under specific conditions, to simplify only slightly, from 1942 onwards the Nazis directed various offers of and requests for participation at the rural Polish population.126 For example, Polish residents were often asked to ‘help with searches in the interests of band-fighting’.127 Posters were hung in every small village calling for ‘a joint effort to combat bands’:128 ‘Show no tolerance for prisoners of war, bandits, criminals, political ringleaders and idlers on your farmsteads and in your villages. … Report them to the police immediately and help the police apprehend them.’129 Polish residents were also urged to take the initiative, encouraged to take the law into their own hands and authorized to kill ‘bandits’ themselves: ‘Arm yourselves with clubs, scythes, axes etc., form a local guard and keep an eye on your property. Defend yourselves against the criminal bands and call the police for help.

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Anyone who kills a criminal is acting in self-defence and will not be subject to prosecution.’130 The prospect of a reward was also aired in this context: ‘Anyone who helps the police in this way will receive our support. We will reward those who provide clues that lead to the arrest of bandits and their accomplices. We will be particularly supportive of those who apprehend or neutralize bandits and accomplices.’131 Here, we can discern the contours of an interactive relationship pushed by the German side in a range of ways in view of the habitual shortage of personnel. There seemed to be no alternative to including the rural Polish population in ‘band-fighting’: it appeared to be the only way to track down and successfully combat ‘bands’. The framework of ‘band-fighting’ thus opened up new options for Polish farmers, creating opportunities to participate but also compelling them to do so. This altered the complexion of the Nazi order of violence – with certain variations spatially and temporally. The Polish inhabitants of rural areas undoubtedly remained first and foremost objects of violence and targets of Nazi ‘band-fighting’ operations. Yet at the same time, this opened up broad opportunities for them to become violent actors themselves on certain occasions. Nevertheless, this form of state-legitimized private violence cannot be equated with the licences for violence issued to ethnic Germans in 1939. While ethnic German participation generally entailed a high degree of voluntariness, when it comes to Polish farmers’ participation in Nazi ‘bandfighting’ we have to approach this issue in a more nuanced and cautious way. Our assessment must include the potential for intimidation and threats from the German occupation troops, which varied in intensity from case to case. From a German perspective, these were by no means ‘offers’ that could simply be taken up, ignored or circumvented. Behind efforts to ensure the active participation of the general population was always the requisite threat of violence: ‘Whoever fails to do so [help combat bands] is also a bandit in our eyes.’132 Every refusal to engage in ‘band-fighting’ could thus be read as potential support for ‘bandits’. Even the delayed reporting of the presence of ‘bands’ in the vicinity of certain villages could cause them to ‘be suspected of making common cause with the bandits’.133 The German police made the consequences abundantly clear to Polish residents: ‘Anyone who helps them or provides them with clothing, food, weapons or shelter will be shot. Their farms will be expropriated or burned down.’134 In many cases, it was this experience of violence that led Polish peasants to take part in the various ‘band-fighting’ operations: ‘By overhauling these villages we have now managed to prompt the residents to become extremely actively involved in the apprehension of the bandits.’135 Sometimes the term ‘accessory’ was defined so broadly in this context that even ‘those who refused to take action against the bandits’ were ‘to be held accountable’.136

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While the ennobling category of ethnic Germans empowered them to practise violence themselves while concurrently protecting them from Nazi violence, the injunctions directed at the Polish population were by no means associated with wholesale promises of security. Participation in ‘band-fighting’ offered only patchy protection against German violence. This resulted in a situation of chronic uncertainty, in which the Polish population had to constantly demonstrate their willingness to cooperate. Should they fail to provide such evidence time after time, they risked being declared objects of violence once again. German attempts to spur Polish farmers to participate in ‘band-fighting’ thus turned out to be a blend of request and coercion, reward and threat. However, from the Polish farmers’ perspective, it was not just German efforts to integrate them that mattered. We also need to pay attention to the operations of the armed groups and the Polish underground, which certainly shaped behavioural norms to some extent. Hence, German units repeatedly complained about a lack of cooperation from Polish farmers: ‘All of them are under great pressure due to the risk of retaliation from the bandits.’137 This highlights a significant factor that was to influence the conduct of Polish farmers in the context of ‘band-fighting’: the fear of reprisals by the denounced, of the behaviour-regulating violence of the Polish underground, which constantly tried to prevent certain forms of cooperation with the occupiers. The Polish peasants found themselves in an increasingly hopeless situation. Confronted with violence-backed German exhortations to participate and the behavioural expectations of the Polish underground, they had to manoeuvre deftly if they were not to be caught in the crossfire of the German occupation troops and armed Polish groups.138 It is against this background that we must place the Polish rural population’s participation in the fight against armed groups holed up in the forests of occupied Poland. In what follows, I portray the various forms of cooperation, which alternated between individual participation and institutional integration. I am unable to provide an exhaustive treatment of this complex of issues, instead identifying the broad outlines of Polish involvement in ‘band-fighting’.139 The first important aspect here are the forms taken by institutional cooperation. In the context of ‘band-fighting’, two formations in particular played a major role. One was the Ortsschutzwache (local guard force), which was meant to ensure peace and order in every village. It is striking that these formations were also referred to as a Selbstschutz by the protagonists of Nazi ‘band-fighting’.140 This semantic link with the Volksdeutscher Selbstschutz again highlights the term’s different dimensions. As a concept of empowerment, it legitimizes the use of violence for one’s own protection but at the same time implies the demand to actively participate in the production of

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security. Polish farmers were permitted to engage violently in ‘band-fighting’, but at the same time they were expected to do so. In addition, the use of the term clarifies the structural connection between the two aspects of empowerment, both of which – despite all the differences that I have highlighted – boiled down to the establishment of state-legitimized private violence. Under the command of the local gendarmerie, units of the Polish Selbstschutz were equipped with ‘effective striking and stabbing instruments’141 and were ‘called up and deployed by the Ordnungspolizei to actively fight bands’.142 Their concrete behaviour during operations decided their fate: ‘Energetic Selbstschutz members are to be supported in economic terms. … Anyone in the Selbstschutz who commits treason for the benefit of the bandits will be shot.’143 Here, too, we can discern the potential threat emanating from the German occupying power, which is likely to have contributed significantly to the willingness to cooperate. Nonetheless, it is evident that in practice the Selbstschutz men had a variety of opportunities to take advantage of ‘band-fighting’. There is, for example, a wealth of references in the sources to Selbstschutz members repeatedly stealing and looting within the framework of these operations. Evidently, they provided them with a good opportunity for self-enrichment.144 In addition, members of the Polish police were also actively involved in ‘band-fighting’ operations as a matter of course. They carried out reconnaissance missions independently within their station district; furthermore, they were well networked within their local communities and thus had access to intimate information and rumours from the village milieu. This was an important complement, but also corrective, to German knowledge,145 and was often used in a very concrete way to initiate large and small ‘bandfighting’ operations. For example, the head of a Polish police station in Ludwin, one Podlecki, informed the gendarmerie commandant in Lenschna of the existence of two large bands in his district. The station head was able to provide an account of the bands’ strength, arms and personnel, and concluded his report with the following request: ‘In my opinion, it would be good to carry out a major operation to destroy the bands and all the more now, given that the harvest is being brought in. I must further admit that the bands have recently been strengthened by new forces arriving from other areas.’146 This request from the Polish police-station head was to be answered short afterwards by the 1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion. In the course of its operation, its members murdered seventy-six individuals ‘who were accused of active involvement in the evil of banditry or of being accessories’.147 In addition, they burned five Polish farms to the ground as their owners had ‘participated actively in the evil of banditry’.148 Podlecki’s commitment paid off. Just six months later, in May 1943, the Polish municipal secretary of Ludwin sent a veritable cry for help to the KdO

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Lublin. Podlecki and the Polish policemen under him, feeling untouchable, had evidently made the most of their power, for the municipal secretary reported: During patrol duty the Polish police extort everything they possibly can from the people and, for example, seize 10kg of bacon, 8kg of butter, 100 eggs and 20 chickens and then eat their hearts out and booze all night long. At dawn, the whores go home and the police go back to sleep and could, therefore, be disarmed very easily. Instead of the police, the farmers use their rifles and shoot off rounds in the village. … When it comes to extortion the police are much worse than the bandits. … I am forced to submit this complaint because the entire population is outraged over these issues. The people want the Polish police … to clear off because they … are behaving in a disgraceful manner.149

In particular, Station Head Podlecki is described in this letter as a ‘lunatic’150 who responded to every opponent by threatening to ‘do away with’ him.151 Yet this missive met with a meagre response within the German occupation apparatus. Podlecki was viewed as ‘a fervent band-fighter’152 who ‘had already distinguished himself personally on these occasions’.153 As a result, according to the head of the Piaski gendarmerie station, Podlecki was ‘called a murderer and scoundrel … by disgruntled national comrades’.154 Therefore, according to the final assessment of the commander of the Lublin Gendarmerie Platoon, these ‘allegations … are in all likelihood an act of revenge by outsiders’155 against a particularly ‘zealous officer’.156 Two aspects are of great importance in this context. In view of the German practice of violence, it is surprising that in 1943 a Polish official turned to a German agency to denounce the arbitrary and excessive actions of a Polish policeman. This may indicate a particular sense of helplessness in the face of Podlecki’s violent conduct. But it might also suggest that as a result of regular contact in local contexts, everyday relations between Germans and Poles were closer than has perhaps been assumed – such that the aforementioned complaint by no means exceeded the limits of the sayable.157 On the other hand, the argumentational structure of the German authorities’ response is equally striking. Evidently, particularly committed ‘band-fighters’ were at times given carte blanche to use violence in recognition of their active contribution to the cause. How they behaved outside the context of ‘band-fighting’ may have mattered little. The results- and efficiency-oriented thinking of the SS and police apparatus points in this direction, as does the behaviour of German policemen with a propensity for overconsumption of alcohol and violent excesses.158 This is a particularly vivid demonstration of Polish policemen’s scope for action within the ‘band-fighting’ context.159

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We might, however, cite contrasting examples that testify to the close cooperation between the Polish police and armed Polish groups. In many cases, German police were dissatisfied with Polish policemen, who were a special focus of the Polish underground. German actors repeatedly called for the ‘purging of the Polish police of untrustworthy elements’.160 These doubts about the reliability of the Polish police intensified over time and eventually turned into outright distrust, especially after the widespread resistance to ‘Operation Zamość’ (see chapter 6): ‘In my opinion, the Polish police are completely untrustworthy’, stated the disillusioned commander of the 1st Gendarmerie Battalion. ‘It is impossible that no Polish policeman noticed any sign of preparations for the uprising. In fact, I believe some of these men were actively involved. I consider the remaining Polish policemen to be particularly untrustworthy. They must be removed completely from this area. … In any case, they are utterly unsuited to fighting an insurgency movement. As far as I know, the Polish police forces deployed in the operational area during the mission have had not the slightest success.’161 A distinction must be made between these forms of institutionalized cooperation and individual cooperation between occupiers and occupied in rural areas. Many Polish farmers used their local knowledge to denounce alleged ‘bandits’ or ‘accessories’ to German police units. Such submissions to gendarmerie stations were legion. From a plethora of examples, I will mention just one petition received at the Lubartow police station in May 1942, in which an anonymous denouncer informed the German police about events in the small village of Jedlanka Nowa. There, he wrote, lived ‘one Bonifacy Zawistawski, who is on the Grain Commission’.162 The denouncer stated the following of this man: ‘Polish officers often stay with them [Zawistawski and his men], living in hope that on 20 May 1942 they will have to stage a great partisan revolt. … Please, everything I write is the truth. The officers drive over to see them every month and stay for a few days before setting off again and Bonifacy always said that it wouldn’t be long [until the end of German rule]!’163 Whether it was fear of reprisals, the chance to settle old scores or the prospect of material reward – it is impossible to reliably reconstruct exactly what motivated this denouncer. But these and countless other denunciations make it clear that Polish farmers were at least occasionally willing to take part in violent German measures. From the German occupiers’ perspective, this denunciation practice was an important supplement to their own actions: the denunciatory submissions provided insights into local conditions that would otherwise have been denied to the police, who were only sparsely distributed across rural areas. A network of informers, specifically recruited by units of the German Ordnungspolizei, was established with similar goals in mind. They were to carry out crucial reconnaissance in advance of ‘band-fighting’ operations,

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locate ‘bands’ and their ‘accessories’, and identify possible escape routes in order to facilitate a targeted approach. Police informers were to be ‘inconspicuously granted economic advantages, given money and made promises for later’ by the German side. If no funds were available, ‘they are to be exacted from the Jewish councils and those Polish municipalities that do not suffer from banditry’.164 A retrospective attempt to quantify this Polish practice of denunciation in the ‘band-fighting’ context is doomed to failure. The sources often refer to expressions of discontent on the German side: ‘Relatively little intelligence could be obtained from the general population.’165 At the same time, the abundance of extant submissions indicates that this was by no means a marginal phenomenon. This finding requires us to qualify claims made for decades about ‘the Polish village’ as a ‘hotbed of resistance’.166 There is no call for a general overhaul here: it is more a matter of nuances, of illuminating grey areas and ultimately constructing a more complex but probably more realistic picture of the life and death of Polish farmers under Nazi rule.167

Notes 1. Of course, this conclusion does not apply to every situation – but it does indicate a fundamental tendency. See, especially, Christian Gerlach, ‘Die Bedeutung der deutschen Ernährungspolitik für die Beschleunigung des Mordes an den Juden 1942. Das Generalgouvernement und die Westukraine’, in Christian Gerlach, Krieg, Ernährung, Völkermord. Forschungen zur deutschen Vernichtungspolitik im Zweiten Weltkrieg (Hamburg, 1998), 167–257, here 252ff. 2. According to the present state of knowledge, around 1.7 million Polish Jews had been murdered under these horrific circumstances by the end of 1942. For an overview, see Dieter Pohl, ‘Die Ermordung der Juden im Generalgouvernement’, in Ulrich Herbert (ed.), Nationalsozialistische Vernichtungspolitik 1939–1945. Neue Forschungen und Kontroversen (Frankfurt am Main, 1998), 98–121. 3. The fate of Soviet prisoners of war in the General Government has hardly been researched. But see the pointers in Christian Streit, Keine Kameraden. Die Wehrmacht und die sowjetischen Kriegsgefangenen 1941–1945 (Bonn 1997), 134; see also Wiesław Marczyk, Jeńcy radzieccy w niewoli Wehrmachtu na ziemniach polskich w latach 1941– 1945 (Opole, 1987). 4. Łuczak, Polska, 175–82; Łuczak, Polityka, 400. 5. For a treatment of this complex of violence, see Roth, Herrenmenschen, 119–51. 6. See the remarks by Hans Frank on 14 December 1942, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch. 7. Streit, Keine Kameraden, 134. In September 1942, the German security apparatus noted contritely, ‘If in the winter of 1941–42 these offices had taken timely and vigorous action against the mass lodging of the escaped prisoners of war in the villages, they would not have been able to survive so long and join the bandits.’ See 1. Gend. Batl. (mot.), Einsatzbericht (1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion, Mission report), 19.9.1942, AIPN, GK 104/284, fol. 34.

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8. For a general account of the Jewish partisans, see Shmuel Krakowski, The War of the Doomed. Jewish Armed Resistance in Poland, 1942–1944 (London and New York, 1984). 9. Jacobmeyer, ‘Widerstandsbewegung’, 658–81. 10. Gontarczyk, Polska; Meyer, Ideologie, 39–58. 11. See Borodziej, ‘Politische und soziale Konturen’; Borodziej, Geschichte, 210–16. 12. See also the summarizing observations made by the German occupation personnel in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 668–78 (entry of 28 May 1943). 13. Especially when, at the start of 1943, in the course of the large-scale settlement project ‘Operation Zamość’, the initially small armed groups of the bourgeois and communist resistance, which included many Jewish and Soviet refugees, began to grow more rapidly. 14. Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 611. 15. In his letter of 17 June 1942, Berger referred to the recall of the Sonderkommando Dirlewanger from Lublin district due to a variety of disciplinary offences. Quoted in Entwurf eines Schreibens des Chefs SS-Hauptamt an RFSS (Draft letter from the Head of the SS Main Office to RFSS), 17.6.1942, BAB, NS 19/1671, fol. 27; see also Hellmuth Auerbach, ‘Die Einheit Dirlewanger’, Vierteljahrshefte für Zeitgeschichte 3 (1962), 250–65, here 265. 16. See, for example, Klaus-Peter Friedrich, ‘Über den Widerstandsmythos im besetzten Polen in der Historiographie’, 1999. Zeitschrift für Sozialgeschichte des 20. und 21. Jahrhunderts 13(1) (1998), 10–60; Rajca, Walka. 17. See the chapters in Timm C. Richter (ed.), Krieg und Verbrechen. Situation und Intention: Fallbeispiele (Munich, 2006). 18. Jan Philipp Reemtsma, ‘Tötungslegitimationen. Die mörderische Allianz von Zivilisation und Barbarei’, in Gertrud Koch (ed.), Bruchlinien. Tendenzen der Holocaustforschung (Cologne, 1999), 85–103; Reemtsma, Vertrauen. 19. ‘Fünfte Arbeitsbesprechung der Hauptabteilungspräsidenten, 11.5.1942’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 494f. (entry 11 May 1942). 20. Ibid. 21. Ibid. 22. The originary character of the operation is also emphasized by Zygmunt Mańkowski, ‘Strategiczne znaczenie Lubelszczyzny i polityka represyjna okupanta’, Zeszyty Majdanka IV (1968), 9–17, here 13ff. 23. KdO Lublin, Einsatzbefehl für die Befriedung des Distriktsbereichs westlich des Bugs (KdO Lublin, Mission order for the pacification of the district area west of the Bug), 13.5.1942, AIPN, GK 104/119 (KdG Lublin), fol. 1ff. 24. SSPF Lublin, Merkblatt für das Zusammenwirken der im Innenraum eingesetzten Polizeikräfte mit den Sondereinsatzgruppen (Instruction leaflet on cooperation between the police forces deployed in the interior and the special task forces), 13.5.1942, AIPN, GK 104/119 (KdG Lublin), fol. 16ff. 25. Ibid. 26. Ibid. 27. HSSPF Ost, Betr.: Verbrecherbekämpfung (HSSPF East, Re: Combating criminals), 25.5.1942, AIPN, GK 104/99 (KdG Lublin), fol. 7. 28. Ibid. 29. On the evidence of mass violence, see Mańkowski, ‘Strategiczne znaczenie’, 13. 30. OFK 379 an MiGG, Betr.: Bericht des SSPF über Banditenbekämpfung im Distrikt Lublin (OFK 379 to MiGG, re: Report by the SSPF on fighting banditry in the district of Lublin), 31.5.1942, BA-MA, RH 53–23/37, fol. 3.

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31. 3. Gendarmeriehauptmannschaft Radzyn, Grosseinsatz zur Bandenbekämpfung, o.D. [Anfang Juni 1942] (Main Gendarmerie Squad Radzyn, Major band-fighting operation, undated [early June 1942]), AIPN, GK 104/52 (KdG Lublin), fol. 80ff. 32. SSPF Lublin, Abschlußbericht (SSPF Lublin, Final report), 31.5.1942, BA-MA, RH 53–23/37, fol. 4ff. 33. Ibid. 34. Ibid. 35. ‘Sitzung im Distriktgebäude Lublin, 31.5.1942’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 500 (entry of 31 May 1942). 36. Ibid. 37. ‘Hauptabteilungsleitersitzung, 1.6.1942’, in ibid., 501 (entry of 1 June 1942). 38. ‘Sitzung, 31.5.1942’, in ibid., 500 (entry of 31 May 1942). 39. ‘Polizeisitzung, 18.6.1942’, in ibid., 506ff. (entry of 18 June 1942). 40. Ibid., 507. 41. Ibid. 42. Ibid. 43. Ibid., 508. 44. Ibid. 45. ‘Polizeisitzung, 18.6.1942’, in ibid., 507. 46. RFSS, Befehl zur Aufstellung eines motorisierten Gendarmeriebataillions (RFSS, Order to set up a motorized gendarmerie battalion), 24.6.1942, BAL, B 162/6092, fol. 19ff. 47. KdO Lublin, Betr.: Feuerabgabe beim Durchkämmen von Wäldern (KdO Lublin, re: Firing weapons when combing through forests), 3.6.1942, AIPN, GK 104/99 (KdG Lublin), fol. 5. 48. Ibid. 49. Ibid., 6. 50. Ibid. 51. Ibid. 52. Kommandostab Reichsführer-SS, Chef des Stabes, Erfahrungsbericht (Command staff Reichsführer-SS, Chief of Staff, Report), 9.7.1942, AIPN, GK104/287 (KdG Lublin), fol. 23ff. The commander of the Ordnungspolizei explicitly instructed his troop commanders to do more than just take note of these reports: they were to be ‘utilized during training’. See BdO, Betr.: Erfahrungen bei Unternehmen in Rußland (BdO, re: Experience of operations in Russia), 27.7.1942, AIPN, GK 104/287 (KdG Lublin), fol. 57. 53. A study analysing this transfer of methods of violence across a number of occupied areas with a focus on radicalization processes is a key desideratum of research on Nazism. 54. II./Pol. 25, Sonderanordnung, Betr.: Konzentrisches Säuberungsverfahren (II./Pol. 25, Special order, re: Concentric cleansing method), 23.8.1942, USHMM, RG-15.011M, Reel 21. 55. Ibid. 56. Ibid. 57. Ibid. 58. Members of the 1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion often referred to this ‘bandfighting’ mechanism in their post-war statements: ‘The forested area was first surrounded and then the police units advanced and gradually “squeezed” the Kessel [pocket]. During this operation, a large number of earth bunkers were found in the

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59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66.

67.

68. 69. 70. 71.

72.

73. 74.

forest, which we immediately pounded to pieces. Polish civilians were then shot in a large open space in the village. About eighty to one hundred people were shot.’ See Vern. Rudolf H. (Interrogation of Rudolf H.), 24.5.1963, BAL, B 162/6033, fol. 964. KdG Lublin, Sonderanordnung (KdG Lublin, Special order), 23.8.1942, AIPN, GK 104/284, fol. 19ff. Ibid. Polizei-Reiter-Abteilung III, Abschnittsbefehl (3rd Mounted Police Detachment, Areaof-operation order), 15.7.1942, BAL, Dokumentensammlung Polen 365w. Ibid. Ibid. HSSPF Ost, Betr.: Banditenbekämpfung, Standgerichte (o.D.) (HSSPF East, re: Combating bandits, Courts martial [undated]), BAL, Dokumentensammlung Polen 365 x. Polizei-Reiter-Abteilung III, Abschnittsbefehl (3rd Mounted Police Detachment, Areaof-operation order), 15.7.1942, BAL, Dokumentensammlung Polen 365w. See Jürgen Matthäus, ‘What about the “Ordinary Men”?: The German Order Police and the Holocaust in the Occupied Soviet Union’, Holocaust and Genocide Studies 10(2) (1996), 134–50; Klaus-Michael Mallmann, ‘“Aufgeräumt und abgebrannt”. Sicherheitspolizei und “Bandenkampf ” in der besetzten Sowjetunion’, in Gerhard Paul and Klaus-Michael Mallmann (eds), Die Gestapo im Zweiten Weltkrieg. ‘Heimatfont’ und besetztes Europa (Darmstadt, 2000), 503–20; Mallmann, ‘Türöffner’. ‘In the command system of mission-type tactics, commanders are trained to give their subordinates orders on what to do, but not on how to do it.’ Quoted in Martin van Creveld, Kampfkraft. Militärische Organisation und Leistung der deutschen und amerikanischen Armee 1939–1945 (Graz, 2005), 51ff. Also instructive in this context is an observation by Ralph Jessen, who has drawn attention to the fact that security and order ‘could be threatened by an incalculable number of individual events, whose anticipatory casuistic regulation was impossible’. This is another systematic reason why the men on the ground had to rely on their own judgement. See Ralph Jessen, ‘Polizei und Gesellschaft. Zum Paradigmenwechsel in der Polizeigeschichtsforschung’, in Klaus-Michael Mallmann and Gerhard Paul (eds), Die Gestapo. Mythos und Realität (Darmstadt, 1995), 19–43, here 32. II./Pol. 25, Sonderanordnung, Betr.: Konzentrisches Säuberungsverfahren (II./Pol. 25, Special order, re: Concentric cleansing method), 23.8.1942, USHMM, RG-15.011M, Reel 21. Brewing, ‘Wir müssen um uns schlagen’, 510. Jessen, ‘Polizei’, 32. See Himmler’s meeting with top representatives of various SS and police forces from the occupied territories of Eastern Europe. Among those present were Krüger; commander of the Sicherheitspolizei, Dr Eberhard Schöngarth; and the SSPF Lublin, Odilo Globocnik. See Peter Witte et al. (eds), Der Dienstkalender Heinrich Himmlers 1941/42 (Hamburg, 1999), 482ff. Aussage Wolfgang H. (Statement by Wolfgang H.), 1.2.1963, BAL, B 162/6029, fol. 110 ff. (here fol. 114.); Jochen Böhler, ‘Totentanz. Die Ermittlungen zur “Aktion Erntefest”’, in Klaus-Michael Mallmann and Andrej Angrick (eds), Die Gestapo nach 1945. Karriere, Konflikte, Konstruktionen (Darmstadt 2009), 235–54, here 241. 1. Gend. Batl. (mot.), Einsatzbefehl Nr. 1 (1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion, Mission order), 28.9.1942, AIPN, GK 104/284, fol. 74. Ibid.

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75. Ibid. 76. Einsatzbericht des Funktrupps 9, zugeteilt dem Kradschützenzug von Leutnant Schuster (Mission report from Radio Team 9, assigned to Lieutenant Schuster’s Motorcycle Rifle Platoon), AIPN, GK 104/285, fol. 96. 77. I. Gend.-Batl. (mot.) an das Pol.-Rgt. 25, 30.9.1942, Ergebnismeldung (1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion to 25th Police Regiment, 30 September 1942, Report), AIPN, GK 104/284, fol. 62. 78. Ibid. 79. For similar findings on the occupied Soviet territories, see Mallmann, ‘Aufgeräumt und abgebrannt’, 507. 80. Vern. Walter B. (Interrogation of Walter B.), 22.5.1963, BAL, B 162/6033, fol. 895. 81. Polizei-Reiter-Abteilung III, Abschnittsbefehl (Mounted Police Detachment III, Areaof-operation order), 15.7.1942, BAL, Dokumentensammlung Polen 365w. 82. Ibid. 83. I./Pol.-Regt. 22, Einsatz-Befehl Nr. 4 (I./Pol.-Regt. 22, Mission order No. 4), 6.12.1942, AIPN, GK 104/284, fol. 99. 84. Ibid. 85. Ibid., fol. 100. 86. Ibid. 87. I. Gend.Batl. (mot.), Einsatzbericht (1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion, Mission report), 23.8.1942, AIPN, GK 104/284, fol. 13. 88. I./Pol.-Regt. 22, Einsatz-Befehl Nr. 4 (I./Pol.-Regt. 22, Mission order no.4), 6.12.1942, ibid., fol. 99. 89. I. Gend.Batl. (mot.), Einsatzbericht (1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion, Mission report), 23.8.1942, ibid., fol. 14. 90. Ibid. 91. Polizei-Reiter-Abteilung III, Abschnittsbefehl (3rd Mounted Police Detachment, Areaof-operation order), 15.7.1942, BAL, Dokumentensammlung 365w Polen Poland. 92. Ibid. 93. Ibid. 94. Ibid. 95. Ibid. 96. Jürgen Matthäus recently pointed out the importance of this dual approach to the analysis of processes of Nazi violence. See Jürgen Matthäus, ‘Controlled Escalation. Himmler’s Men in the Summer of 1941 and the Holocaust in the Occupied Soviet Territories’, Holocaust and Genocide Studies 2 (2007), 218–42. 97. Polizei-Reiter-Abteilung III, Abschnittsbefehl (3rd Mounted Police Detachment, Areaof-operation order), 15.7.1942, BAL, Dokumentensammlung Polen 365w. 98. The term was coined by Lutz Klinkhammer, ‘Der Partisanenkrieg der Wehrmacht 1941–1944’, in Rolf-Dieter Müller and Hans-Erich Volkmann (eds), Die Wehrmacht. Mythos und Realität (Munich, 1999), 815–36, here 833ff. 99. Similar processes of boundary elimination occurred in the Balkans, the occupied territories of the Soviet Union and Western Europe. See, for example, Manoschek, ‘Serbien ist judenfrei’; Gerlach, Kalkulierte Morde; Lieb, ‘Repercussions’, 820; Gentile, Wehrmacht und Waffen-SS. 100. 1. Gend.Bat. (mot.), Diensttagebuch 1942 (1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion, Duty journal 1942), AIPN, GK 104/284, fol. 28–40. 101. Ibid., fol. 43. 102. Ibid., fol. 44.

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103. Vern. Wilhelm H. (Interrogation of Wilhelm H.), 13.5.1963, BAL, B 162/6032, fol. 689f. 104. KdO Lublin, 21.9.1942, Betr.: ‘Vernehmung festgenommener Banditen’ (KdO Lublin, 21 September 1942, re: ‘Interrogation of Arrested Bandits’), BAL, Dokumentensammlung Polen, 365w; AIPN, GK 104/78, fol. 1. 105. Quoted in Ingo Loose, Kredite für NS-Verbrechen: die deutschen Kreditinstitute in Polen und die Ausraubung der polnischen und jüdischen Bevölkerung 1939–1945 (Munich, 2007), 416. 106. Christopher R. Browning, ‘“Judenjagd”. Die Schlußphase der “Endlösung” in Polen’, in Jürgen Matthäus and Klaus-Michael Mallmann (eds), Deutsche, Juden, Völkermord. Der Holocaust als Geschichte und Gegenwart (Darmstadt, 2006), 177–89; see also Christopher R. Browning, Ordinary Men, 121–32. For a recent treatment, see Grabowski, Judenjagd. 107. On the importance of the antisemitic enemy construct as a ‘compass’ in the context of counter-partisan measures, see Mallmann, ‘Türöffner’, 445ff. 108. AIPN, GK 104/284, fol. 61. 109. Vern. Theodor M. (Interrogation of Theodor M.), 24.4.1963, BAL, B 162/6031, fol. 585ff. and 593ff. 110. Sebastian Piątkowski, ‘Garbatka-Letnisko’, in Martin Dean (ed.), The United States Holocaust Memorial Museum Encyclopedia of Camps and Ghettos, vol. 2 (Bloomington, 2011), 220–21. 111. Bradley F. Smith and Agnes F. Petersen (eds.), Heinrich Himmler. Geheimreden 1933– 1945 (Frankfurt am Main, 1974), 203 (speech of 24 May 1944). 112. HA Ernährung und Landwirtschaft (Main Department for Food and Agriculture), 26.11.1942, BAB, R 187/570, fol. 22. 113. 1. Gend. Batl. (mot.), Einsatzbericht (1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion, Mission report), AIPN, GK 104/284, fol. 29. 114. Kommandeur der Gendarmerie Lublin, Einsatzbericht über den Einsatz vom 6.8.– 8.8.42 im Raume Aleksandrow (Commander of the Lublin gendarmerie, Mission report on the operation of 6 to 8 August 1942 in the Aleksandrow area), AIPN, GK 104/285, fol. 11f. 115. Ibid. 116. Ibid. 117. Kommandeur der Gendarmerie Lublin, Wochenbericht (Commander of the Lublin Gendarmerie, Weekly report), 17.9.1942, AIPN, GK 104/ 284, fol. 70. 118. 1. Gend. Batl. (mot.), Einsatzbericht (1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion, Mission report), 19.9.1942, AIPN, GK 104/284, fol. 44. 119. Vern. Wilhelm H. (Interrogation of Wilhelm H.), 13.5.1963, BAL, B 162/6032, fol. 694. 120. Vern. Theodor M. (Interrogation of Theodor M.), 24.4.1963, BAL, B 162/6031, fol. 596. 121. Ibid. 122. Ibid. 123. Ibid. 124. Ibid. 125. Dr Eberhard Schöngarth mentioned this figure without providing a breakdown of the groups of victims. See: Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 611ff. 126. This participation of Polish farmers in Nazi violence has recently been examined by historians with regard to the persecution and murder of Polish Jews. The focus here has

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been so-called ‘Jew hunts’, the tracking down of Jews in hiding by units of the German Ordnungspolizei. In this context, it has been demonstrated that the latter were actively supported by Polish farmers who, according to Jan Grabowski’s estimates, handed over tens of thousands of Jews. See the excellent studies recently produced by Polish Holocaust researchers: Grabowski, Judenjagd; Engelking, Jest taki piękny słoneczny dzień. 127. 1. Gend. Batl (mot.), Einsatzbericht (1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion, Mission report), 23.8.1942, AIPN, GK 104/284. 128. Ibid. 129. KdO Lublin, Betr.: Ansprache an die versammelte Einwohnerschaft überholter Dörfer (KdO Lublin, re: Appeal to the assembled inhabitants of overhauled villages), 19.9.1942, USHMM, RG-15.011M, Reel 2. 130. Ibid. 131. I. Gend. Batl. (mot.), Schluß-Ansprache des Einsatzführers an die Bevölkerung eines überholten Dorfes, (o.D., Sommer 1942) (1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion, Final appeal by the mission leader to the residents of an overhauled village [undated, summer 1942]), AIPN, GK 104/284, fol. 9. 132. Ibid. 133. KdO Lublin, Betr.: Ansprache an die versammelte Einwohnerschaft überholter Dörfer (KdO Lublin, Re: Appeal to the assembled inhabitants of overhauled villages), 19.9.1942, USHMM, RG-15.011M, Reel 2. The fact that the reporting hierarchy was often inefficient when it came to ‘band attacks’ turned out to be a major problem for Nazi ‘band-fighting’, since too much time invariably passed before German units arrived. To remedy this evil, we must proceed with more radical means than before. Every village headman must be enjoined to report the presence of bandits in his community to the nearest accessible German or Polish duty station by the shortest and fastest route, even at night. If this information is communicated belatedly, the community is to be punished in a way that can be felt by all. The reports made so far by the population are unclear, imprecise, distorted, exaggerated, in some cases implausible and, in my opinion, intentionally false in 50 per cent of cases. This evil must also be eliminated.

Quoted in 1. Gend. Batl. (mot.), Einsatzbericht (1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion, Mission report), 23.8.1942, AIPN, GK 104/284. 134. KdO Lublin, Betr.: Ansprache an die versammelte Einwohnerschaft überholter Dörfer (KdO Lublin, Re: Appeal to the assembled inhabitants of overhauled villages), 19.9.1942, USHMM, RG-15.011M, Reel 2. 135. I./Pol. 22, Zwischenbericht (I./Pol. 22, Interim report), 11.11.1942, AIPN, GK 104/284, fol. 88. 136. Einsatzbefehl II./Pol.Rgt. 25 (Mission order, II./Pol.Rgt. 25), 25.8.1942, AIPN, GK 104/285. 137. 1. Gend. Batl. (mot.), Einsatzbericht (1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion, Mission report), 23.8.1942, AIPN, GK 104/284. 138. Mazur, ‘Widerstand’, 406f. 139. A comprehensive treatment of this topic is a research desideratum. 140. See, for example, 1. Gend. Batl. (mot.), Einsatzbericht (1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion, Mission report), 23.8.1942, AIPN, GK 104/284. 141. Ibid. 142. Ibid. 143. Ibid.

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144. See, for example, the following collection of reports: Niemieckie władze okupacyjne, Meldunki o zwalczaniu partyzantki, 8.12.1942–17.7.1944, AAN, 214/IV-7. 145. For a comprehensive account, see Hempel, Pogrobowcy. 146. Poln. Polizeiposten Ludwin, Betr.: An den Herrn Kommandanten der Gendarmerie in Leschna (Polish police station in Ludwin, re: To the Commander of the Gendarmerie in Leschna) 13.8.1942, AIPN, GK 104/285, fol. 32. 147. 1. Gend. Batl. (mot.), Einsatzbericht (1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion, Mission report), 23.8.1942, AIPN, GK 104/284, fol. 5ff. 148. Ibid. 149. Gemeindesekretär der Gemeinde Ludwin, Betr.: An den Herrn Kreiskommandanten in Lublin (Municipal secretary of the community of Ludwin, re: To the District Commander in Lublin), 3.5.1943, USHMM, RG-15.011M, Reel 15. 150. Ibid. 151. Ibid. 152. Gendarmerie-Posten Piaski, Betr.: Bericht (Piaski Gendarmerie Station, re: Report), 2. 6.1943, ibid. 153. Ibid. 154. Ibid. 155. Gend.-Zug Lublin, Betr.: Bericht (Lublin Gendarmerie Platoon, re: Report), 3.6.1943, ibid. 156. Ibid. 157. An examination of everyday togetherness and conflict in rural areas is a research desideratum. 158. Himmler’s wish that ‘after the execution the firing squads are to enjoy a diversion with intellectually valuable content’ was to be disappointed; quoted in Cüppers, Wegbereiter, 59. For a local example of violent excesses, see Lehnstaedt, Okkupation. 159. There are countless examples in the sources proving that members of the Polish police were financially rewarded for a ‘judicious and active contribution to fighting bandits’. See, for example, Kreishauptmann Radom-Land, Amt für Polizeiangelegenheiten (District Chief Radom-Country, Office of Police Affairs), 12.5.1944, AIPN, GK 633/3, fol. 195; Kriminalkommissariat Busko, Betr.: Belohnung für poln. Polizeibeamte (Busko Criminal Commissariat, re: Rewards for Polish policemen), 17.9.1940, AIPN, GK 639/68, fol. 1. 160. 1. Gend. Batl. (mot.), Einsatzbericht (1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion, Mission report), 23.8.1942, AIPN, GK 104/284, fol. 11. 161. 1. Gend. Batl. (mot.), Erfahrungsbericht (1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion, Experience report), 16.2.1943, AIPN, GK 104/84, fol. 15ff. 162. KdG Lublin, Betr.: An die Gendarmerie Lubartow (KdG Lublin, re: To the Lubartow Gendarmerie), 6.5.1942, USHMM, RG15.011M, Reel 9. 163. Ibid. 164. Ibid. 165. 1. Gend. Batl. (mot.) (1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion), 29.8.1942, AIPN, GK 104/284. 166. For a recent example, see Mazur, ‘Widerstand’. 167. A study that fully explores these questions is a research desideratum and could provide important starting points for a social history of German rule in Poland.

Chapter 6

Losing Control Escalating Crisis and the Dynamics of Violence in 1943

 ‘We Mustn’t Be Squeamish’: Insecurity and Fear of Punishment The year 1943 marked a major turning point in Nazi rule, as German actors gradually lost control of large areas of occupied Poland. As a result, security increasingly moved centre stage in Nazi occupation policy: ‘Everything else’, it seemed, was ‘more or less insignificant’.1 In this context, three key interconnected developments ushered in a paradigm shift. (1) First of all, in 1943 it became apparent that ‘band-fighting’ had degenerated into a debacle for the SS and police apparatus. This violent practice had turned out to be largely dysfunctional, generating the very recruits that made armed groups such a threat to German rule. The security that the SS and police promised to provide, it seemed, could not be delivered through the use of mass violence. At times, the main protagonists of ‘band-fighting’ recognized this fact. Sicherheitspolizei Commander (BdS) Eberhard Schöngarth, for example, openly admitted at a police meeting held at Krakow Castle that it would be impossible to improve the security situation.2 In the best-case scenario, according to Schöngarth, ‘it can, however, be maintained at present levels’.3 The KdO Lublin was also quick to recognize that ‘band-fighting’ had failed: ‘Although the police are annihilating bandits non-stop, their numbers are not decreasing. So the bands must constantly be attracting new recruits.’4 This resigned admission points to a fundamental failure of method characteristic of

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Nazi ‘band-fighting’, which was largely based on the deregulation of violence against Polish civilians in rural areas. (2) In addition, this debacle was linked to the unintended consequences of the patchy achievement of the long-term goals of Nazi occupation policy. In the context of ‘Operation Zamość’, for example, the southeastern area of Lublin district became the setting for a regionally limited attempt at Germanization in November and December 1942.5 Within this time frame, at least 116 villages in the Zamość, Hrubieszów and Tomaszów regions were evacuated and tens of thousands of residents were relocated – while, at the same time, ethnic Germans from Bessarabia and Bukovina were resettled under the command of the SSPF Lublin, Odilo Globocnik. The villages were surrounded by SS and police troops, and the inhabitants herded together with great brutality.6 ‘Operation Zamość’ triggered panic and fear among the region’s inhabitants. In the context of ‘Operation Reinhardt’, which entailed the systematic murder of Polish Jews and which Poles had witnessed at first hand, the latter made a connection between their own fate and that of their Jewish neighbours: ‘That it would be the Christians’ turn after the Jews’, as Włodzimierz Borodziej put it, ‘was a commonly expressed fear’.7 In this context, two developments are particularly important to the analysis of Nazi ‘band-fighting’. First, around half of all residents resisted German resettlement measures. Thousands fled into the woods, where they joined armed groups. ‘This movement’, stated Hans Frank, ‘expanded in waves to include residents of those rural areas that were not, at least initially, to be affected by resettlement’.8 ‘Operation Zamość’ acted as a catalyst for the formation of armed groups in occupied Poland, with growing numbers of people joining them. Second, and closely bound up with this, the Armia Krajowa (Home Army) also executed a fundamental change of strategy in the context of ‘Operation Zamość’. Up until this point, its leaders had opposed the formation of armed groups as they wished to protect the civilian population from German reprisals and devote all their efforts to unleashing a great national uprising. But in light of the brutal programme of resettlement, Armia Krajowa leaders eventually decided to form armed groups to help fight the occupiers.9 (3) Ultimately, these internal developments within occupied Poland were interwoven with significant shifts in the overarching context of German warfare. Between November 1942 and March 1943, we can discern the emerging contours of a fundamental turnaround in the war. In addition to ‘Operation Torch’ – that is, the landing of Allied forces in North Africa – and the intensification of Allied bombing, the surrender of the 6th Army at Stalingrad was a powerful signal of changing fortunes. This defeat marked the beginning of a lengthy process in which the

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Wehrmacht increasingly lost the ability to take the strategic initiative on the Eastern Front. This was in fact a ‘point of no return’,10 as Bernd Wegner has fittingly put it. The emerging shift in the war was closely observed within the German occupation apparatus, where it heralded a palpable change of mood. Previously, German occupation officials had assumed that the Wehrmacht could win the war and that occupied Poland was ‘an essential part of the German Reich and will remain so for all time’.11 German functionaries had long self-confidently expected victory: ‘Of course, that’s the nice thing about this war’, Hans Frank once opined – namely, ‘that [we] will never give up what we’ve gained’.12 With the turning point of 1943, this optimism about the future was gradually superseded by a more pessimistic frame of mind. Now, German defeat had to be considered as a realistic possibility13 – implying a fundamental shift in expectations. A self-assured sense of helping to establish a ‘thousand-year empire’ gave way to increasingly worried glances into an uncertain and potentially threatening future. An Allied victory, as German actors saw without illusion, would not only mean the end of German rule in Poland. Members of the German occupation apparatus also had good reason to fear that the victorious powers would hold them accountable for their crimes. The Polish population, meanwhile, observed these developments with great satisfaction. The shifting realities of war in 1943 catalysed hopes of an early end to German rule. ‘There are reports of great jubilation in all Polish circles’, stated the SD division in Kattowitz, for example, in a mood report: ‘The year 1943 [marks] Germany’s end and Poland’s resurrection.’14 This perception of events undoubtedly reinforced Poles’ will to resist the German occupation regime, and with increasingly violent means. From the perspective of the German occupation system, then, an already threatening situation had become even worse. In the context of a looming shift in the war, the ‘band-fighting’ debacle – in other words, the obvious failure of the attempt to destroy armed Polish groups – was interwoven with an intensification of armed resistance as a result of ‘Operation Zamość’. But these realities did not prompt the German occupation apparatus to change course. On the contrary, it was in fact the unsettling experience of German defeats at the hands of Allied forces, as well as the increasing loss of control in occupied Poland – combined with ‘expectations of punishment and fear of retaliation’15 – that helped to perpetuate the regime’s violent methods. While developments over the preceding months had increasingly called the competence of the SS and police in the field of security into question, initially there was no fundamental critique of their forces’ actions. Hans Frank underlined:

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Despite all the criticism of methods I would like to emphasize one thing: we must not be squeamish when we hear the figure of 17,000 people shot. Those shot are also victims of war. If we relate this figure to the irreplaceable blood sacrifices made unceasingly by the German people every day and every hour, then it is of no consequence whatsoever. Now we are obliged to pull ourselves together. Let us remember that all of us gathered here are on Mr. Roosevelt’s list of war criminals. In a world-historical sense, we have, so to speak, become complicit. This is why we have to come together; we have to feel our togetherness and it would be ridiculous if we were to engage in quarrels about methods.16

It was against this background that the SS and police pursued their ‘bandfighting’ activities in 1943, which were based essentially on continuity in the practice of violence. Yet the actors involved faced far greater pressure to act. The SS and police apparatus in occupied Poland desperately needed successes if it was to substantiate its claim to responsibility for ‘band-fighting’. The impending loss of control over certain regions of occupied Poland, the growth of armed groups and the failure of security strategies were also being closely watched, and with increasing concern, by the upper echelons of the SS and police in Berlin. The Federal Archives in the German capital contain a series of telegrams sent by Himmler to his HSSPF East as early as the end of November 1942, in which he increasingly piled pressure on Krüger to develop strategies capable of getting the ‘band problem’ under control. ‘Dear Krüger!’, as Himmler cabled on 15 November 1942, ‘[h]ave received reports of attacks … . Demand the toughest measures to combat these bandits. … I have the impression that Globocnik needs to take drastic action against the bandits in Lublin district. Heil Hitler! Yours, Himmler’.17 Just two days later, the SS leader sent another telegram that revealed his increasing impatience: ‘From the reports, I see that the attacks in the GG are increasing appreciably. Band activity is on the rise. This is intolerable.’18 Four days later, Krüger received another message from Himmler: ‘I have the impression that band activity in the GG is increasing constantly. This must be countered with an approach both cautious and energetic.’19 Evidently, incoming reports on conditions in occupied Poland so alarmed the SS leader that he sent another message to Krakow the next day: ‘Dear Krüger! What do you [plural] finally intend to do to stop the constant band attacks? Heil Hitler! Yours, Himmler.’20 The drumbeat of these telegrams was an unmistakable signal to Krüger that he was now to do everything in his power to get the ‘band problem’ under control. Himmler thus put his HSSPF East under massive pressure. Continued failure was unacceptable. We can distinguish two main strategies through which the HSSPF sought to make his troops’ approach to ‘band-fighting’ more efficient. First, he called for a further intensification of violence. In an order of 19 January

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1943, Krüger stated that ‘when taking action to combat criminals and bands, firearms are to be used with complete ruthlessness and relentless brutality’.21 To put it bluntly, the top brass of the SS and police apparatus saw the use of mass violence as the only possible way to combat ‘Polish bands’. The constant refrain was ‘keep it up’, a determination to stick to the chosen course – an attitude remarkably unmoved by the unsettling experiences of the previous few months. This digging in of heels was evident among not just SS and police leaders but also the troops on the ground. HSSPF Krüger’s second strategy was, apparently, to initiate an evaluation of the SS and police units’ existing approach to ‘band-fighting’. First and foremost, Krüger aimed to collate his troops’ ‘band-fighting knowledge’ as acquired over the preceding months, evaluating it in an effort to optimize German strategy. Units ‘experienced in fighting bands’ were thus instructed to submit ‘proposals for the effective control of dubious elements’.22 The commander of the 3rd Mounted Police Detachment responded with the following proposal: ‘Bandits’ accessories must be eradicated.’23 As I showed earlier, by no means did this proposal envisage the strategic realignment of Nazi ‘band-fighting’: the mass killing of supposed ‘accomplices’ and ‘accessories’ had long been a common practice. Once more we can discern the radicalism typical of German perpetrators of violence, for whom alternative approaches to the challenge posed by armed groupings were simply inconceivable. Conversely, it may well have been the failure of the approach taken so far that prompted the occupiers to cling desperately to their violent practices. Any change of course would have implied an admission of incompetence and might have resulted in a dual loss of prestige: within the German occupation apparatus and vis-à-vis the Polish populace, which would have forced concessions from the SS and police apparatus through acts of resistance. Such a development would have been incompatible with the occupiers’ self-image of absolute superiority. As a result, there is no evidence of any deviations in the everyday practice of Nazi ‘band-fighting’, which continued to be based solely on the use of mass violence against the Polish population.24 Occasionally, HSSPF Krüger even had to urge his troops to show restraint: ‘As I have determined, the number of farmsteads and buildings burned down during police operations is four times as high as the number of farmsteads and buildings set on fire by bandits. The destruction of material assets must be reduced down to the lowest possible level, as it is gravely detrimental to German interests.’25 Yet Krüger himself immediately rescinded the constraint on violence he had just imposed: ‘Insofar as bandits are holed up in houses and it is necessary to burn them down in order to fight them, this must of course be done.’26 Once again, this highlights the margin of discretion available to commanders on the ground – who could make lifeor-death decisions based on their situational interpretation.

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Intensification and Integration: ‘Fair Game’ in the ‘Band-Fighting Area’ These methods, however, failed to stabilize the situation. From a German perspective, an already fragile predicament threatened to get worse. Engaging in a wide range of activities, the armed groups removed more and more areas from German control: they carried out countless attacks, raids and sabotage operations in rural areas, demonstrating that the SS and police were barely in control of the situation. In a situation report, the Military District Command in the General Government (Wehrkreiskommando im Generalgouvernement) stated that an attack was now being made on German institutions ‘every ten and a half minutes’.27 This development was so alarming, emphasized the Arms Inspectorate in the General Government (Rüstungsinspekteur im Generalgouvernement), that it would be accurate to refer to ‘a planned attack on the foundations of German administrative activity, in particular on development and administrative work in the fields of food and agriculture’.28 ‘The increase in acts of robbery, murder, sabotage and other forms of violence has become nothing short of an avalanche’, to quote one report.29 For the SS and police in occupied Poland, these developments were to result in disaster. There was now a serious question mark over their competence – but, above all, over their responsibility for security issues – with three key developments now sparking much concern. (1) First, the operations of the armed Polish resistance gained such momentum that everyday life became potentially deadly for members of the German occupation apparatus.30 Between January and May 1943, for example, 86 Germans were killed in the district of Warsaw, 98 in the district of Lublin and 50 in the district of Radom.31 From 1943 onwards, German occupation personnel had reason to fear attacks at all times. Within the civil administration in particular, a climate of insecurity and fear thus spread.32 A veritable ‘anxiety psychosis … was diagnosed among Germans in the country’, as a result of which ‘a number of Germans [had] already packed their suitcases’.33 For example, Karl Meyer, district office head at the Central Office for Agriculture in Opatów-Ostrowiec, complained to his superior at the Central Office for Agriculture in Radom that he was no longer willing to be ‘shot like a mangy dog’.34 The frustrated Meyer went on to state that the German side was no longer doing anything to counter the ‘terror’ being carried out by ‘the bandits’:35 ‘In the district we all have the impression that the relevant authorities in Krakow have either not been informed of this state of affairs or are sticking their heads in the sand. For weeks there has been talk of remedial action … . So far, however, nothing has happened, … while conditions

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are, if anything, deteriorating from one day to the next.’36 It was, Meyer declared, high time to take effective measures to ‘combat the evil of banditry’, as otherwise ‘the Germans’ reputation and what the German administration has achieved with much effort over three years’ would ‘be at stake’.37 Meanwhile, at the Central Office for Agriculture in Radom, to which Meyer’s urgent missive was sent, it was noted that ‘letters with similar content’ were arriving ‘constantly from almost all the district offices’.38 There was now an urgent need for the competent authorities to ‘take appropriate measures at once’.39   Such complaints about the perilous situation in the occupied country – and the frustration felt at the inability of the SS and police to find solutions and restore peace and order – had been ubiquitous since the spring of 1943.40 In particular, the German occupying power’s looming loss of reputation caused much wringing of hands among the functionaries of the occupation apparatus. ‘Further’, as the Arms Inspectorate in the General Government emphasized, one would have to be: struck blind to underestimate the psychological danger that has developed among the non-German populace when they observe that so far the German side has taken practically no serious steps to combat the evil of banditry. The Polish population in town and country can more or less convince themselves that the majority of acts of violence go unpunished and that their own attempts to defend themselves are generally futile from the outset, both because the bandits are better armed and, above all, due to the lack of a strong protective force with a sustained presence.41

This would inevitably ‘lead to a great loss of prestige for the German cause’.42 (2) In addition, the growing resistance was having direct effects on the occupied territory’s economic capacity – which, in a worsening overall context, was becoming increasingly important to German warfare. First, this development related to the exploitation of Polish agriculture through the collection of quotas. In a situation report for the month of May 1943, the Military District Command in the General Government stated: The attacks … on firms of great importance to the food industry and war economy have increased in intensity and become more methodical. … Dairies and sawmills have been destroyed in steadily increasing numbers. The insecurity in the countryside has grown … to such an extent that general economic life has increasingly come to a standstill and the supplying of the Wehrmacht from the countryside and transfer of quotas to the Reich are at serious risk.43

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Those employees at the central offices for agriculture responsible for collecting agricultural quotas often found that ‘even those Poles willing to help build up the country are having doubts about the Reich’s strength and effectiveness and no longer cooperate like they used to’.44 Many Polish farmers ‘do not even try to bring their grain to the collection point, but simply declare that the bandits have prohibited them from making these deliveries’.45   The basic problem from the perspective of agricultural officials was that ‘it [is] in fact the case that at the moment the German administration cannot determine what happens; instead the bandits are in command’.46 If the collection of agricultural quotas was to have any chance of being carried out according to plan, it was vital – as was stated time and again – to implement ‘comprehensive military measures immediately to restore order and security’.47   Second, however, the German armaments industry in occupied Poland was also increasingly affected by armed resistance activities. The armed groups targeted overhead power lines and natural gas pipelines, blew up bridges and roads, sabotaged railway safety installations, looted trains and repeatedly launched direct attacks on firms of relevance to the armaments industry.48 At the same time, the productivity of the armaments firms fell as a ‘decrease in the will to work and diminished performance in both quantitative and qualitative terms’49 became apparent among the Polish workers. Due to the potential threats and intimidation emanating from ‘Polish bands’, there had been ‘a significant increase in absence from the workplace without permission’, noted the Arms Inspectorate in the General Government, ‘and thus in lost working hours and excess consumption of energy and materials’.50 Another factor was added in the spring of 1943. Against the background of greatly intensified Allied bombing, a growing number of German armaments factories were relocated to occupied Poland. The fact that these firms were now facing tremendous threats there as well was a disastrous and unacceptable development from a German perspective: rather than increased production, a decline seemed inevitable. By spring 1943, things had got so bad that Albert Speer, Reich Minister for Armaments and Munitions (Reichsminister für Bewaffnung und Munition), sent a personal letter to ‘dear party comrade Himmler’.51 In it, Speer called on Himmler to ‘vigorously intervene, particularly in the focal points of the armaments industry in the Lysa-Gora area and in the area of Lublin and north of Kielce’.52 Concerns were expressed locally as well, with the Arms Inspectorate in the General Government, for example, repeatedly calling for ‘vigorous measures in the shape of a clean-up operation using … heavy weaponry’.53

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(3) Finally, in 1943, the Wehrmacht’s perception shifted too. In the summer of 1942, it had ascribed little relevance to the appearance of armed groups in the forests of occupied Poland. The 379th OFK, for example, emphasized the fact that these were ‘not partisans, but bandits who never directly harm the Wehrmacht’.54 In addition, at this point in time the troops of the SS and police apparatus were still trusted to regain control of events: ‘The situation is not expected to deteriorate from this point forward, since the police are capable of preventing the smaller bands from grouping together to form larger bands and of continuing the work of eradicating the bands’.55 This mis-assessment of the increasingly perilous situation in occupied Poland was revised by the Military District Command in 1943. It concluded that ‘the civil executive is no longer in control of the situation’56 and that ‘[t]he individual measures carried out so far by the police’57 had had no effect. The SS and police apparatus had failed both to ‘limit the growth in the evil of banditry’58 and to eliminate ‘the sense of insecurity’.59 As the fortunes of war shifted in 1943, these developments were particularly unacceptable from a military perspective. In order to endure the prolonged war against the Soviet Union, the Wehrmacht was dependent on effective arms production and safe transit routes for supplies. Against the background of the obvious incompetence of the SS and police apparatus, the upper echelons of the Military District Command saw the assumption of responsibility for security issues as the only way to remedy a situation that had got out of control.60 The Wehrmacht’s attribution of dire incompetence to the SS and police apparatus dovetailed with its belief in its own nearomnipotent problem-solving capacity. There was a conviction in military circles ‘that the counter-partisan campaign, had it been entrusted to the Wehrmacht, would have been completed in two days’.61 At the same time, Wehrmacht representatives faced pressure from officials in various branches of the civil administration to play a greater role in ‘bandfighting’. As Josef Bühler emphasized in April 1943, only by ‘drawing extensively on the services of the Wehrmacht’62 could the situation be ‘generally calmed down’.63 From the SS and police perspective, these developments were a disaster. The persistent lack of security in the country and growing criticism of their failed strategies threatened to trigger a shift in responsibility for ‘bandfighting’. In order to avoid this, the SS and police apparatus initially resorted to a strategy of pre-emptive communicative defence ‘in order to be able to tell the other agencies that it is not the police’s fault if the lack of security in the country persists’.64 As this was not enough to free the SS and police from their structurally defensive position, they subsequently developed two

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strategies in an attempt to liberate themselves from this muddled situation and underline their claim to responsibility for security. Under permanent pressure to take action, the SS and police stepped up their use of violence once again – embracing methods long deployed in the ‘dead zones’ of occupied Soviet territory, which aimed to establish spaces devoid of people.65 ‘Operation Wehrwolf ’66 exemplifies this continued radicalization of German measures in occupied Poland. Planning for this major operation began in May 1943. At a briefing, the SSPF Lublin, Odilo Globocnik, gave a talk on the worsening security situation in his district. He identified the core problem as the fact that the ‘bands [are receiving] support from the villages’.67 Furthermore, ‘he claimed that there are a number of villages all of whose residents are members of bands’.68 To pre-empt possible complaints from the civil administration regarding negative economic consequences, the agricultural administration was involved in the planning of the operation at an early stage. As Globocnik stated, there had been talks ‘with Landwirtschaftsrat [Agricultural Councillor] Dr. Claus about whether one might perhaps completely evacuate individual villages or other large areas and try to put a reliable population in place there. This would be a matter of cleansing rather than resettlement’.69 The civil administration was evidently willing to cooperate, such that Globocnik was able to announce that ‘the villages … have already been identified that are considered outright bandit villages’.70 Against this background, the largest ‘band-fighting’ operation so far in occupied Poland was launched in an extensive forested area between Rzeszów and Biłgoraj. ‘Operation Wehrwolf ’ was intended to ‘smash the bands’ and ‘completely eliminate all resistance’. To this end, German troops were to ‘arrest and evacuate the entire population within the clean-up area’71 and ‘overhaul the population’.72 Globocnik thus mustered a large number of troops, with a total strength of 13,098 men.73 In addition to the 4th, 25th and 26th SS police regiments and the 7th SS Panzer Grenadier Regiment, ‘Operation Wehrwolf ’ marked the first involvement of troops under the Military District Command in the General Government. In response to the worsening security situation, the Zimmer and Stengel Eingreifgruppen (intervention groups) were formed out of the 154th and 174th reserve divisions. While still being considered part of the divisional system, they were ‘temporarily assigned’ to the SS and police apparatus on ‘tactical’ grounds.74 Prior to their deployment, these two Eingreifgruppen were trained in ‘forest combat and fighting bandits … based on the experiences gained in the eastern campaign’.75 In practice, ‘Operation Wehrwolf ’ developed into an out-and-out manhunt. More than 50,000 inhabitants of the ‘band-endangered area’ were rounded up and evacuated with great violence.76 For the most part, those arrested were deported to the Reich to perform forced labour or sent directly to the Auschwitz

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concentration camp. A number of people were executed – it is impossible to determine precisely how many – and countless villages were reduced to ashes.77 ‘Operation Wehrwolf ’ was a violent attempt to solve the problem of ‘Polish bands’ by emptying entire areas of people. Even from the perspective of the actors involved, this was ‘an arbitrary measure against local residents’,78 as one policeman recalled after the war, explaining that he ‘did not see partisans as such at any point during the operation’.79 However, even this extensive use of force failed to help stabilize the situation. On the contrary, ultimately it only strengthened the ‘Polish bands’ – which attracted more and more supporters; Lublin district in particular remained a centre of ‘band activities’. To avoid an impending curtailment of their responsibilities, the last option open to the SS and police leadership was to integrate occupied Poland into a cross-regional security architecture. On 21 June 1943, Himmler incorporated the General Government, made up of large parts of central Poland, into his network of ‘band-fighting areas’ and installed Erich von dem Bach-Zelewski, ‘Head of the Band-Fighting Units’ (Chef der Bandenkampfverbände), as external security chief.80 This was the last attempt to evade criticism from other institutions and thus retain authority for ‘band-fighting’. In the shape of von dem Bach-Zelewski, a man who enjoyed strong links with the Nazi leadership, one of the most radical figures in the SS and police apparatus took over responsibility for ‘band-fighting’ in occupied Poland.81 For Hitler, for example, ‘Bach-Zelewski [was] one of the (ablest) individuals. Within the party itself I only ever used him for the most difficult tasks. If it was proving difficult to crush the communist resistance in a particular location, I sent him in and he beat the living daylights out of them’.82 Through his appointment as ‘Head of the Band-Fighting Units’, von dem Bach-Zelewski was granted authority to steer all ‘band-fighting’ operations in occupied Poland. This meant that all agencies were obliged to send him their reports on the presence of ‘Polish bands’; he then made decisions on the deployment of German units in specific regions.83 This development spelt a further deterioration in the lot of the Polish civilian population. When a particular region was declared a ‘band-fighting area’, radical rules automatically came into force – a situation about which von dem Bach-Zelewski provided information before a Warsaw court in 1947. This interrogation has so far been overlooked by researchers, so I will quote it in detail here for the first time. Sawicki: In reality, what is happening here is that the witness is describing the measures taken against the civilian population when a certain area was declared a partisan area, is that right?

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Bach: The moment Poland was declared a partisan area, the regulations from 1942 dealing with the partisan movement automatically came into force. … Sawicki: Please describe these measures. Bach: As far as I remember … according to the regulation on the partisan movement, every German officer, … from captain upwards, not only had the right but the duty to automatically trigger so-called retaliatory measures in response to every partisan attack. This regulation specifically states that executions are permitted. … Sawicki: What retaliatory measures does the witness recall? Bach: I remember there was a rule that fifty to one hundred people could be shot for every one [of our men killed]. Sawicki: Not ‘could’, should. Bach: That was the tragedy, that the number was left at the discretion of the executing officer. Sawicki: In any case, fifty to one hundred. Bach: Yes. Sawicki: As far as I am aware, there was no requirement to execute the guilty, only the people who lived where the partisans had been seen. Bach: Yes. There was generally no question of any kind of procedure involving courts martial. Sawicki: So, according to the witness’s earlier statements, we might say that once a certain area had been declared a partisan area, the population was in fact subject to entirely arbitrary death. Bach: Every officer, from captain upwards, had to proceed on the basis of this regulation, not only in those areas in which partisans were in fact present, but even in areas in which there were no partisans at all. … Sawicki: In his responses so far, the witness has stated that the GG was declared a partisan area in 1943, and according to the witness’s testimony, this remained in force until the end [of the war]. Bach: Yes. Sawicki: And it seems that we have established a second fact, namely that the population lacked any form of legal protection during this period. I take this to mean that, for example, partisans showed up in a certain village. The village is innocent. The next day, this officer was obliged to order certain measures, that is, either to evacuate the residents or to execute them at a ratio of one to fifty or one to one hundred. Bach: Yes. Sawicki: So would it be correct to state that from 1943 onwards, as a result of orders issued by higher authorities, the Polish population in the area of the GG was outside the law? Bach: For a certain period of time that is correct. … Sawicki: … What I am getting at is that due to the order issued higher up the chain of command the Polish population was deprived of all legal protection from 1943 on, which means that completely innocent and even peaceable residents, who had nothing to do with [partisan activities], could

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find themselves put up against a wall one day if they were to be shot in retaliation. Bach: Although as a German it is very difficult for me to confirm this form of words, in the interests of the German soldier who had to perform duties of this kind, I have to state that on the basis of these regulations the Polish population was outlawed.84

This interrogation of the ‘Head of the Band-Fighting Units’ is remarkable in several respects. First of all, it vividly demonstrates what the proclamation of a ‘band-fighting area’ meant for the Polish civilian population: every attack on members of the German occupation apparatus, every attack on firms relevant to the war economy, inevitably resulted in mass shootings at a ratio of 1:50 or 1:100. The mere appearance of armed groups in the vicinity of villages led to massacres of their residents – regardless of whether they were suspected of cooperating with the ‘bands’ or not. Here, the boundary between existing and acting finally dissolved: Polish civilians in the rural areas of occupied Poland, in the words of Bach-Zelewski, were ‘outlawed’ (vogelfrei). Nevertheless, it should be noted here that, as my analysis so far has shown, this was not a fundamentally new development. It was in fact a radicalized continuation of an entrenched practice typical of German ‘bandfighting’. Second, von dem Bach-Zelewski again set out in detail the escalation mechanism characteristic of Nazi ‘band-fighting’, which was essentially based on a ‘you can’ rather than a ‘you have to’ in terms of the message directed at the troops from their superiors. It is important to think critically about this source: as commander of all ‘band-fighting’ units, von dem Bach-Zelewski naturally had, in his appearance before the Warsaw court, an interest in minimizing his own role. At first glance, then, it may seem like a self-serving assertion when he referred to the discretion enjoyed by the commanders on the ground. But two aspects must be incorporated into our interpretation. First, von dem Bach-Zelewski was appearing as a state witness and thus ran no risk of criminal prosecution. Second, the mechanism he exposed was in line with the techniques of command familiar from the SS and police apparatus, which gave the commanders on the ground a great deal of leeway in the spirit of mission-type tactics. Von dem BachZelewski had an insider’s view of Nazi ‘band-fighting’, which was further intensified after the central Polish region was declared a band-fighting area. Yet this new surge of violence was ultimately to fizzle out, having made very little impact. Even the removal of the remaining constraints on violence failed to calm things down, such that the debates on powers over security flared up again only six months later.

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Notes   1. ‘Polizeibesprechung, 25.1.1943’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 598.   2. Ibid., 606.  3. Ibid.  4. KdO Lublin, Betr.: Vernehmung festgenommener Banditen (KdO Lublin, re: Interrogation of arrested bandits), 21.9.1942, BAL, B 162/ Dokumentensammlung Polen 365w.   5. Aly and Heim, Vordenker, 432–37.   6. ‘Men, women, children and the elderly’, as Hans Frank noted in a report, were ‘conducted to mass camps, often with absolutely no clothing or implements; there, regardless of any family connections, they were separated out into groups of those able to work, those less able to work and those unable to work (especially children and the elderly). All links between family members were severed, so that the fate of one group remained unknown to the other.’ Quoted in Generalgouverneur, Bericht an Führer (Geheime Reichssache!) (Governor General, Report to Führer [confidential Reich affairs]), 25.5.1943, BAB, R 187/568, fol. 74ff.  7. Borodziej, Geschichte, 209.  8. Generalgouverneur, Bericht an Führer (Geheime Reichssache!) (Governor General, Report to Führer [confidential Reich affairs]), 25.5.1943, BAB, R 187/568, fol. 74ff. In this connection, see also the report by the Governor of Warsaw District, who also felt the shock waves of the operation in his area: ‘It is apparent that this resettlement operation has stirred up the population beyond anything we have observed over the last three years. In all German agencies the conviction is widespread that these resettlement measures, however necessary and desirable they may be at a later point, are entirely premature at the moment, as they only cause unrest among the population.’ Quoted in ‘Gouverneur des Distrikts Warschau, Lagebericht Dez. 1942–Jan. 1943, 11.2.1943’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 620.   9. For example, Armia Krajowa 4th District Command recorded: The occupation authorities launched an operation to annihilate the Polish people. Our two districts were the first to come under fire, with the operation in the district of Zamosc ending in success. Our district is reacting forcefully to this. … The fact is that the resettlement has brought about economic chaos in the two districts mentioned. Our main task must culminate in the use of force to worsen this chaos in order to force the enemy to pull back and surrender. One thing is a moment-bymoment task, to impede every activity and thus show the enemy that we are willing and able to offer resistance [sic]. … Soldiers: We will respond to terror with inhuman, merciless terror.



Quoted in Kreiskommandantur Nr. 4, Befehl 1/43 (4th District Command, Order 1/43), 3.1.1943, AIPN, GK 104/84, fol. 18ff. For a comprehensive account, see Borodziej, ‘Politische und soziale Konturen’, 105ff. 10. Bernd Wegner, ‘Der Krieg gegen die Sowjetunion 1942/43’, in Horst Boog, Reinhard Stumpf and Bernd Wegner (eds), Das Deutsche Reich und der Zweite Weltkrieg. Band 6: Der globale Krieg – Die Ausweitung zum Weltkrieg und der Wechsel der Initiative 1941 bis 1943 (Stuttgart, 1990), 761–1102, here 1102. 11. ‘Ansprache des Generalgouverneurs, Abteilungsleitersitzung, 12.7.1940’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 251. 12. ‘Rede des Generalgouverneurs in Lemberg, 1.8.1942’, in ibid., 532.

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13. This change of mood has recently also been elaborated with respect to the German population in the ‘Old Reich’. See Frank Bajohr and Dieter Pohl, Massenmord und schlechtes Gewissen. Die deutsche Bevölkerung, die NS-Führung und der Holocaust (Frankfurt am Main, 2008), 65–76. 14. SD-Abschnitt Kattowitz, Außenstelle Sosnowitz, Betr.: Stimmung und Verhalten der Polen (SD Station Kattowitz, Sosnowitz Field Office, re: Poles’ mood and conduct), 14.5.1943, AIPN, GK 644/16, fol. 35. 15. Bajohr and Pohl, Massenmord, 70. 16. ‘Polizeisitzung, 25.1.1943’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 611f. 17. RFSS an HSSPF Ost (RFSS to HSSPF East), 15.11.1942, BAB, NS 19/1433, fol. 31. 18. Dto., 17.11.1942, ibid., fol. 32. 19. Dto., 21.11.1942, ibid., fol. 33. 20. Dto., 22.11.1942, ibid., fol. 34. 21. HSSPF Ost, Fernschreiben an KdO Krakau, Warschau, Radom, Lublin, Galizien, Betr.: Bandenbekämpfung (HSSPF East, Telex to KdOs of Krakow, Warsaw, Radom, Lublin and Galicia, re: Band-fighting), 19.1.1943, AIPN, GK 104/123, fol. 44. 22. Polizei-Reiter-Abteilung III an KdO Lublin (3rd Mounted Police Detachment to KdO Lublin), 5.2.1943, BAL, B 162/Dokumentensammlung Polen 365w, fol. 246ff. 23. Ibid. 24. An analysis of individual actions can therefore be dispensed with at this point. In their thrust and escalation dynamics, and with regard to the actors involved, they are similar to the developments from the summer of 1942 onwards described earlier. Insights into the practice of violence are provided above all by radio messages transmitted by radio companies in the spring of 1943. See USHMM, RG-15.011M, Reel 21. 25. HSSPF Ost, Betr.: Abbrennen von Gehöften und Gebäuden (HSSPF East, re: Burning down of farmsteads and buildings), 25.6.1943, BAL, B 162/Dokumentensammlung Polen 365x, fol. 4. 26. Ibid. 27. Wehrkreiskommando im GG, Bericht: Lage im GG im Monat Mai 1943 (Military District Command in the GG, Report: Situation in the GG in the month of May 1943), 2.6.1943, BA-MA, RH 53–23/41, fol. 103ff. 28. Rüstungsinspekteur im GG, Bericht, o.D. [April/Mai 1943] (Arms Inspector in the GG, Report, undated [April/May 1943]), BAB, NS 19/2664. 29. Ibid. 30. For an overview, see Roth, Herrenmenschen, 42–44. 31. Ibid., 43. 32. For example, members of the civil administration were asked not to drive in the evening in view of the ‘lack of security on the roads’. In addition, consideration was given to prohibiting the wearing of uniforms as a matter of principle. See ‘Arbeitssitzung, Sicherheitslage, 15.4.1943’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 643. 33. Ibid., 644. 34. Kreisstellenleiter der Landwirtschaftlichen Zentralstelle, Kreisstelle Opatów-Ostrowiec an Landwirtschaftliche Zentralstelle Radom, Betr.: Banditen-Unwesen (District office head of the Central Agricultural Office, Opatów-Ostrowiec District Office to Radom Central Agricultural Office, re: Evil of banditry), 9.6.1943, AAN, 117/I-2, fol. 125. 35. Ibid. 36. Ibid. 37. Ibid.

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38. Landwirtschaftliche Zentralstelle Radom an Landwirtschaftliche Zentralstelle/ Geschäftszentrale Krakau, Betr.: Bandenunwesen (Radom Central Agricultural Office to Central Agricultural Office/Krakow Headquarters, re: Evil of banditry), 15.6.1943, ibid., fol. 124. These reports are collected in ibid. 39. Landwirtschaftliche Zentralstelle Radom an Landwirtschaftliche Zentralstelle/ Geschäftszentrale Krakau, Betr.: Bandenunwesen (Radom Central Agricultural Office to Central Agricultural Office/Krakow Headquarters, re: Evil of banditry), 15.6.1943, ibid., fol. 124. 40. For example, the district chief in Biłgoraj reported: ‘The situation is still extremely grave. The terrorist bands are always at work. … The insecurity … is constantly increasing.’ Quoted in Kreishauptmann Bilgoraj, Betr.: Lagebericht (Bilgoraj District Chief, re: Situation report), 4.5.1943, AIPN, GK 650/10, fol. 6. See also the ‘Protokolle der Dienstbesprechungen der Regierung des Generalgouvernements im Frühjahr 1943’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch. 41. Rüstungsinspekteur im GG, Bericht, o. D. (Arms Inspector in the GG, Report, n.d.) [April/Mai 1943], BAB, NS 19/2664. 42. Ibid. 43. Wehrkreiskommando im GG, Bericht: Lage im GG im Monat Mai 1943 (Military District Comman in the GG, Report: Situation in the GG in the month of May 1943), 2.6.1943, BA-MA, RH 53–23/41, fol. 103ff. 44. Kreisstellenleiter der Landwirtschaftlichen Zentralstelle, Kreisstelle Opatów-Ostrowiec an Landwirtschaftliche Zentralstelle Radom, Betr.: Banditen-Unwesen (District office head of the Central Agricultural Office, Opatów-Ostrowiec District Office to Radom Central Agricultural Office, re: Evil of banditry), 9.6.1943, AAN, 117/I-2, fol. 125. 45. Ibid. 46. Ibid. 47. Wehrkreiskommando im GG, Bericht: Lage im GG im Monat Mai 1943 (Military District Command in the GG, Report: Situation in the GG in the month of May 1943), 2.6.1943, BA-MA, RH 53–23/41, fol. 103ff. 48. See, for example, Rüstungskommando Krakau, Kriegstagebuch 1.4.1943–30.6.1943 (Krakow Armaments Command, War journal, 1 April 1943 to 30 June 1943) BA-MA, RW 23/17, fol. 61ff. See also, for example, the complaints made by the General Plenipotentiary for Special Issues in Chemical Production (Generalbevollmächtigter für Sonderfragen der chemischen Erzeugung), Prof. Krauch, regarding the ‘untenable conditions’ at the important pyrite mines in Kielce district, which urgently needed to be remedied by means of ‘a thorough clean-up of the area’. See Der Generalbevollmächtigte für Sonderfragen der chemischen Erzeugung an RFSS, Betr.: Polizeischutz der Schwefelkiesgrube in Staszic bei Slupia Nora, Kreis Kielce (GG) gegen Banden (The General Plenipotentiary for Special Issues in Chemical Production to RFSS, re: Police protection of the pyrite mine in Staszic near Slupia Nora, Kielce district [GG] against bands), 31.5.1943, BAB, NS 19/377, fol. 2. 49. Rüstungsinspektion im Generalgouvernement, Kriegstagebuch (Arms Inspectorate in the General Government, War journal) 1943, BA-MA, RW 23/3, fol. 6ff. 50. Ibid. 51. Der Reichsminister für Bewaffnung und Munition, Betr.: Sicherheitsverhältnisse im GG (The Reich Minister for Armaments and Ammunition, re: Security conditions in the GG), 3.6.1943, BAB, NS 19/2664, fol. 115. 52. Ibid.

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53. Rüstungsinspektion im GG, Kriegstagebuch (Arms Inspectorate in the GG, War journal) 1943, BA-MA, RW 23/3, fol. 6ff. 54. OFK 379, Betr.: Banditenwesen – Beurteilung der Lage (379th OFK, Re: Evil of banditry – assessment of the situation), 20.7.1942, BA-MA, RH 53– 23/37, fol. 317ff. 55. Ibid. 56. Wehrkreiskommando im GG, Bericht: Lage im GG im Monat Mai 1943 (Military District Command in the GG, Report: Situation in the GG in May 1943), 2.6.1943, BA-MA, RH 53–23/41, fol. 103ff. 57. Rüstungskommando Radom, Kriegstagebuch (Radom Armaments Command, War journal), 1.4.1943–30.6.1943, BA-MA, RW 23/ 17, fol. 63. 58. Ibid. 59. Ibid. 60. ‘Relevant requests have been made’, emphasized the Military District Command, for example, referring explicitly to ‘military measures to restore order and security’. Quoted in Wehrkreiskommando im GG, Lagebericht Mai 1943 (Military District Command in the GG, Situation report May 1943), 2.6.1943, BA-MA, RH 53–23/41, fol. 103ff. 61. Vern. Walter B. (Interrogation Walter B.), 22.5.1963, BAL, B 162/6033, fol. 894. 62. ‘Arbeitssitzung, Sicherheitslage, 15.4.1943’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 643. 63. Ibid. See, for example, Albert Speer’s letter to the head of the OKW, Wilhelm Keitel, in which Speer called for ‘drastic measures … and systematic clean-up operations’ by Wehrmacht troops. See Der Reichsminister für Bewaffnung und Munition, Betr.: Sicherheitsverältnisse im GG (The Reich Minister for Armaments and Ammunition, re: Security conditions in the GG) 19.5.1943, BAB, NS 19/2664, fol. 114. 64. KdO Lublin, Anordnung (Order), 22.9.1942, USHMM, RG-15.051M, Reel 6. 65. For an analysis of ‘band-fighting’ in the occupied Soviet territories, see, for example, Gerlach, Kalkulierte Morde, 1010–1036; Cüppers, Wegbereiter, 252–70. 66. This is a play on words combining ‘Wehr’ (defence) and ‘werewolf ’. 67. ‘Arbeitstagung: Sicherheitslage im Distrikt Lublin, 29.5.1943’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 675ff. 68. Ibid. 69. Ibid. 70. Ibid.; a list of these villages can be found in KdO Lublin, Betr.: Bandenverdächtige Ortschaften (KdO Lublin, re: Suspected band villages), 4.5.1943, AIPN, GK 104/123, fol. 40ff. 71. HSSPF Ost, Einsatzbefehl Nr. 1 für die Durchführung des Unternehmens ‘Wehrwolf ’ (HSSPF East, Mission order No. 1 for implementation of Operation ‘Wehrwolf ’), 21.6.1943, BA-MA, RH 26–154/3. 72. Ibid. 73. Ibid. 74. Eingreifgruppe Res. Div. 154, Kriegstagebuch Nr. 1 (Intervention Group 154th Reserve Division, War journal No. 1), ibid. 75. OFK Krakau, Monatsbericht Mai 1943 (OFK Krakow, Monthly report May 1943), 19.6.1943, BA-MA, RH 53–23/41, fol. 9. 76. Heinemann, Rasse, 410f. 77. Ibid. 78. Vern. Edgar Sch. (Interrogation of Edgar Sch.), 19.11.1965, BAL, B 162/6551, fol. 256f. 79. Ibid.

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80. RFSS, Fernschreiben an SS-Obergruppenführer von dem Bach (RFSS, Telex to SS-Obergruppenführer von dem Bach), 21.6.1943, BAB, NS 19/1433, fol. 2a. 81. Matthias Barelkowski, ‘Vom “Schlagetot” zum “Kronzeugen” nationalsozialistischer Verbrechen. Die Karriere des Erich von dem Bach-Zelewski’, in Hans-Jürgen Bömelburg, Eugeniusz Cezary Król and Michael Thomae (eds), Der Warschauer Aufstand. Ereignis und Rezeption in Polen und Deutschland (Paderborn, 2011), 129–70. See also Chef der Bandenkampfverbände, Tagebuch (Head of the Band-Fighting Units, diary) 25.6.1941– 22.1.1945, BAB, R 20/45. 82. Quoted in Andrej Angrick, ‘Erich von dem Bach-Zelewski. Himmlers Mann für alle Fälle’, in Ronald Smelser and Enrico Syring (eds), Die SS. Elite unter dem Totenkopf (Paderborn, 2000), 28–44, here 41. 83. Ibid. 84. Vern. Erich von dem Bach-Zelewski, Appellations-Gerichtshof Warschau Februar 1947 (Interrogation of Erich von dem Bach-Zelewski, Warsaw Court of Appeal February 1947), BAL, B 162/19826, fol. 1633–1637.

Chapter 7

Authority amid the Death Throes The Final Phase of German Rule, 1944–45

 Disillusionment and Powerlessness The last year of German rule in Poland has been aptly described as the ‘death-throes stage’.1 This was a phase in which the patchwork of long-, medium- and short-term goals so central to the German occupation shifted in a decisive way: extensive settlement plans and fantasies of a new ‘ethnonational’ order on the European continent – that is, racist utopias that envisaged the displacement of the Polish population and the settlement of ethnic Germans – no longer played any real role in occupation policy in 1944.2 It is true that the diminishing importance of these utopian political plans had become apparent, in a gradual process, from 1942 onwards. However, ‘Operation Zamość’, for example, a spatially limited but nevertheless violent attempt to turn ideology into reality, indicates the persistent potency of racist plans for a new order – especially among the protagonists of the SS and police apparatus.3 Against this background, ‘1944’ marks a significant turning point. From now on, to simplify only very slightly, German efforts revolved solely around maintaining the functionality of an increasingly fragile rule in Poland. The German occupation apparatus, to put it bluntly, now merely reacted to external and internal challenges, without truly being in a position to shape events. In essence, there were two developments that intensified in 1944 and that once again shifted the parameters of the German occupation in such a way that short-term policy goals, and in some cases still medium-term ones, came to the fore.

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(1) First of all, the advance of the Red Army – as the front neared the borders of occupied Poland – meant a fundamentally new set of circumstances in which areas of responsibility altered and, above all, actors expectations’ narrowed significantly. At bottom, it was the failure of ‘Operation Citadel’, an offensive against Soviet forces in the Kursk salient, that first led to radical changes in the perception and significance of the occupied Polish territories. With the defeat at Kursk at the latest, the Wehrmacht had lost the initiative and been forced onto the strategic back foot.4 Another offensive was now beyond the capabilities of the Wehrmacht, which – leaving ‘scorched earth’ in its wake – was in permanent retreat henceforth.5 This development increased the military importance of the occupied Polish territories, which were now part of the immediate hinterland of the front. At the same time, this militarily threatening situation limited actors’ scope for action and planning: by the time a state of direct military threat was declared in occupied Poland on 22 February 1944, the area had increasingly become the focus of strategic military map exercises.6 There could be no doubt about the importance of these areas to the Wehrmacht: ten of the twelve roads leading from the west to the Eastern Front ran through occupied Poland, as did two thirds of all rail links.7 In other words, in an extreme, crisis-ridden situation of all-out German warfare, occupied Poland was the decisive hub for almost all the Wehrmacht’s supply lines. But the significance of the occupied Polish territories was not limited to their function as a conduit for rolling stock. They also grew in importance from a war-economy perspective. Since 1939, occupied Poland had in fact held an increasingly crucial position in the structures of the war economy in the ‘German East’ as a vast reservoir of forced labourers and major supplier of agricultural products. In 1944, furthermore, an increasing number of Reich German armaments factories were relocated there to protect them from the Allied bombing fleets – further intensifying the demands made of the actors on the ground. Now they were also supposed to guarantee the production capacity of these firms, whose output was of key importance if Germany was to have any hope of success in the war.8 In a situation of overall crisis spawned by the tense situation at the front, and given the German view of Poland as important to military strategy and arms production, key actors in the occupation apparatus focused on the short-term maintenance of ‘security and order’ in an attempt to ensure the basic functionality of German rule. But in this scenario of looming failure and heightened pressure, security problems were no longer of only local or regional importance but threatened to have an impact on a much broader scale. As the front moved closer, the destruction of bridges, roads and railway lines, and the sabotage of transportation facilities in general,

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had become a problem for German warfare. Every railway line devoid of goods wagons, every unusable thoroughfare, hindered the supply of the Centre and North Ukraine army groups and thus impeded German warfare along a crucial section of the Eastern Front. (2) However, this external pressure to maintain ‘security and order’ also came up against a crisis situation in occupied Poland, one of the main characteristics of which, from a German perspective, was the emergence of ‘areas remote from the state’9 – in other words, regions that were now beyond the occupiers’ reach. This development was particularly evident at a briefing for top representatives of the occupation apparatus in May 1944: it constituted a dual scenario of threat that increasingly alarmed those present. On the one hand, according to Hans Frank in his introductory remarks, the military situation at the front was currently ‘fairly stable’, but a ‘major offensive movement’10 by the Red Army was imminent that threatened the existence of the General Government. Those present identified the district of Lublin as a critical area that, as the immediate hinterland of the front, was crucial to stabilizing the military situation as a whole: the Wehrmacht’s most important supply lines ran through this area, which was also treated as a withdrawal zone for German troops. On the other hand, the occupation apparatus observed with great concern that in this of all places the ‘bands [had] become much larger’ and, due to their connection with the Red Army, were ‘also of strategic importance’,11 as HSSPF Wilhelm Koppe emphasized. ‘For the first time, entire districts [are] ruled by bands’,12 underlined Deputy Governor General Josef Bühler. The situation was so disastrous, he stated, that the German occupation apparatus was showing the first signs of disintegration; for the first time, a Landrat (the highest administrative official in a rural district) had been ‘officially withdrawn’13 because he was fighting a losing battle in the ‘band-infested areas’ and his safety could no longer be guaranteed. Adolf Gerteis, President of the Ostbahn, indicated that the occupiers had lost control over much of the railway network. Every day, Gerteis stated, at least ten attacks were being carried out on stations and railway facilities, which were not being prevented by the ‘legionnaires’ deployed to protect the railways – these ‘had stopped fighting and often defected to the enemy’.14 Karl Naumann, President of the Main Department for Food and Agriculture, hinted at a sense of helplessness in view of the aggravated security situation. As he explained, ‘regular spring tillage [is] no longer possible for the most part’ because the farms had been plundered ‘by the people and the bands’.15 No agricultural quotas, Naumann went on, had been delivered from Lublin district for months.16 The Arms Inspectorate in the General Government, finally, noted under ‘major problems in the 1st half of 1944’ acts ‘of

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sabotage … , attacks on railway facilities and blowing up of tracks, attacks on Reich Germans, on estates and agricultural facilities, especially dairies’.17 In view of these sobering crisis reports from his colleagues, Hans Frank came to a thoroughly panicked conclusion. Not least in view of the advancing Red Army, the situation seemed ‘very serious’ – especially since it was ‘unfortunately increasingly impossible’ to ‘carry out the regular business of government’.18 ‘If disaster is to be avoided’, as Bühler seconded his boss, ‘something decisive must be done immediately’.19 The scenario that the top officials of the General Government articulated during the briefing was one of a cumulative loss of control. And indeed, in the short period between February and May 1944, for example, the SS and police apparatus recorded around 6,800 attacks in Lublin district alone – costing the lives, according to Zygmunt Mańkowski’s calculation, of 5,047 Germans.20 This briefing can be read essentially as a resigned admission of the tremendous failure of all efforts on the part of the SS and police to restore ‘security and order’. No form of police ‘band-fighting’, as developed and applied by the security apparatus since 1942, had managed even to curb the partisan units’ activities.21 On the contrary, the unbridled nature of SS and police violence had created the very situation in which the partisan units had received a massive influx of recruits and been able to expand their influence across ever larger areas. As the only possible way out of this threatening situation, HSSPF Koppe then identified the renewed intensification of ‘band-fighting’, which now had to be ‘approached with formidable vigour’.22 The de facto loss of large areas of territory was matched by a sense of powerlessness, which was fed by the knowledge that these ‘band areas’ could no longer be penetrated by the available SS and police forces.23 In this situation, all hopes rested on the increased engagement of the Military District Commander in the General Government. Although the Military District Command had officially taken over the coordination of ‘band-fighting’ in February 1944 (after the General Government was declared the hinterland of the front), in the spring of 1944 there was initially little sign that the Wehrmacht was taking the lead on security policy.24 From March to May 1944, this was not because of a lack of will but was essentially due to two activities at the front in which the troops of the General Government Military District Command were involved: ‘Operation Margarethe’, the German invasion of Hungary, and the engagements of the Army Group North Ukraine near Kovel.25 Due to the precipitate departure of his troops and their participation in the war, the Military District Commander lacked the personnel to initiate large-scale operations against ‘band-infested areas’.26 As a result, the Command left much of the ‘band-fighting’ in the hands of

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the police – particularly, the gathering of information, small-scale raids and ‘pacifying operations’.27 On 12 May 1944, however, in the course of another briefing, Major General Max Bork, chief of staff of the Military District Command, informed the assembled government officials that ‘around 1 June’, the Wehrmacht would be ready for ‘a significant operation’.28

The Wehrmacht and Counter-Partisan Measures: ‘Operation Sturmwind’ At the heart of the German ‘band problem’ in occupied Poland was the extensive, impenetrable, swampy area of the Biłgoraj Forest, which was considered particularly ‘band-infested’. Here, during the first half of 1944, ‘strong bandit forces had assembled’,29 which were ‘well-trained, well-led and well-armed’;30 their strength was estimated by the Military District Command at around 6,500 men. Numerous partisan groups, some of which differed sharply in their political orientation, were spread across the 3,000 square kilometres of the Biłgoraj Forest. In addition to individual units of the Armia Krajowa,31 which had gathered in particular near Aleksandrów in the southern reaches of the forest, it was above all the spread of Soviet partisan units that caused the German security apparatus major concern. HSSPF Koppe emphasized the fact that the ‘number of Russian bands [has] increased substantially in the last 4 weeks’.32 These were believed to be ‘purely military formations’,33 composed of ‘very good human material sent over by the top band leaders in Moscow’.34 They were described as ‘people with many years of experience who are willing to fight and are quite capable of doing so’,35 men who were ‘tactically trained and extremely well-versed in strategic thinking’.36 These Soviet partisans were believed to be engaged in ‘unrestrained activity on the largest scale’37 – the short-term goal being to cause ‘severe disruption to the military apparatus’,38 while over the medium term their main objective was identified as gaining control of the Vistula crossings. But initially their focus was undoubtedly on attacking railway links and, above all, blowing up tracks. For example, the Rawa–Ruska–Krasnystaw line, which was particularly important to the Army Group North Ukraine for moving reserve forces, was temporarily rendered inoperative due to detonations.39 In addition to these military functions, according to Koppe, the Soviet partisans also sought to foment agitation in order to ‘mobilize the communist resistance movement … in Lublin district’.40 The partisan units were said to be receiving ‘daily reinforcements’41 – particularly from numerous paratroopers, who also supplied ‘weapons, ammunition, explosives, etc.’ The entirety of Biłgoraj Forest, Koppe concluded anxiously, was now riddled with ‘well-constructed, in some cases concealed forest camps … , large numbers of field positions

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and wooden dugouts’, in which chiefly Soviet partisans, but also ‘Polish communist bands’, had entrenched themselves.42 However, in terms of personnel alone, the SS and police apparatus were no longer in a position to carry out what would have had to be a large-scale operation in order to return this extensive area to German control.43 From the perspective of the HSSPF it was thus ‘to be welcomed that the Wehrmacht [is] making forces available for the Bilgoraj operation’44 and – in close cooperation with the SS and police apparatus – would take command of this major mission. The General Government Military District Command had in fact recognized that ‘the … government and police authorities were no longer able to effectively combat these bandit groups with their forces’.45 General Siegfried Haenicke, the Military District Commander, had already spoken about this outcome to his superior, Colonel General Fromm, Chief of Army Equipment and Commander of the Reserve Army (Chef der Heeresrüstung und Befehlshaber des Ersatzheeres).46 Haenicke recorded the result of their discussion as an agreement ‘to make preparations for a well-planned operation in conjunction with Army Group Ukraine to combat the bands, above all in order to destroy the strong enemy groups gathered in the Bilgoraj Forest’.47 The ‘major Bilgoraj Forest operation’ that was now in the pipeline, the so-called ‘Operation Sturmwind’, was to be the first significant ‘bandfighting’ operation in occupied Poland under the leadership of the German Wehrmacht.48 It was also the largest and most ambitious ‘band-fighting operation’ ever carried out in the rural areas of occupied Poland. ‘Within the Deployment Area Every Civilian Is an Enemy’ For two weeks, from 11 to 26 June 1944, the units of the German Wehrmacht, together with subordinate SS and police formations, carried out one of the bloodiest ever ‘band-fighting’ operations. During this period, the German units combed through the vast Biłgoraj Forest area, shooting dead 4,759 men, women and children in countless massacres. My remarks in what follows address this massive escalation of violence and seek to establish why the first operation led by the Military District Command resulted in a series of massacres. The first step is to examine the planning for this operation and to analyse both the command situation and the instructions issued on dealing with civilians. Although the leadership of the operation clearly lay with the Military District Command, both the civil administration and the SS and police apparatus had a decisive influence on the expansion of the zone of permitted and required violence. ‘Operation Sturmwind’ was essentially a joint project of the entire occupation apparatus. What role did different actors in the civil administration and the SS and police apparatus play? Conversely, what was the ‘Wehrmacht-specific’ aspect of this operation?

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In order to answer these questions, it makes analytical sense to begin by dividing the short period of conception of this large-scale ‘band-fighting’ operation into three phases, each of which entailed different aspects of planning: the recruitment of suitable personnel; the planning of the operations as such through the involvement of various departments of the occupation apparatus; and finally, on the basis of the preceding phases, the concrete formulation and issuance of mission orders. To coordinate the operation, the General Government Military District Command set up an operational headquarters in Sandomierz headed by Military District Commander Siegfried Haenicke. However, he delegated the real operational work to his chief of staff, Max Bork, who was put in charge of the planning, conception and leadership of ‘Operation Sturmwind’ in early June 1944.49 The first task of the operational headquarters was to assemble enough personnel to carry out this large-scale operation. The Military District Command had the 154th and 174th reserve divisions at its disposal, though their level of training was described as ‘highly variable’.50 In addition to a few trained men, these divisions essentially consisted of ‘newly deployed recruits’51 and ‘Nachschüler’; the latter’s training amounted to courses of just four to eight weeks.52 For the planned ‘pacification’ of the large Biłgoraj Forest region, these generally poorly trained troops under the Military District Command were hardly sufficient. Initially, then, Bork brought together various units of the subordinate higher field commands from throughout the General Government: three companies of the 225th Higher Field Command, the Panzerjäger Regiment of the 226th Higher Field Command, one company and the Panzerjäger Platoon of the 365th Higher Field Command, and the Turk.-Kompanie of the 603rd Higher Field Command.53 Bork then made contact with the Army Group North Ukraine, whose immediate hinterland seemed threatened by the various partisan groups. As early as mid-May 1944, this army group had signalled its general agreement to involvement in a large-scale operation and declared its readiness to provide ‘forces from one or two divisions’.54 At the request of the Military District Command, Field Marshall Walter Model ultimately dispatched the 213th Security Division, two companies of the 500th Reserve Infantry Battalion, the North Ukraine Training Regiment, the Army Group’s Security and Emergency Company and the Kalmykian Cavalry Corps under the leadership of former Abwehr officer Dr Rudolf Otto Doll.55 In the course of the first planning phase for the operation, Bork also managed to persuade the Luftwaffe to contribute: ‘Given worthwhile goals’,56 their agreement stated, the 4th Air Fleet would deploy dive bombers.57 SS and police units joined these army formations as a mobile reserve:58 three battalions of the 4th SS Police Regiment and the notorious 1st Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion

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(see chapter 5) stood ready in case any ‘bands break out here or there’.59 In addition, the HSSPF provided each division with a Sicherheitspolizei detachment as a ‘local advisor’.60 The first planning phase was thus complete: on 3 June 1944, Bork finally ordered the mustering of troops for ‘Operation Sturmwind’.61 In total, the Military District Command had assembled around 25,000 men for this large-scale mission.62 After this successful recruitment process, the planning phase began and Bork devoted himself to elaborating the specifics of the military operations in the Biłgoraj Forest. This was chiefly a matter of allocating individual formations to specific combat zones and hammering out the details of marching routes, barrier lines and daily objectives.63 Of greater interest in our context, however, are the guidelines that Bork produced in the run-up to ‘Operation Sturmwind’ setting out how to behave towards the inhabitants of hamlets, villages and parishes within the operational area. To this end, Bork drew on the ‘band-fighting knowledge’ of the SS and police, working out the German approach to the civilian population in close cooperation and consultation with HSSPF Koppe. However, the extant files on ‘Operation Sturmwind’ suggest that Bork was already toying with the idea of significantly expanding the zone of permitted violence, even before the Military District Command conferred on this issue with representatives of the SS and police. On 4 June 1944, Bork put together a handout for Lieutenant Colonel Roedenbeck, his Ia officer,64 who was to hold a first meeting with ‘representatives of the police/SD’ the following day.65 As a basis for further planning, Bork gave him a sweeping enemy concept to take along with him: ‘Within the deployment area, every civilian is an enemy.’66 The Military District Command had thus identified the enemy in a totalistic way at an early stage and independently, pointing to a particularly radical approach that was to form the basis for all other planning. At the meeting, the most important item on the agenda was ‘conduct towards the civilian population’ during the operation. The participants quickly reached agreement, resolving to pursue four measures in particular, which concurrently formed the basis for further negotiations and planning. First, in analogy to the ‘band-fighting practices’ of 1943, they outlined ‘Operation Sturmwind’ as an undertaking intended to lead to the total evacuation of all ‘men between the ages of 15 and 60’67 in the Biłgoraj Forest. All male civilians within this age range inside the barrier line were to be deported to police-guarded assembly camps, before being ‘evacuated as swiftly as possible’68 so that they could ‘be deployed as workers’.69 Even under the leadership of the Military District Command, we already see signs here of the amalgamation of security and workforce policy, which were merged through the vehicle of ‘band-fighting’. Only ‘women, children and the elderly’,70 for whom the German occupation apparatus had no use, were supposed to

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remain in the areas emptied of men. Second, the meeting signalled the intention to implement ‘Operation Sturmwind’ in close cooperation with the various departments of the civil administration. A ‘meeting with government specialists was scheduled’ on ‘the use of arrested civilians and … cattle’,71 to quote the minutes of the meeting. Third, those in attendance also agreed on how to deal with those civilians ‘who are fighting against us’.72 These were either to be killed immediately or arrested and treated as prisoners of war. In the event of capture, they were to be transported ‘to separate camps’73 and handed over to the SD. Fourth and finally, the minutes of the meeting recorded a remarkable agreement that initially limited the use of violence again in one particular sense: ‘The systematic burning down of villages was rejected by all parties.’74 On the basis of these minutes, three large-scale meetings took place a day later, on 6 June 1944, during which some important modifications were made and the conception stage of ‘Operation Sturmwind’ was essentially brought to a close. That same day, Allied forces began their invasion along the coast of northern France. From a German perspective, the overall situation at the fronts had deteriorated again; in the face of an increasingly dangerous situation, the key actors thus faced even greater pressure to act. The troops of the anti-Hitler coalition were advancing with a vengeance, from both east and west, threatening the very existence of the German Reich. The General Government was paying close attention to this development, which formed the global political backdrop to the events now unfolding in occupied Poland.75 The first of these meetings took place, once again, between the Military District Command and representatives of the SS and police apparatus. Bork, who clearly felt the need to improve upon the outcome of the previous day’s gathering with respect to one specific issue, led the negotiations himself this time in order to steer them in the desired direction. It is true that the minutes of this meeting stated that ‘nothing has changed’ when it came to the ‘treatment of civilians’ as compared with the 5 June stipulations. However, it appears that Bork was irked by the limit on violence that had been agreed during the first meeting – namely, the ban on burning down villages. At first glance, those involved in the negotiations on 6 June apparently confirmed this limitation: ‘There is no intention to systematically burn down villages’,76 the minutes of the meeting stated. Yet the very next sentence, a new addition, immediately annulled this constraint: ‘On the other hand, no restrictions are imposed on the troops with respect to the conduct of operations.’77 This is the command technique that we have already observed on numerous occasions in the context of counter-partisan measures, which initially limits the zone of permitted violence only to immediately revoke this limitation and massively expand the scope for violence.78 In certain circumstances, as this

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agreement evidently clarifies, entire villages could be burned down after all. As so often, whether or not such measures were implemented depended on the commanders’ interpretation of the situation on the ground. In this spirit, Bork emphasized the idea that ‘energetic leaders are crucial to every group, even the smallest’.79 Once again, the leadership relied on the commitment and initiative of the men on the ground – granting them a situational licence for violence, which they could make use of based on their perception and interpretation of specific situations. The second meeting of the day, led once again by Roedenbeck, aimed to integrate all relevant departments of the civil administration into the upcoming operation. This meeting had a dual thrust. First, the Military District Command tried to ensure that all the key parties were on the same page with regard to the planning and concrete implementation of ‘Operation Sturmwind’; this was an attempt to prevent the kind of bad atmosphere that had so often led to a palpable clouding of inter-institutional relations following police operations. Second, however, this involvement of the civil administration is also an expression of the close interpenetration of ‘bandfighting’ and other policy fields: the Military District Command’s timely consultations with the relevant departments were meant to prevent negative economic consequences. At the same time, the departments had an opportunity to influence the configuration of the operation and thus advance their own political projects through the instrument of ‘band-fighting’.80 In the course of the talks, it became clear that the civil administration took a highly favourable view of the planned operation. The representatives of the Forestry, Food and Agriculture, and Labour departments in attendance thus pledged their ‘full support within the framework of their fields of activity’.81 This willingness was probably based in significant part on their awareness that ‘this area [had] virtually no economic utility’,82 as Josef Bühler had already noted at the end of May 1944. Karl Naumann, for example, the President of the Main Department for Food and Agriculture, declared that the area in question was ‘of negligible agricultural significance’.83 Thus, as he added, ‘from his point of view a full-scale evacuation [was] desirable’.84 The representative of the Main Department for Labour, Regierungsrat von Geschlieser, affirmed his authority’s willingness to take charge of all workers, ‘including whole families’.85 Walter Mann, state forester in the Main Department for Forestry, first reminded all those in attendance of the difficult terrain – ‘sand, water and swamp’86 – within the Biłgoraj Forest, though this was an area that the forestry administration ‘had not entered for 6 months’.87 However, he pointed out that there were a total of ‘26 sawmills with large stocks of timber’88 there. Thus, as far as the Main Department for Forestry was concerned, stated Mann, in order to put the sawmills back into operation, ‘after

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vetting by the SD’ the ‘return of workers … is an urgent necessity’.89 Finally, all the representatives of the departments agreed to support the mission by providing auxiliary staff: the Main Department for Forestry provided a number of individuals with ‘local knowledge’, the Main Department for Food and Agriculture delegated four agricultural control officers to each division and the Main Department for Labour assigned one official to each.90 In the third and final meeting on 6 June 1944, Bork and HSSPF Koppe informed Governor General Hans Frank of all the details of the operation that had been worked out so far. In essence, the pair’s statements can be read as soliciting consent for the expansion of the zones of permitted violence. The discussion revolved around the burning down of villages, as explicitly permitted by Bork in certain circumstances. The HSSPF and the chief of staff tried to legitimize these radical measures by stating that the ‘villages in question are [so] infested with bands’ that ‘it must be assumed that a large part of the population is actively involved in banditry’.91 In order to prevent these settlements from becoming ‘the centre of banditry again’,92 as Koppe and Bork stated unanimously, ‘it will be impossible to avoid some of the villages in this area going up in flames’.93 Hans Frank does not seem to have put forward any fundamental objections, but emphasized that it was important to check carefully ‘which villages should be razed to the ground’94 in order to protect ‘the innocent population’.95 In principle, however, Frank agreed with an operation intended to ‘maintain the authority of the Reich in the GG’.96 He stressed the fact that ‘it is extremely important to show that this authority still exists’.97 Hence, Frank concluded his remarks, the operation would enjoy ‘the complete support of the Government of the GG’.98 After these three meetings on 6 June 1944, the conception and planning phases were over. The operational headquarters for this large-scale operation under Major General Max Bork had succeeded in formulating relevant guidelines for the German approach in close cooperation with the SS and police, while securing basic agreement with and the participation of relevant agencies of the civil administration. Of particular importance to the subsequent stage – the formulating and issuing of specific orders – was the acceptance of a fundamental extension of the combat zone by all the actors consulted. To put it bluntly, after years of practice, the inclusion of the civilian population in the violent methods of ‘band-fighting’ now raised few eyebrows. This operation would involve the total evacuation of males, while the use of violence against civilians in certain situations was permitted and desirable – as was the burning down of entire villages. In 1944, all these measures were agreed within an occupying apparatus under immense pressure to act. Against the background of these largely trouble-free inter-institutional negotiation processes, in a third stage Major General Bork could now devote

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himself to the concrete command situation and develop specific combat instructions for the troops. On 7 June 1944, Bork issued a first official order ‘on the annihilation of the bands in the Bilgoraj Forest’.99 He began by explicating the plan to deport ‘all men between the ages of 15 and 60’100 from the entire Biłgoraj Forest area to prisoner-of-war camps: ‘Women, children and the elderly’101 were to be left in the villages. Even more important to understanding the dynamics of violence were, of course, those parts of the order that fostered the inclusion of the civilian population in the operation’s concrete acts of violence. Semantic shifts occurred that, compared with the outcome of the previous day’s meetings, further expanded the zone of permitted violence. The commands no longer provided only for the killing ‘of all civilians who fight against us’.102 Now, civilians ‘suspected of belonging to a band [are to be] exterminated’.103 Since suspicions are basically matters of perception, with this form of words Bork empowered his commanders on site to expand the zone of permitted violence on the basis of their situational interpretation. These shifts also implied the intentional elimination of the remaining limits to violence: Bork instructed his troops to show no ‘consideration … for women and children’104 if ‘this is necessary to the success of the combat mission’.105 In certain situations of ‘military necessity’, then, women and children too were to be subject to violent measures. Bork justified this deadly suspension of all violence-limiting regulations with reference to the active participation of women and children in the ‘bands’ operations’: ‘Many of the women and children living in this area are the bands’ accomplices’,106 and ‘children especially are used as scouts and for the transmission of messages’.107 Fundamentally, Bork stated, ‘it must be made clear to everyone that all residents within the attack zone are band members or band helpers, in other words treacherous enemies’.108 In line with this, as he noted in his mission order, ‘no restrictions are to be placed on the troops’.109 Now, however, this no longer meant merely burning down villages and hamlets in the region: Bork also granted the troops licence to kill all in any way ‘suspicious civilians’. Although this removal of constraints was already implicit in the meetings, it had not been discussed explicitly. Yet it was in line with the ‘band-fighting practice’ of the SS and police apparatus; since 1942, this had legitimized the use of mass violence, especially against civilians, via the category of the supposed ‘accessory’. With the issuing of these orders, the process of preparing for ‘Operation Sturmwind’ was essentially complete. In analysing this process, I have identified several factors that were of major importance to the removal of constraints on violence in the context of this large-scale operation. First, we have to bear in mind that the planning and conception processes took place within a specific set of circumstances perceived as threatening by the actors

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involved. These include, first, developments on the fronts of the Second World War, which were disastrous from a German perspective. In 1944, the Red Army was advancing seemingly inexorably westward and on 6 June that year the Western Allies successfully invaded the Atlantic coast of northern France. From two sides, it appeared, the German Reich was now being overwhelmed by the armed forces of a superior anti-Hitler coalition. Second, it is important to consider another critical development if we are to grasp just how explosive the overall situation was. The external pressure brought to bear by military forces was joined by an internal loss of control triggered by the massive increase in the number of Polish and Soviet partisans in certain regions. Broad zones emerged that lay beyond the reach of the German occupation apparatus. The specific feature of this situation was that these two threats interpenetrated and reinforced one another. Due to the military setbacks on the Eastern Front, maintaining ‘security and order’ in occupied Poland – which was increasingly important to the war economy, but also, above all, in logistical terms – became the occupying apparatus’s and the Wehrmacht’s absolute priority. In occupied Poland, however, this task was coming up against increasing activity by partisan units, which were in control of entire regions and further intensified their activities in the wake of the German defeats on the Eastern Front. The cumulative loss of control internally was mirrored in the resigned admission of the security apparatus that it lacked the necessary personnel to restore ‘security and order’. Against this background, all hopes rested on a ‘great tide-turning act’, which, given the circumstances, could only be carried out by units of the Wehrmacht. To put it bluntly, this specific set of circumstances created incentives to take a harsh and ruthless approach to the ‘band problem’. It was ultimately the sheer self-interest of the Wehrmacht in stabilizing German rule that led to the decision to launch a massive attack on the hub of ‘band activities’: the vast forests near Biłgoraj, in the south-east of Lublin district. In addition, my analysis of the recruitment process has indicated that a large percentage of the troops available for deployment were still in ­training or had just completed it. In any case, they were often inexperienced in combat when they were exposed to the confusing and fear-laden realities of partisan war within the framework of ‘Operation Sturmwind’. My analysis of ‘band-fighting’ in 1942 and 1943 has already shown that there was a direct connection between feelings of frustration, panic and being unable to cope in the potentially lethal scenario of partisan war and the use of mass violence. Violence promised to help the occupiers regain control, and was at the same time a signal to their own troops and enemy civilians that they remained ready to act and that they themselves posed a deadly threat.

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Further, I have shown that ‘Operation Sturmwind’, although led by the Wehrmacht, was essentially a joint venture – with a wide variety of departments, authorities and organizations within the occupation apparatus pledging their support and contributing their specialist knowledge. There was no scope for differing views on the part of the Wehrmacht, the SS and police apparatus, or the civil administration. What the planning process reveals is that the various branches of the occupation apparatus closed ranks in light of an overall situation of a highly threatening nature. Finally, my analysis makes it clear that the formulation of commands that significantly expanded the zones of permitted and required violence was partly the result of negotiation processes in which the actors involved agreed on a concrete modus operandi. However, there can be no doubt that the elimination of violence-limiting regulations in the run-up to ‘Operation Sturmwind’ was to a large extent a result of the radical impulses emanating from the Military District Command. Above all else, within an overall situation of tremendous threat, it was the military apparatus’s absolute determination to ensure ‘security and order’ – at least, in occupied Poland – that prompted the formulation of plans to strike a harsh and ruthless blow. In this context, another factor may have contributed to the radicalized approach. The inter-institutional conflict over policy-making powers relating to ‘band-fighting’ between the SS and police apparatus on the one hand and the Wehrmacht on the other, which had been smouldering at least since 1943, was finally resolved in favour of the Wehrmacht in February 1944. The latter now found itself under considerable pressure to act. In essence, what the Wehrmacht wanted was to prove that it could tackle the ‘band problem’ far more successfully, professionally, forcefully and efficiently than the SS and police apparatus – which had failed across the board. In this situation, the Military District Command staked everything on the use of mass violence in planning and implementing the largest ‘band-fighting operation’ ever carried out in rural occupied Poland. However, in view of the abject failure of the ‘band-fighting’ pursued by the SS and police, based since 1942 so unsuccessfully on the broad deregulation of violence against civilians, the key German actors once again displayed an astonishing inability to learn. ‘Operation Sturmwind’, to simplify only very slightly, was a maximalist attempt to overcome an overall situation of grave crisis by embracing the categories of harshness and ruthlessness – that is, by deploying even more troops and using even more indiscriminate violence against all residents of the Biłgoraj Forest area.110

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‘The Country Has Felt the Full Force of German Authority’ By 10 June 1944, the German troops had laid down an extensive barrier line around the Biłgoraj Forest and were to begin their concentric attack one day later.111 Only a few archival fragments have survived to tell us about the large-scale operation that now unfolded, a deficiency that can only be offset to a limited extent by survivors’ testimony. ‘Operation Sturmwind’, it would appear, was carried out in two stages: from 11 June to 17 June, the German advance was concentrated on the north-western part of the forest, while in the period from 21 June to 26 June the focus was on the south-east. In the early hours of 11 June, the 154th Infantry Division, the 174th Infantry Division, the 213th Security Division and their subordinate units began to comb systematically through the north-western part of the Biłgoraj Forest. In the ‘jungle-like, extremely marshy terrain’,112 the units apparently ‘advanced only with great effort’ and repeatedly had ‘contact with the enemy in the shape of snipers hidden in trees and bandits, who were lurking wellcamouflaged in the swamp’.113 Initially, however, the troops seem not to have behaved as expected by the command staff around Major General Max Bork. On the first day of the operation, at 14:45 – in other words, about six hours after the attack began – Bork felt compelled to inform the two infantry divisions and the 213th Security Division by radio just what was expected of them: ‘Troops must open fire immediately on retreating bands and evasive locals.’114 In light of this radical order, we can only guess at the destructive force unleashed by the units involved. It is clear, however, that from now on the men on the ground acted with particular ruthlessness. On the basis of the post-war testimony of Polish survivors, Polish historians managed to reconstruct – at least, in broad outline – the violence perpetrated in the first days of this operation. We can consider it historically confirmed that between 12 and 15 June all residents of the villages of Szewce, Ujście, Momoty Dolne, Gózd, Huta Krzeszowska, Huta Nowa, Huta Podgórna, Maziarnia, Momoty Górne and Sieraków were executed.115 With the active support of the 4th Air Fleet, German troops also laid waste to the settlements of Lipowiec, Potok Górny, Górecko Kościelne, Borowiec, Łukowa and Osuchy – burning them to the ground.116 However, most acts of violence cannot be reconstructed from the surviving archival fragments. We can be sure that German violence was not limited to these villages and hamlets; the troops made full use of the opportunities granted ‘from above’ to exercise violence in an autonomous way. On the ground, it seems, the German soldiers were convinced ‘that members of the Polish bands … were disguising themselves as peaceful farmers and hiding their weapons’.117 It was this sweeping, general suspicion that engendered connotations of omnipresent threat and consequently spawned a propensity for violence that could be set in motion

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at any time – especially among the inexperienced troops of the Military District Command’s infantry divisions. In principle, then, all inhabitants of the Biłgoraj Forest were suspected of being ‘bandits’, ‘accomplices’ or ‘accessories’. The bloody dynamics of ‘Operation Sturmwind’, we may assume, arose from a scenario of comprehensive threat, which potentially obliterated the notion of innocents or non-participants.118 The Kalmykian Cavalry Corps under former Abwehr officer Dr Rudolf Otto Doll seems to have been particularly violent. When the operation was over, the Kalmyks’ rampage through the Biłgoraj Forest was subject to heated debate within the civil administration. Indignation was expressed at the ‘highly adverse consequences’119 flowing from the ‘deployment of the Kalmyck formation in this large-scale operation’.120 The Kalmykian Cavalry Corps, it was alleged, had committed multiple forms of sexual violence against the female population of the region: ‘From just one village’, ViceGovernor Dr Ernst Schlüter complained at a meeting, ‘20 women and girls disappeared, 6 of whom were found raped and murdered’.121 For Schlüter, admittedly, the main problem was that ‘the deployment of the Kalmyks [had damaged] the reputation and standing of the German Wehrmacht’.122 In retrospect, it is no longer possible to reconstruct beyond doubt whether the actions of the Kalmykian Cavalry Corps differed in any critical way from the acts of violence executed by the other Wehrmacht units. We have to consider the possibility that this may have been a strategy of extraterritorialization of particularly repulsive forms of violence, through which deviant behaviour was attributed to foreign troops. On this premise, the hordes unleashed from the Caucasus stood in contrast to a ‘decent Wehrmacht’ engaged in chivalrous combat. Statements by Polish survivors, however, seem to confirm that the Kalmykian Cavalry Corps engaged in exceptional violence, which plays a key role in their memories of events.123 Even within an overall setting characterized by mass violence, it would seem that this formation stood out. The Kalmyks, who had a great interest in German success due to their experience of persecution under Stalinism,124 made particularly avid use of the leeway opened up ‘from above’ to deploy violence as they saw fit. This finding raises questions about the assessments of this unit made so far in the German research. Rolf-Dieter Müller, for example, refers to ‘an impressive … effort’125 by the Kalmyks in the ranks of the Wehrmacht, as they provided ‘valuable support … in the fight against partisans … in Poland … in 1944’.126 Joachim Hoffmann also puts forward a highly favourable interpretation of this unit.127 In view of the extreme violence committed in the context of ‘Operation Sturmwind’, such evaluations appear questionable at best. They are the product of a military historiography that is only marginally interested in violent excesses – resulting in unsatisfactory, one-sided interpretations.

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According to a list produced by the Military District Command, the units deployed within the framework of ‘Operation Sturmwind’ shot dead a total of 4,759 ‘bandits and band helpers’.128 A look at the weapons seized in the course of this mission reveals that the majority of these were civilians rather than partisans: 74 pistols; 12 radios; and, as the list put it, ‘1 hinged cupboard’129 were discovered. The Military District Command was satisfied with the result of the operation: ‘All of us can take pride in the fact that it proved possible to carry out such an undertaking successfully for the first time in the General Government.’130 Commander Haenicke underlined in conclusion that he was pleased to have had ‘such a good and brave body of men under my command’.131 They had managed to restore ‘security and governmental authority in this area, which had been uncontrolled for months’.132 ‘The country’, emphasized the Military District Commander, ‘has … felt the full force of German authority’.133 However, just two weeks after the operation had been completed, the occupation apparatus came to a far more sober conclusion. While its implementation had been ‘a great success’, its effects did not last long. The ‘bandits [had now] streamed back into the area’134 and were said to have already carried out more attacks and blown up more rail tracks. Nothing illustrates the fundamental methodological deficiencies of German band-fighting better than the signal failure of even the largest and most violent ‘band-fighting operation’ ever carried out in rural occupied Poland. ‘Security and order’, it seems palpably obvious, could not be achieved through the violent methods of German ‘band-fighting’. ‘Operation Sturmwind’, so broad in its conception, did nothing to change this. The fact that even the Wehrmacht was unable to successfully ‘fight bands’ was keenly noted within the SS and police apparatus, and not without satisfaction: the new SSPF in Lublin district, Jakob Sporrenberg, described the operation as an ‘utter failure’.135

Notes 1. Christoph Kleßmann and Wacław Długoborski, ‘Nationalsozialistische Bildungspolitik und polnische Hochschulen 1939–1945’, Geschichte und Gesellschaft 23 (1997), 535– 59, here 536. 2. Werner Röhr, ‘Grundlinien der Okkupationspolitik des faschistischen deutschen Imperialismus in Polen 1939–1945’, in Werner Röhr, Die faschistische Okkupationspolitik in Polen (1939–1945) (Cologne, 1989), 22–94. 3. See Madajczyk, Zamojszczyzna. 4. For a trenchant analysis of the importance of the Battle of Kursk and the German army’s loss of initiative, see Richard Overy, Why the Allies Won (London, 1995), 77–122. 5. On the withdrawal of the German Wehrmacht from the Soviet Union, see Armin Nolzen, ‘“Verbrannte Erde”: Die Rückzüge der Wehrmacht in den besetzten

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sowjetischen Gebieten 1941–1945’, in Günther Kronenbitter, Markus Pöhlmann and Dierk Walter (eds), Besatzung. Funktion und Gestalt militärischer Fremdherrschaft von der Antike bis zum 20. Jahrhundert (Paderborn, 2006), 161–76. 6. Herzog, ‘Tätigkeit’, 448. 7. Ibid., 450. 8. ‘Arbeitsbesprechung: militärische und Sicherheitslage, 8.5.1944’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 841 ff. At this briefing, Hans Frank complained about the increased ‘demands being made by the Reich … due to the relocation of armaments factories to the GG’. 9. On the trope of ‘areas remote from the state’, see the essential studies by Jörg Baberowski, ‘Totale Herrschaft im staatsfernen Raum. Stalinismus und Nationalsozialismus im Vergleich’, Zeitschrift für Geschichtswissenschaft 57 (2009), 1013–28; Jörg Baberowski, ‘Kriege in staatsfernen Räumen: Rußland und die Sowjetunion 1905–1950’, in Dietrich Beyrau, Michael Hochgeschwender and Dieter Langewiesche (eds), Formen des Krieges. Von der Antike bis zur Gegenwart (Paderborn, 2007), 291–309. 10. ‘Arbeitsbesprechung: militärische und Sicherheitslage, 8.5.1944’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 841. 11. Ibid. 12. Ibid. 13. Ibid. 14. Ibid., 842. 15. Ibid., 843. 16. Ibid., 842. 17. Rüstungsinspektion im GG, Kriegstagebuch (Arms Inspectorate in the GG, War journal) 1944, BA-MA, RW 23/4. 18. Ibid., 844. 19. Ibid., 841. 20. Zygmunt Mańkowski, Między Wisłą a Bugiem 1939–1944. Studium o polityce okupanta i postawach społeczeństwa (Lublin, 1978), 437f. 21. Seidel, Besatzungspolitik, 207ff. 22. ‘Arbeitsbesprechung: militärische und Sicherheitslage, 8.5.1944’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 841. 23. Lagebesprechung (Review), 25.6.1944, in ibid., 870ff.; Jacek Wołoszyn, ‘Geneza i przebieg niemieckich akcji o kryptonimie “Sturmwind I” i “Sturmwind II”’, Zeszyt Osuchowski 5 (2008), 3–13, here: 5. 24. Seidel, Besatzungspolitik, 207. 25. Radziwończyk, ‘Niemieckie’, 85; Kazimierz Radziwończyk, ‘Zagrożenie bezpieczeństwa w GG i udział Wehrmachtu w walce z polskim ruchem partyzanckim. Wiosna i lato 1944 r’, Wojskowy Przegląd Historyczny 4 (1964), 156–95, here 187; Wołoszyn, ‘Geneza’, 5. 26. Radziwończyk, ‘Bezpieczenstwa’, 181. 27. Seidel, Besatzungspolitik, 207. 28. ‘Besprechung, 12.5.1944’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 847ff., here 850. 29. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Feindnachrichtenblatt Nr. 1, Stand 6.6.1944 (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Enemy News Bulletin No. 1, as at 6 June 1944), BA-MA, RH 53–23/63, fol. 21ff. 30. Ibid.

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31. Apparently, they were former members of the 76th Infantry Regiment from Zamość, probably 200 men in total. See ibid. 32. ‘Besprechung, 12.5.1944’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 847ff., here 850. 33. Ibid. 34. ‘Lagebesprechung, 31.5.1944’, in ibid., 861ff., here 863. 35. Ibid. 36. Ibid. 37. ‘Besprechung, 12.5.1944’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch 847ff., here 850. 38. Ibid. 39. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Bericht: Sturmwind Teil II vom 21.6. bis 26.6.1944 (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation, ‘Sturmwind I’, Report: Sturmwind Part II from 21 June to 26 June 1944) BAMA, RH 53–23/63, fol. 291ff. 40. ‘Besprechung, 12.5.1944’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 847ff., here 850. 41. ‘Besprechung, 31.5.1944’, in ibid., 861ff., here 863. 42. In its Enemy News Bulletin (Feindnachrichtenblatt), the Military District Command differentiated spatially between the north-west and south of the Biłgoraj Forest in order to paint a more precise picture of the various partisan units. In the northwest of the forest, according to assessments, units of Soviet partisans and ‘PolishCommunist bands’ had gathered in ‘well-constructed, sometimes concealed forest camps’. The Military District Command established the presence of the Soviet partisan units ‘Sseminitschin’ and ‘Timofejow’, a total of around 1,000 men, in the Bukowa Valley, between Bukowa, Uszcie and Momoty Góry; they had probably entered the General Government in early May 1944 by crossing the Bug north of Włodawa. A total of 1,500 men of the ‘Tschepiga’ and ‘Mietek’ ‘bands’, meanwhile, were believed to be holed up in the lakeland areas of the forest. The Military District Command further suspected that the approximately 1,000 men of the ‘Schelest band’ were to be found in the Milów–Swircz–Pikule–Łażec–Gierłachy area. Finally, a ‘Polish-Communist band’ was believed to be operating near Huta Krzeszowska, the total size of which was estimated at 400 men. In the south of the Biłgoraj Forest, the Military District Command identified two spatial foci. In the Aleksandrów area, a ‘Polish nationalist band’ under the Armia Krajowa was supposedly at large while two other units of Soviet partisans had assembled near Osuchy and Borowiec. See Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Feindnachrichtenblatt Nr. 1, Stand: 6.6.1944 (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Enemy News Bulletin No. 1, as at 6 June 1944), BA-MA, RH 53–23/63, fol. 21ff. 43. Wołoszyn, ‘Geneza’, 5. 44. ‘HSSPF Koppe, Lagebesprechung, 31.5.1944’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 861ff., here 863. 45. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Bericht: Einsatz des Wehrkreiskommandos GG zur Bandenbekämpfung im Bilgorajer Wald – Unternehmen Sturmwind I (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Report: Efforts of the Military District Command GG to combat bands in the Bilgoraj Forest – Operation Sturmwind I), 18.6.1944, BA-MA, RH 53–23/63, fol. 232ff. 46. Ibid.

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47. Ibid. 48. HSSPF Koppe referred to ‘[a] large-scale operation in the near future … in the Bilgoraj Forest on the part of the Wehrmacht … the operation is being led by the Wehrmacht.’ See Besprechung (Meeting), 6.6.1944, Diensttagebuch (Duty journal) Hans Frank, BAB, R 52 II/218. 49. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Bericht: Einsatz des Wehrkreiskommandos GG zur Bandenbekämpfung im Bilgorajer Wald – Unternehmen ‘Sturmwind’ Teil 1 (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Report: Efforts of the Military District Command GG to combat bands in the Bilgoraj Forest – Operation Sturmwind Part I), 18.6.1944, BAMA, RH 53–23/63, fol. 232ff. 50. Ibid. 51. Ibid. 52. Ibid. 53. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Befehl über die Versammlung zur Bandenbekämpfung Aktion ‘Sturmwind’ (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Command ordering the mustering of troops to combat bands, Operation ‘Sturmwind’), 3.6.1944, ibid., fol. 28ff. 54. ‘Besprechung 12.5.1944’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 847ff. 55. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Befehl über die Versammlung zur Bandenbekämpfung Aktion ‘Sturmwind’ (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Command ordering the mustering of troops to combat bands, Operation ‘Sturmwind’), 3.6.1944, BA-MA, RH 53–23/63, fol. 2ff. Kalmykia is a region of the Russian North Caucasus bordering the Caspian Sea. 56. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Befehl für den 11.6.1944 zur Vernichtung der Banden im Bilgorajer Wald (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Command for 11 June 1944 to annihilate the bands in the Bilgoraj Forest), 7.6.1944, ibid., fol. 28ff. 57. Ibid. 58. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Befehl über die Versammlung zur Bandenbekämpfung Aktion ‘Sturmwind’ (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Command ordering the mustering of troops to combat bands, Operation ‘Sturmwind’), 3.6.1944, ibid., fol. 2ff. 59. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Bericht: Einsatz des Wehrkreiskommandos zur Banden­ bekämpfung im Bilgorajer Wald – Unternehmen ‘Sturmwind’ Teil 1 (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Report: Efforts of the Military District Command GG to combat bands in the Bilgoraj Forest – Operation Sturmwind Part I), 18.6.1944, ibid., fol. 232ff. 60. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Besprechung zwischen Polizei/SD und Ia (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Meeting between the Police/SD and Ia), WK GG, 5.6.1944, ibid., fol. 10ff.

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61. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Befehl über die Versammlung zur Bandenbekämpfung Aktion ‘Sturmwind’ (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Command ordering the mustering of troops to combat bands, Operation ‘Sturmwind’), 3.6.1944, ibid., fol. 2ff. 62. See SSPF Sporrenberg’s estimate: ‘Wochenbericht SSPF Lublin, 24.6.1944’, in Werner Röhr (ed.), Die faschistische Okkupationspolitik in Polen (1939–1945) (Berlin 1989), 300–1 (Document 180). 63. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Kampfanweisung ‘Aktion Sturmwind’ (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Combat directive for ‘Operation Sturmwind’), 7.6.1944, BA-MA, RH 53–23/63, fol. 32ff. 64. Wehrkreiskommando im GG, Besprechung zwischen Polizei/SD und WK GG (Military District Command in the GG, Meeting between Police/SD and WK GG), 5.6.1944, ibid. The Ia officer was the Erster Generalstabsoffizier, the commander’s righthand man in charge of tactics and leadership. 65. The following members of the SS and police apparatus were present: Lieutenant Colonel Schäfer, Major Sack, SS-Obersturmbannführer Batz, SS-Obersturmbannführer Dr Pütz, SS-Hauptsturmführer Kubiak and Captain Wehrheim. See Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Besprechung zwischen Polizei/SD und Ia des Wehrkreiskommandos GG (Military District Commander in the GG, Meeting between Police/SD and Ia of the Military District Command GG), ibid., fol. 10. 66. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Merkpunkt für Sturmwind (Nr. 1) (Chef des Generalstabes) (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Note for Sturmwind [No. 1] [Chief of Staff]), 4.6.1944, BA-MA, RH 53–23/62, fol. 7. 67. Wehrkreiskommando im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’ Besprechung zwischen Polizei/SD und WK GG (Military District Command in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Meeting between Police/SD and WK GG), 5.6.1944, ibid., fol. 10ff. 68. Ibid. 69. Ibid. 70. Ibid. 71. Ibid. 72. Ibid. 73. Ibid. 74. Ibid. 75. That same day, too, Governor General Hans Frank discussed the invasion in the context of a briefing. See Diensttagebuch Hans Frank, Besprechung mit Koppe, Höring und Bork (Hans Frank’s Duty journal, Meeting with Koppe, Höring and Bork), 6.6.1944, BAB, R 52 II/218. 76. Wehrkreiskommando im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Besprechung zwischen Chef des Generalstabes und Polizei/SD (Military District Command in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Meeting between Chief of Staff and Police/SD), 6.6.1944, BA-MA, RH 53–23/62, fol. 18.

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77. Ibid. 78. This command technique of the de-restrictive restriction had already appeared in the first ‘band-fighting operation’ in occupied Poland against ‘Hubal’ (see chapter 4). 79. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Kampfanweisung (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Combat directive), 7.6.1944, ibid., fol. 32. 80. Gerlach, Kalkulierte Morde. 81. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Besprechung (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Meeting), 6.6.1944, BA-MA, RH 53–23/62, fol. 20ff. 82. ‘Lagebesprechung, 31.5.1944’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 861ff. 83. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Besprechung (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Meeting), 6.6.1944, BA-MA, RH 53–23/62, fol. 21. 84. Ibid. 85. Ibid. 86. Ibid. 87. Ibid. 88. Ibid. 89. Ibid. 90. Ibid., fol. 22. 91. Diensttagebuch Hans Frank, Besprechung mit Koppe, Höring und Bork (Hans Frank’s Duty journal, Meeting with Koppe, Höring and Bork), 6.6.1944, BAB, R 52 II/218. 92. Ibid. 93. Ibid. 94. Ibid. 95. Ibid. 96. Ibid. 97. Ibid. 98. Ibid. 99. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Befehl für den 11.6.1944 zur Vernichtung der Banden im Bilgorajer Wald (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Command for 11 June 1944 to annihilate the bands in the Bilgoraj Forest), 7.6.1944, BA-MA, RH 53–23/62, fol. 28ff. 100. Ibid., fol. 31. 101. Ibid. 102. Wehrkreiskommando im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Besprechung zwischen Polizei/SD und WK GG (Military District Command in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Meeting between Police/SD and WK GG), 5. 6. 1944, ibid., fol. 10. 103. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Befehl für den 11. 6.1944 zur Vernichtung der Banden im Bilgorajer Wald (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against

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bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Command for 11 June 1944 to annihilate the bands in the Bilgoraj Forest), 7. 6.1944, ibid., fol. 31. 104. Ibid. 105. Ibid. 106. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Feindnachrichtenblatt Nr. 1 (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Enemy News Bulletin No. 1), 7. 6. 1944, ibid., fol. 22. 107. Ibid. 108. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Kampfanweisung (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Combat directive), 7.6.1944, ibid., fol. 32. 109. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Befehl für den 11. 6.1944 zur Vernichtung der Banden im Bilgorajer Wald (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Command for 11 June 1944 to annihilate the bands in the Bilgoraj Forest), 7. 6.1944, ibid., fol. 31. 110. This maximalism was itself a key characteristic of the SS and police approach to problems. See also Aly, ‘Endlösung’, 314ff. 111. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Bericht: Einsatz des Wehrkreiskommandos GG zur Bandenbekämpfung im Bilgorajer Wald – Unternehmen ‘Sturmwind’ Teil 1 (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Report: Efforts of the Military District Command GG to combat bands in the Bilgoraj Forest – Operation Sturmwind I), 18.6.1944, BAMA, RH 53–23/62, fol. 232f. 112. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Abschlußmeldung (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Final report), 27.6.1944, ibid., fol. 253ff. 113. Ibid. 114. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Fernspruch-Fernschreiben-Funkspruch von Ia, Wehrkreiskommando GG, an 154. RD, 174. RD, 213. SD, 11.6.1944, 14:45 Uhr (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Telegraphic message-telex-radio message from Ia, Military District Command GG, to 154th RD, 174th RD and 213th SD, 11 June 1944, 14:45), ibid., fol. 56. 115. Wołoszyn, ‘Geneza’, 11; see also Fajkowski and Religa, Zbrodnie, 415 ff.; Fajkowski, Wieś, 219 ff. 116. Ibid. 117. Ibid. 118. Admittedly, these dynamics were evident in every ‘band-fighting operation’ from 1942 onwards. 119. Diensttagebuch Hans Frank, Besprechung (Hans Frank’s Duty journal, meeting), 7.7.1944, BAB, R 52 II/246. 120. Ibid. 121. Ibid.

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122. Ibid. 123. For numerous examples, see, especially, Fajkowski, Wieś, 219ff.; Fajkowski and Religa, Zbrodnie, 415ff. 124. Joachim Hoffmann, Deutsche und Kalmyken 1942 bis 1945 (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1974), 30–42. 125. Rolf-Dieter Müller, An der Seite der Wehrmacht. Hitlers ausländische Helfer beim ‘Kreuzzug gegen den Bolschewismus’ 1941–1945 (Berlin, 2007), 237. 126. Ibid.; but see Andrej Angrick’s concise analysis of the Kalmykian Cavalry Corps’ involvement in the Holocaust: Andrej Angrick, ‘Die Einsatzgruppe D und die Kollaboration’, in Wolf Kaiser (ed), Täter im Vernichtungskrieg. Der Überfall auf die Sowjetunion und der Völkermord an den Juden (Berlin and Munich, 2002), 71–84, here 78–82. 127. Hoffmann, Deutsche. 128. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Abschlußmeldung für Unternehmen ‘Sturmwind’, (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Final report on Operation ‘Sturmwind’) 27.6.1944, BA-MA, RH 53–23/63, fol. 258. 129. Ibid. 130. Ibid. 131. Ibid. 132. Ibid. 133. Wehrkreisbefehlshaber im GG, Großunternehmen gegen Banden im Bilgorajer Wald Aktion ‘Sturmwind I’, Einsatz des Wehrkreiskommandos GG zur Bandenbekämpfung im Bilgorajer Wald – Unternehmen ‘Sturmwind’ Teil 1 (Military District Commander in the GG, Major operation against bands in the Bilgoraj Forest, Operation ‘Sturmwind I’, Report: Efforts of the Military District Command GG to combat bands in the Bilgoraj Forest – Operation ‘Sturmwind’ Part I), ibid., fol. 238. 134. Diensttagebuch Hans Frank, Besprechung (Hans Frank’s Duty journal, Meeting), 7.7.1944, BAB, R 52 II/246. 135. ‘Wochenbericht SSPF Lublin, 24.6.1944’, quoted in Röhr, Okkupationspolitik, 300f. (Document 180).

Chapter 8

Transfer and Culmination The Quelling of the Warsaw Uprising in 1944

 ‘Striking the Final Blow against a Disoriented Enemy’: The Background to the Uprising In the late afternoon of 1 August 1944, Czesław Miłosz left his house with his wife in the centre of the Polish capital of Warsaw. It was a lovely summer’s day and the pair wanted to take the chance to walk to their friends’ place some distance away: ‘Ten carefree minutes under a cloudless sky’1 is how Miłosz remembered the start of their walk. But suddenly ‘everything burst’,2 and the couple were reduced to ‘advancing on all fours’3 because they had unexpectedly found themselves in the middle of a heavy firefight: ‘Machine guns fired at anything that moved’.4 Some friends lived close to the spot where Miłosz and his wife were cowering on the ground, and they wished to seek refuge with them from the hail of bullets. ‘But when neither running nor walking is possible, three hundred feet becomes a whole journey’,5 so the pair did not reach the building where their friends lived until ‘dawn of the next day’;6 there – at least for the moment – they were safe. The Polish poet felt confirmed in his wary attitude: ‘On leaving for a walk one should never be too sure of returning home’.7 Miłosz and his wife were caught between the Scylla of Polish Home Army fighters and the Charybdis of the German occupation forces. To this day, the background to the Warsaw Uprising is still a matter of contentious scholarly debate.8 The defeats suffered by the Wehrmacht on the Eastern Front since 1943 and the steady advance of the Red Army created a new

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situation for representatives of the Polish Underground State.9 Hence, on 20 November 1943, the commander in chief of the Home Army, Tadeusz ‘Bór’ Komorowski, launched ‘Operation Burza’ (thunderstorm), which essentially aimed to ‘doggedly attack the retreating rear German units and carry out acts of sabotage throughout the area, particularly on means of transportation and transport infrastructure’.10 This attempt to step up resistance activities was not only intended to accelerate the collapse of German rule. Above all, ‘Operation Burza’ was meant to send a signal of strength to the Soviet Union – one that would ‘demonstrate the legitimacy of the Polish government in exile’11 and underline the fact that the eastern Polish territories were an integral part of the Polish state. The Polish government in exile was by no means prepared to accept the Curzon Line – as envisaged by Stalin – as the future Polish–Soviet border, as this would mean losing the Kresy and shifting Poland to the west.12 No support could be expected from the Western Allies when it came to this issue, however, since Poland was ‘at best a disruptive factor’13 in terms of the ‘overall foreign policy calculation’14 of the United Kingdom and the United States. Nothing must be permitted to cloud the relationship with the Soviet Union, since US President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s and British Prime Minister Winston Churchill’s most important war aim – military victory – could only be achieved through cooperation with Soviet leader Joseph Stalin. Against this background, ‘Operation Burza’ was in part an attempt to ensure that units of the Home Army liberated Polish territories before the arrival of the Red Army so that the Poles could play ‘master of the house’15 and thwart Soviet expansion plans. But this strategy had proved unrealistic by the summer of 1944. The Soviet Union let ‘Operation Burza’ run its fruitless course and ignored Polish demands for political negotiations. Immediately after the arrival of the Red Army, the Soviet security authorities unleashed massive repression, crushing the local units of the Home Army and arresting their members.16 In the first instance, ‘Operation Burza’ excluded Warsaw.17 An armed uprising against the German occupiers in the city – it was feared – would expose it and its inhabitants to the risk of a violent German response that would entail massive destruction and loss of life. As a result, in mid-July 1944, about two weeks before the start of the Warsaw Uprising, weapons and ammunition were taken from the Warsaw arsenals of the Home Army to regions in the east that had been included in ‘Operation Burza’.18 In addition, some members of the Polish government in exile in London were considering a plan that, through the mediation of the Vatican, might induce the Germans to recognize Warsaw as an ‘open city’.19 It was not until 21 July 1944 that a fundamental change set in among the leaders of the Home Army.20 Three key developments prompted them to make concrete preparations for an uprising in the city of Warsaw from this point onwards.

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The first crucial issue to consider in this context is that of the military developments on the Eastern Front. The leadership of the Home Army was convinced that the Red Army would advance to the Vistula in the course of its summer offensive and take Warsaw. In view of the crushing of the Wehrmacht’s Army Group Centre and the increasing disorientation of the German troops, which were seemingly incapable of countering the Soviet onslaught, it appeared to be only a matter of time before the Red Army marched into the city.21 This assessment seemed to be backed up by the sight of beaten and exhausted German soldiers who streamed through the streets of Warsaw as they retreated. At the same time, the assassination attempt on Hitler on 20 July 1944 seemed to indicate an entropic process within the Nazi leadership: ‘We were deeply impressed by this event’, recalled the Chief of Staff of the Home Army, ‘which proved that the conspiracy against Hitler had reached the highest levels of the Reich’s armed forces and Hitler’s immediate environment’.22 Against this background, the leadership of the Home Army was convinced that ‘this internal struggle … reflected back on the front by reducing the troops’ stamina in battle’.23 In light of this, the Home Army commanders were certain that an uprising in the Warsaw metropolitan area against a demoralized and weakened enemy would rapidly be settled in their favour. The belief at large among the leaders of the Home Army was that there would ‘be no real fight’; the Polish forces would merely be ‘striking the final blow against a beaten and disoriented enemy’.24 The proclamation of the Polish Committee of National Liberation (PKWN) on 21 July 1944, headed by Polish communists dispatched from Moscow, provided additional impetus for an uprising in Warsaw.25 According to Grzegorz Mazur, the PKWN represented ‘a fundamental step towards the future takeover of power in Poland by the communists’.26 Under the leadership of Edward Osóbka-Morawski, the PKWN immediately published a manifesto that presented the communists – regardless of the true balance of power – as the ‘only legal source of authority’27 while branding the exiled government in London a ‘usurpatory and illegal’28 organization. In light of this declaration of hostility, it seemed all the more urgent to the leadership of the Home Army to use an uprising in Warsaw to highlight the fact that ‘the Polish people did not support the communists and that there was another centre of power’.29 The final spark that triggered the uprising was a command issued by Warsaw Governor Ludwig Fischer on 27 July 1944, ordering fortification work in which 100,000 Warsaw residents were supposed to take part.30 Some on the Polish side feared that this would ‘destroy the units’ of the Home Army, ‘because it is young men capable of military service that are particularly threatened by this order’,31 as Antoni Chruściel noted. That same day, the leadership of the Home Army thus ordered their troops to muster

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in the staging areas. This effectively meant that the decision to trigger an uprising had been made.32 This decision-making process within the Home Army was by no means free of conflict; some commanders considered the triggering of an uprising in Warsaw to be sheer suicide.33 However, Komorowski and his top team made this decision against the background of a specific horizon of expectations. Given the momentum of the Soviet advance in the course of ‘Operation Bagration’, which had led to the destruction of Army Group Centre – the ‘greatest disaster in German military history’34 – it was assumed that a Warsaw uprising would last no longer than a week before the Red Army finally captured the city.35 Indeed, in the first instance all the evidence suggests that this assessment was reasonable. The first Soviet tanks reached the eastern district of Praga as early as 31 July 1944.36 KarlHeinz Frieser, however, has shown that on the following day, when the uprising broke out, it became apparent that circumstances had changed fundamentally. ‘Like a bolt from the blue’,37 Frieser tells us, Field Marshal Walter Model carried out a successful, unauthorized counter-offensive on 1 August 1944 at the gates of Warsaw, which halted the advance of the Red Army at the Vistula.38 This tank battle on the outskirts of the city had two consequences that were directly linked. First, this major coup prevented the fall of the entire Eastern Front, which, on 1 August 1944, had been about to ‘collapse like a house of cards’.39 More than a crucial road and rail hub, Warsaw was viewed above all as a ‘springboard for the continuation of the Soviet offensive towards the Baltic Sea’.40 Had the city fallen, according to Frieser, Soviet troops would have been able to advance unhindered to the mouth of the Vistula, encircling two army groups on the Baltic Sea and ushering in the end of the war in Europe.41 Due to Model’s surprise success, however, it proved possible to stabilize the front one last time. Second, these unforeseeable developments shifted the temporal parameters of the uprising, as the city could no longer be occupied quickly by the Red Army.42 This had a decisive influence on the dynamics of violence in the context of German counter-insurgency efforts. There was now no time limit on the zone of unfettered violence opened up as the German forces sought to suppress the Warsaw Uprising. The scenario anticipated by the Home Army had been overtaken by events. Rather than fighting a battle that was supposed to be ended within a few days by the intervention of the Red Army, an uprising developed that was to extend over a period of sixty-three days without external intervention. Though the leaders of the Home Army could not have foreseen it, Model’s success in the tank battle on the fringes of Warsaw gave the German occupiers time to put down the uprising with all their might. From a German perspective, the stabilization of the German

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Eastern Front thus turned out to be a condition of possibility for the violent suppression of the Warsaw Uprising, which the units of the Home Army unleashed at ‘W’ Hour – that is, on 1 August 1944 at 5 p.m. Around the time, in other words, when Czesław Miłosz and his wife were setting off on their long walk.

The City as Village: Fighting Partisans in the Urban Centre On 5 November 1944, one month after the surrender of the Home Army, SS-Gruppenführer Heinz Reinefarth took stock of the quelling of the Warsaw Uprising in an article for the Ostdeutscher Beobachter. These were the reflections of a man who was responsible for German counter-insurgency in a leading position. In Warsaw, according to Reinefarth, his side had found itself confronted with a cruel and devious enemy that had ‘assembled in Warsaw the youngest and best human material in terms of officers and men and trained them for one of the most insidious and treacherous battles’ that ‘one could ever imagine’.43 The SS-Gruppenführer portrayed the fight against this enemy as an epic battle: ‘Ten weeks of fighting without relief or rest. Just constant rubble and struggle. You really [had] to have been there to fully appreciate it.’44 But even in the thorniest of predicaments – ‘often hemmed in by bandits and repeatedly at risk of being enveloped by the Soviets’45 – his men had embodied the slogan: ‘Despite heat, fire, smoke and exhaustion: fight to victory!’46 Thus, Reinefarth explained, the SS and police troops had passed this latest test, fighting ‘with zeal and doggedness’47 in the city of Warsaw, finally putting down the uprising and – as the SS-Gruppenführer proudly emphasized – inflicting on the Poles ‘losses of around a quarter of a million people’.48 In a triumphant tone, he underlined the fact ‘that Poland’s metropolis, which has wrought such havoc upon us Germans over the centuries, has finally been eliminated as a source of danger’.49 This article must be viewed in the context of propaganda intended to mobilize the German population of the Warthegau for the ‘final battle’ of the German Reich. Reinefarth thus invoked the suppression of the Warsaw Uprising, whose importance supposedly extended far beyond the boundaries of the city on the Vistula: ‘In Warsaw we defended the Warthegau.’50 Under his leadership, ‘the men of the Wartheland provided the clearest possible proof that they are not only willing but also able to protect their homeland … against all enemies’.51 Looking ahead, the goal must be to build on this ‘willingness to make sacrifices and toughness’ in order to counter the impending loss of ‘freedom’ with a ‘passionate heart’ and ‘irrepressible will’.52 The fact that Reinefarth openly boasted of 250,000 Polish victims may have been an attempt to create a community of accomplices, but it also indicates

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the extent to which the boundaries of the sayable had shifted. There was no longer any need to court acceptance for mass violence; it could be taken for granted and straightforwardly communicated to the outside world despite its horrifying consequences. In addition, Reinefarth’s article illustrates the Nazis’ deep-seated hatred of the former capital of the Second Polish Republic. As Martin Kohlrausch has emphasized, for the German occupiers Warsaw represented ‘a threat and provocation in and of itself ’.53 Symbolically, the mere existence of a large Polish metropolis stood in latent tension with German ideas about the Poles’ lack of culture and backwardness.54 At the same time, Warsaw was regarded as a hotbed of resistance to the German occupation, not least because the majority of the Polish intelligentsia lived in the former capital of the Second Republic.55 Against this background, the outbreak of the Warsaw Uprising provided a convenient opportunity from a Nazi perspective. As Heinrich Himmler noted, recalling his reaction to the uprising at the end of September 1944: From a historical standpoint it is a blessing that the Poles are doing this. We’ll get through the five or six weeks. But then Warsaw, the capital, the head, the brains of the 16 to 17 million-strong Polish people, will be wiped out, this people that has blocked our path in the east for 700 years and stood in our way time and again since the First Battle of Tannenberg. Then, in historical terms, for our children and for all who come after us, indeed even for us, the Polish problem will no longer be a major problem.56

The Warsaw Uprising, as we must interpret Himmler’s words here, offered the Germans the chance to finally win the Volkstumskampf in the east, which – in the Nazi imagination – had been raging there for centuries. This historical reference placed the quelling of the uprising within the long history of German conflict with the Poles and, as Himmler saw it, would also mark its end. The sense of being the agents of a ‘historical mission’ was closely linked to the practice of mass violence: it was history itself that demanded a fast, hard and ruthless strike.57 The putting down of the Warsaw Uprising stands out even in the history of violence in the twentieth century. This chapter is devoted to the countless massacres of Polish civilians carried out in the context of this event;58 it draws on the insight that German reactions to the uprising must be placed systematically within the broader context of German counter-partisan measures in occupied Poland. Here, I build on a thesis put forward by Hans Umbreit, who has emphasized the fact that German excesses of violence during the uprising were ‘merely the appalling climax of a practice of ruthless reprisals’ that ‘were initially directed against the armed resistance, but also, as a substitute, against an essentially vaguely conceived milieu: the civilian population’.59

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The dynamic of German violence in Warsaw was based at bottom on the transfer to an urban centre of violent counter-partisan methods that had previously been limited to rural areas. It emerged that ‘there is no crueller, bloodier and dirtier battlefield than a city created for the peaceful, organized coexistence of human beings’.60 When it comes to analysis of the German massacres of Polish civilians in the context of the Warsaw Uprising, however, it is crucial to reflect on the basic differences between the rural and urban situations. Some of the conditions that the Germans encountered in Warsaw were fundamentally different from those in rural areas, though there were also a number of important similarities.61 In the countryside, German troops moved within an area with a specific topographical structure: extensive forests, criss-crossed by sandy roads and marshland, formed a territory that was sometimes difficult to access. These were sparsely populated areas in which, whatever the challenges involved, troops could cover long distances without encountering hamlets or villages. The topography of a Central European metropolis such as Warsaw, with over one million inhabitants, presented a quite different prospect – with troops operating in a self-contained, densely populated space and typically moving along streets hemmed in by buildings. This topography greatly hampered German operations: their troops could advance only slowly, essentially from building to building, and they then encountered a significantly larger number of civilians than had ever been the case in rural areas. This scenario also meant that fighting partisans in rural areas was less deadly for the German units than their deployment in the Warsaw Uprising. In the countryside, a concentric attack on a ‘bandinfested area’ generally came to nothing – as the partisans typically evaded the German forces. Hence, counter-partisan measures in rural areas basically consisted of the encirclement and penetration of villages and hamlets, in which it was chiefly civilians that were shot dead as ‘suspected bandits’ and ‘accessories’. The risk of being subjected to violence themselves during such an action was minimal for the German troops, as evinced by the gap between the ‘executed’ and ‘German victims’ in the daily, weekly and monthly reports produced by the SS and police apparatus. During the Warsaw Uprising, however, the German troops found themselves in a far more deadly situation. In a confined space, in streets lined with tall buildings, they faced highly motivated and well-trained insurgents who represented an imminent threat far greater than that encountered in rural settings. At the time – as Hanns von Krannhals has emphasized – ‘because of the confusing, sometimes chaotic way it had been built, [Warsaw was] a city very well suited to insurgent activities … , as there were only a few broad and lengthy streets in the city centre, [as a result of which] the Germans’ field of fire and sphere of activity were limited’.62 At the same time, ‘the many winding streets [and] in

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some cases multiple cellars [provided] many opportunities for evasion and attack that were hard to keep track of ’.63 At the same time, certain similarities emerged in the conditions entailed in counter-partisan activities in both urban and rural areas. These include, prominently, the partisans’ local knowledge. In both locales, they had a superior sense of spatial orientation. Mostly in sharp contrast to the German units deployed, the partisans were highly familiar with the region involved – a crucial knowledge gap that allowed them to move around effortlessly. In Warsaw, the Poles’ precise local knowledge contrasted with the disorientation that constantly threatened to overwhelm the German troops. Another element that linked ‘band-fighting’ in the countryside with the realities of the Warsaw Uprising was the use of heavy artillery and the air force. While smaller ‘operations’ in rural areas had been carried out mainly by smaller German units, as the partisan movement gained strength from 1943 onwards the occupiers began to modernize their ‘band-fighting’: increasingly, heavy artillery and dive bombers were used to lay the ground for the main action by the troops on the ground. The use of artillery on a massive scale, with troops moving in afterwards, occurred in Warsaw too – though on a much larger scale. An analysis of the similarities and differences between the parameters of rural and urban ‘band-fighting’ shows that the Warsaw Uprising did in fact create a new situation that diverged from that in rural areas in important ways. But this should not cause us to lose sight of the fact that the basic reality of ‘band-fighting’ also entailed major commonalities. The most important of these was undoubtedly the use of mass violence against civilians, though the extent differed: the transfer of methods from rural to urban areas engendered an additional excess of violence. Against the background of this finding, the following section examines the processes and practices of mass violence against Polish civilians during the Warsaw Uprising. I include consideration of the external framework conditions, the massive expansion in the realm of permitted violence in the course of the extremely short planning phase, and the concrete exercise of different forms of violence. Scrutinizing the actions of the ‘Reinefarth Combat Group’, my analysis focuses on the first few days of August 1944 – thus covering the period in which most of the mass murders were committed, while focusing on the group of actors who were responsible for eliminating constraints on violence. Improvisation and Intention: German Counterinsurgency Plans The outbreak of the Warsaw Uprising imposed major time constraints on Himmler and his SS and police apparatus, and put them under immense

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pressure to act. A number of decisions were thus made in the first few days of August that were to have far-reaching consequences for German counter-insurgency practices. We can distinguish two basic steps here: the recruitment of personnel and the issuing of orders. (1) First, on 3 August 1944, RFSS Heinrich Himmler issued the HSSPF Warthegau, SS-Gruppenführer Heinz Reinefarth, with the order to form a combat group out of the available forces of the Wehrmacht, police and Waffen SS in the region in order to help quell the Warsaw Uprising.64 Heinz Reinefarth, born in Gnesen in 1903 as the son of a district judge, had had an unusual career.65 The law graduate, who began working as a practising solicitor in Cottbus in 1931, had been a member of the Nazi Party and the SS since 1932. He initially worked as a legal advisor at SS Section 12 in Frankfurt an der Oder and was appointed SS-Hauptsturmführer in 1937. On 26 August 1939, in the immediate run-up to the German invasion of Poland, Reinefarth was drafted into the 14th Panzer Jäger Company of the 337th Infantry Regiment as a private. Awarded the Iron Cross, Reinefarth was promoted to NCO during the war. He then fought in the war against France – and again, he was highly decorated – before leading a company as a reserve lieutenant in the war of annihilation against the Soviet Union. At the turn of 1941–42, Reinefarth’s career took a decisive turn: due to severe frostbite, he was discharged from the Wehrmacht as unfit for service. His rapid rise within the SS and police apparatus was now to begin – an ascent closely linked to his personal acquaintance with Kurt Daluege, head of the Main Office of the Ordnungspolizei. The latter recruited Reinefarth to a position in his legal office, immediately appointed him major general of the police and had him promoted to SS brigade leader. In July 1942, Reinefarth followed Daluege, who had now been appointed Deputy Reich Protector of Bohemia and Moravia, to Prague, where the former worked as Inspector General of the Administration. When Daluege was removed as Deputy Reich Protector in October 1943, Reinefarth returned to the Main Office of the Ordnungspolizei as head of its Legal Office. In the course of his still relatively short career within the SS and police apparatus, Reinefarth seems to have made a great impression on Himmler – who assigned him to the HSSPF East in Krakow in December 1943 in order to allow him to familiarize himself with the affairs of an HSSPF. Just a few weeks later, in January 1944, Himmler appointed him HSSPF Warthe and promoted him to SS-Gruppenführer and lieutenant general of the police. Himmler thus entrusted counter-insurgency efforts in Warsaw to this newcomer to the SS and police apparatus, who had neither general staff training nor experience in fighting partisans. Immediately after Reinefarth had received Himmler’s orders, the HSSPF Warthe mustered the personnel to put down the Warsaw Uprising. This was in no way a well-planned

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recruitment process: Reinefarth had to improvise ‘in extremis and in great haste’,66 which made ‘meticulous recruitment of personnel based on professional criteria’67 impossible.68 More important to the history of violence in the Warsaw Uprising, however, is the fact that the counter-insurgency personnel consisted of three main groups. Reinefarth haphazardly scraped together all available forces from Military District XXI and various police stations in the Warthegau. The ‘Reinefarth Combat Group’ initially consisted of two battalions named after their respective commanders: the ‘Reck Battalion’, made up of companies of Infantry School V in Posen and the headquarters company of the Junker School of the Waffen SS Treskau. The personnel of the ‘Peterburs Battalion’, meanwhile, were drawn from the 1st Company of the Mounted Police Reserve Detachment in Posen, the 5th Company of the Police Guard Detachment Litzmannstadt, the 1st Gendarmerie Company Hohensalza and the Gendarmerie Company Litzmannstadt.69 With this personnel, Reinefarth reached Warsaw on 4 August 1944 – where further staff were made available to him over the course of the day. First and foremost of these were ethnic Germans who had been recruited from various police stations in the Warthegau. They thus came from a region – as already mentioned in this study – that had developed into a particularly hotly contested arena of the German–Polish conflict since the end of the First World War. These ethnic German policemen came from a milieu characterized by particularly hostile attitudes towards Poles and in which, after 1939, a palpable desire for revenge and retribution had grown that ultimately prompted ethnic Germans to commit a large number of violent excesses against their Polish neighbours. Although they had no significant experience in fighting partisans, the ethnic Germans were no doubt particularly motivated to go all out to put down the uprising of the hated Poles.70 Second, the personnel of the ‘Reinefarth Combat Group’ also included units made up of ‘members of foreign races’.71 Reinefarth was thus assigned the SS-Sturmbrigade RONA (Russkaya osvoboditel’naya armiya, or Russian Liberation Army) under SS Brigade Leader Mieczysław Kamiński.72 This was a unit of Russian defectors distinguished by their extremely ruthless and brutal conduct in the anti-partisan struggle. In addition to systematic looting, the Sturmbrigade RONA stood out for committing multiple forms of sexual violence against civilians.73 Two companies of the 2nd Azerbaijani Battalion from the Special Unit Bergmann also took part.74 By and large, the units composed of ‘members of foreign races’ had joined the Germans due to a mixture of ideological convictions and Stalinist persecution. They had thus hitched their personal fate to the Third Reich for better or worse. Only German victory would spare them the attentions of Soviet security organs and charges of collaboration. Obviously, these units had a special interest

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in the speedy suppression of the Warsaw Uprising and the stabilization of German rule. Third, and finally, the ethnic German formations and those made up of ‘members of foreign races’ were joined by troops ‘experienced in fighting bands’, hardened units that had been combating partisans in practice for years and for whom the exercise of excessive violence against civilians had become a way of life. In particular, the 1st Company of the SS-Brigade Dirlewanger was integrated into the ‘Reinefarth Combat Group’. This was a unit that represented the ‘expansion of the war of terror in its most brutal form’.75 The SS-Brigade Dirlewanger was a ‘probationary’ unit for criminals, as well as soldiers and SS members who had committed criminal offences. It was commanded by Oskar Dirlewanger, a PhD economist and a ‘sadistic and amoral alcoholic in whom the already criminal Nazi regime found its perhaps most extreme executioner’.76 In the context of counter-partisan measures, this unit had seen action above all in the occupied Belarusian territories, treating the local civilian population with extreme brutality: sadistic orgies of violence, mass rape and excessive killing were an everyday practice for them, earning the formation a reputation for particular cruelty.77 The recruitment process for the ‘Reinefarth Combat Group’ came to an end at some point during 4 August 1944. All in all, the HSSPF Warthegau had a cobbled-together force of around 11,000 men at his disposal.78 These units assembled at the gates of Warsaw and launched their attack a day later, on 5 August 1944. (2) What orders did Reinefarth receive from Himmler in advance of the mission? On 1 August 1944, the first day of the uprising, the Reichsführer-SS sent a telex to the SSPF Warsaw, Paul Geibel, with the instruction to ‘annihilate tens of thousands’.79 Dr Ludwig Hahn, commander of the Sicherheitspolizei and SD in Warsaw district, received a similar order from Himmler immediately after the outbreak of the uprising: ‘The uprising is to be put down by brutal means; houses are to be burned down and all Poles are to be annihilated.’80 In a statement to public prosecutors in West Germany, Hahn later contended that ‘at least at the time, [he] had understood Himmler’s order to mean that every Pole who fell into German hands was to be killed’.81 And on 3 August 1944, Himmler personally authorized Oskar Dirlewanger to use boundless violence, as recalled by Ernst Rode, the head of the Reichsführer-SS Command Staff, after the war under interrogation by Polish public prosecutors: ‘Dirlewanger had complete authority and was entitled to kill whoever he liked, as he saw fit.’82 When asked whether this applied in the event that an insurgent had ‘behaved in accordance with international law’, Rode stated: ‘In those circumstances too. Since I know Dirlewanger, I can safely say that on the basis of this order he considered himself entitled to do anything, to kill, to rob, etc.’83

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Against the background of these radical orders, issued by Himmler before the formation of the ‘Reinefarth Combat Group’, it is evident that Reinefarth himself received similar instructions. With a probability bordering on certainty, Himmler issued him with a tripartite order: ‘1. All insurgents are to be shot upon capture, regardless of whether their actions comply with the Hague Convention or not. 2. The non-combatant part of the population is to be slaughtered indiscriminately. 3. The entire city is to be razed to the ground, i.e., all buildings, roads and everything in the city is to be destroyed.’84 In the early hours of 5 August 1944, Reinefarth assembled the commanders of the units under his control and gave them details of the upcoming attack to be launched by the ‘Reinefarth Combat Group’. Werner Führer – member of the Command Staff of the 1st Battalion of Infantry School V, and later President of the West German Federal Administrative Court – recalled during a court hearing, ‘He told us … that the Poles had committed atrocities against German soldiers and underlined that we would be facing an enemy fighting with bitter ferocity.’85 Thus, in order to motivate his commanders, Reinefarth clearly invoked the image of Poland that we have come across so often – one based on the assumption of a special Polish affinity for violence that had supposedly plagued the Germans time and again. This shows once again the potency of this specific construct of Poland, which was spawned in the post-war struggles of the Freikorps, transmitted by a culture of remembrance of these conflicts and finally taken up and radicalized by Nazi propaganda in the run-up to the German invasion of Poland. Having got his commanders in the right frame of mind, Reinefarth informed them of their orders. According to Werner Führer, ‘the orders … were not issued in the way with which we, particularly as teacher officers, were familiar from weapons school’.86 They were, as Führer recalled, ‘a bit superficial on the whole’:87 ‘A very strong form of words was used. I might almost say that [Reinefarth] got a bit carried away.’88 Another participant recalled that the HSSPF had ordered his commanders ‘to put down the uprising with the utmost severity’;89 the Germans could ‘give no quarter in this conflict’.90 ‘Unit leaders who failed to muster up the right kind of drive’, Reinefarth continued, according to the witness, ‘would face a court martial for cowardice’.91 ‘No Mercy!’ Dimensions of Counter-insurgency After attuning his commanders mentally to the tasks to come, Reinefarth divided his units into a total of four attack groups. The ‘Attack Group Centre’ essentially consisted of the SS-Brigade Dirlewanger and was to advance from the west along Wolska Street and Litzmannstadt Street past Mirów Market to the Saxon Garden. The Attack Group North was meant to advance along Gorczewska Street and Leszno Street in parallel to Attack Group Centre

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before joining it in Warsaw’s old town. In the district of Ochota, ‘Attack Group South’, which mainly consisted of the SS-Brigade RONA, was to fight its way to the north-east along Grójecka Street. Finally, ‘Attack Group East’ was supposed to move eastwards to the north of Gerichtsstraße.92 The quantity of archival sources on the subsequent actions of the ‘Reinefarth Combat Group’ varies greatly, so that the events cannot be reconstructed in precise detail. The most ample sources are those relating to the SS-Brigade Dirlewanger, so my observations in what follows focus in particular on the acts of violence committed by this formation. In addition to post-war statements to West German public prosecutors the key source here is the eyewitness report by Matthias Schenk, who took part in the quelling of the Warsaw Uprising as a member of the 46th Pioneer Battalion.93 In the first few days of August, this unit was subordinate to the SS-Brigade Dirlewanger and was supposed to clear away all barriers to the latter’s advance. Schenk’s detailed report furnishes us with profound insights into the practice and dynamics of the violence unleashed by the brigade on 5 August and over the following days. In the early hours of 5 August, the ‘Reinefarth Combat Group’ began its assault on the districts of Wola and Ochota. Immediately before the attack began, Oskar Dirlewanger reminded his men of their obligations. Walter H., a former member of the brigade, recalled this speech under interrogation by West German public prosecutors: ‘Before we started combat operations on the first day of the mission, my comrades and I were told that we should leave behind scorched earth. … That we were instructed to leave behind scorched earth follows from the fact that we were issued with bottles of petrol. … But [he] also told us to shoot anything in the combat zone that “creeps and flies”; no quarter was to be given. I took this to mean that men, women and children were to be shot in the combat zone.’94 Another member of the brigade recalled Dirlewanger’s speech before the first attack in these words: ‘we were instructed [to proceed] as follows. Set fire to everything! Spare no one! Take no prisoners! We took this to mean that we should set fire to the houses and buildings along our route, that we should shoot at everything, including men, women, children and the elderly, that we should not only shoot at these people as we advanced but that we should also fire on them even if they were already to our rear.’95 With these instructions, the men of SS-Brigade Dirlewanger launched their attack on the first day of the operation, on 5 August 1944. What the units involved first came to understand was that the uprising posed a direct, mortal threat. Heavily inebriated, the men of the SS-Brigade Dirlewanger immediately attacked the Polish positions head-on: ‘With shouts of hurrah’, recalled Matthias Schenk, ‘they ran towards the buildings, coming under Polish fire just before they reached them. Dozens were killed,

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many wounded. They couldn’t gain a single metre either. Their commander threw a fit’.96 This indicates a certain inability on the part of the battalion to adapt to the basic realities of partisan warfare in an urban setting. What had worked well in the remote, sparsely populated regions of the Belarusian forests – the storming of hamlets and villages – turned out to be fatal in a densely populated city when confronted by an armed, entrenched and highly motivated opponent. Since the first advance had to be stopped so suddenly, the men of the SS-Brigade Dirlewanger used the ‘band-fighting knowledge’ that they had acquired over many years and resorted to a technique that had been part of their standard repertoire in Belarus: the use of civilians as human shields to avoid enemy fire.97 ‘From the surrounding settlements’, Schenk stated, ‘the SS rounded up women and children, everything that moved’.98 The civilians were then forced to approach the barricade at gunpoint: ‘It was terrible. Fleeing, screaming civilians were shot or beaten to death.’99 As the Polish insurgents withdrew in the face of this scenario, the SS-Brigade Dirlewanger and the 46th Pioneer Battalion finally achieved a breakthrough. While the latter pursued the insurgents, the former fell back and – house by house – ‘cleansed’ the area that had just been taken. As a result of the preceding events, this was by no means done in an unemotional way – as Paul F. recalled; the German soldiers had ‘flown into a rage’.100 Apparently, from the perspective of the SS-Brigade Dirlewanger, the sobering experience of the first attack on Polish positions legitimized the extreme orders issued shortly before. They seemed appropriate, especially in view of their own losses, and were implemented in radical fashion. As Peter E., a former member of the brigade, recalled, they ‘fired at everyone encountered in the buildings’.101 Harrowing scenes must have ensued, resulting in ‘terrible carnage’.102 This is how the SS-Brigade Dirlewanger, but also all other units,103 advanced in the first few days of their deployment. Anyone who approached them was shot: ‘Therefore, we shot men, women and children. We fired at them if they came towards us. But we also shot them when they were already at our rear. They were taken into shops whose windows had been smashed and shot. They were led into doorways and shot. They were taken into courtyards and shot’,104 stated Franz H., summing up the brigade’s modus operandi in the first few days. In the early hours of 6 August, in a telephone conversation, Reinefarth answered General von Vormann’s enquiry regarding the current situation as follows: ‘Situation? Slow. What am I supposed to do with the civilians? Have more prisoners than ammunition.’105 He also stated that ‘more than 10,000’106 people had been shot on the first day alone. Polish investigators later reconstructed forty-one mass graves in an area of 500 square metres on Wolska Street alone.

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Before long, corpses piled up in the streets of Warsaw such that the ‘Reinefarth Combat Group’ began to combine – at least, in certain cases – the mass shootings with the immediate removal of the bodies.107 The SS-Brigade Dirlewanger dug several large pits on a sports ground, laying two iron girders across them at intervals of one metre; these were connected to the edge of the pit by a walkway. Several groups of around thirty Poles, including women and children, were herded into the sports ground, where they had to strip naked. One by one, the men of the brigade drove them across the walkways. They were forced to lie on the iron girders so they could be killed with a shot to the back of the neck. A rotation system was introduced for those manning the pits, with new shooters appearing at regular intervals. As soon as the piles of corpses on the iron girders had reached a certain height, the men of SS-Brigade Dirlewanger doused them with petrol and set them on fire. They then used iron bars to push the burning piles of corpses off the girders into the pit. ‘At times’, remembered Walter F., ‘people who had not … been killed broke out of the burning pile of corpses and tried to run across the square as flaming torches’.108 The massacres during the advance, but also during the combing-through stage, had to be carried out fairly quickly: time was of the essence and it was vital to maintain contact with the Pionieer Battalion. However, some massacres followed a fundamentally different rhythm. During those carried out in hospitals and churches, the SS-Brigade Dirlewanger allowed itself plenty of time to use multiple forms of violence against defenceless victims. The men involved indulged in orgies of unrestrained violence. In hospitals, for example, the brigade first shot all the sick and wounded in their beds. In this setting, nurses in particular fell victim to various forms of sexual violence. Typically, the men tore their clothes off and took turns raping them multiple times.109 The historical record includes reports that make clear just how boundless the brigade’s violence could be if it took its time. Some men did not stop at rape but are said to have inserted hand grenades into the vaginas of rape victims and blown them to pieces.110 In other cases, the men staged veritable spectacles in which they held ‘a shouting and flute concerto’111 in order to enjoy the driving of naked nurses to the gallows. The boundless nature of the violence had now assumed such dimensions that the German leadership felt compelled to intervene. The command level, newly installed on 6 August 1944 under Erich von dem Bach-Zelewski, revoked Himmler’s radical instructions to kill, gradually reining the zone of permissible violence back in over the next few days: ‘SS leadership has decided to stop killing everything’,112 stated the 9th AOK, for example. Women and children in particular were no longer to be shot. In so doing, von dem BachZelewski – as Włodzimierz Borodziej has emphasized – undoubtedly ‘scaled back the bloodbath in at least one respect’.113 But humanitarian motives were

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of secondary importance here. First and foremost, von dem Bach-Zelewski feared that there was no prospect of the insurgents surrendering or of an end to the fighting as long as the Home Army men assumed they would simply be killed if they laid down their arms. At the same time, the German leadership was concerned about possible negative effects on ‘manly self-control’. When it became known, for example, that members of the SS-Brigade RONA ‘also rape Reich German women and [shoot]’114 them afterwards, a boundary had evidently been crossed that was no longer acceptable. Finally, as we have seen in other contexts, counterpartisan measures during the quelling of the Warsaw Uprising were linked to the rounding up of forced labourers. Apparently, by the beginning of August, Hitler had recognized the uprising as an opportunity to replenish the reservoir of forced labour, and is said to have told the supreme commander of the 9th Army that he could use ‘another million people’.115 Tens of thousands of Warsaw residents were in fact deported from the city to perform forced labour following the rescinding of the extermination order. However, von dem Bach-Zelewski’s initiative in no way meant that the massacres ceased completely. ‘Band-fighting’ in urban areas had by now developed its own dynamic, which repeatedly eluded attempts to rein it in and led to massacres such as the use of flamethrowers to murder 7,000 wounded in field hospitals.116 In addition, mass shootings of Polish men continued under the leadership of von dem Bach-Zelewski. Two formations in particular stood out here: in addition to Sonderkommando 7a under the leadership of SS-Sturmbannführer Gerhard Bast,117 it was above all the Sicherheitspolizei Einsatzkommando, commanded by SS-Hauptsturmführer Alfred Spilker, that was most active in this context. Spilker had previously headed a special unit under the BdS Krakow to combat Polish resistance structures and had become ‘the most dangerous adversary of the Polish resistance in the General Government’.118 He was in charge of a motley unit made up of members of the Stapo and Kripo headquarters in the Warthegau as well as the KdS of Warsaw, Radom and Lublin.119 This practice of murder was to continue until the end of the uprising. It was not until 2 October 1944 that Komorowski signed the surrender document. In sixty-three days, the German troops had turned Warsaw into a mass grave. According to current estimates, the number of Polish victims stands at between 150,000 and 180,000 people – around 90 per cent of whom were civilians.120 Immediately after the bloody suppression of the uprising, the German occupation authorities began the total evacuation of the city: around 300,000 survivors were expelled, 90,000 Warsaw residents were deported to perform forced labour and around 60,000 were transported to various concentration camps.121 After this mass evacuation, Himmler ordered the final destruction of the city: with flamethrowers and

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grenades, German demolition squads systematically destroyed the remaining buildings, one by one, street by street. In retrospect, the Reichsführer-SS defended this approach: ‘Furthermore, I simultaneously gave the order for Warsaw to be completely destroyed. Now, you may imagine me to be a terrible barbarian. If you wish, yes, I am, if needs must.’122 It was only when the Soviets marched in on 17 January 1945 that this incineration of the Polish capital ended. When the first soldiers of the Red Army crossed the Vistula, Warsaw city centre in particular resembled an almost unreal scene of destruction. Von dem Bach-Zelewski and Reinefarth were ultimately awarded the Knight’s Cross for putting down the Warsaw Uprising. The latter personally pushed for Oskar Dirlewanger to receive the same honour: hailing his ‘boldness and cold-bloodedness’,123 he counted him ‘among the bravest of the brave’.124 It was thanks to Dirlewanger’s ‘tactical skills’125 and ‘tremendous drive’126 that ‘pockets of resistance’127 could be crushed and the ‘daily targets’128 set for the troops achieved. Reinefarth got his way. On 8 October 1944, Dirlewanger finally received the Knight’s Cross for ‘outstanding services rendered in putting down the Warsaw Uprising’.129 The transfer of personnel and methods through which the violent practice of ‘band-fighting’ was extended to an urban centre generated an almost unbelievable amount of violence, especially during the first few days of the attack. This was violence that RFSS Heinrich Himmler required to fulfil his ‘historical mission’ and that was delivered by the ‘Reinefarth Combat Group’. The troops within the combat group ‘experienced in band-fighting’, meanwhile, had to adjust to a new set of conditions: a dense population, a much slower advance and the mortal danger of the situation. The answer to all these challenges was essentially the same: the use of mass violence, culminating in a series of massacres of Polish civilians.

Notes 1. The following remarks are based on Czesław Miłosz, West und Östliches Gelände (Cologne, 1980), 283ff.; see also Norman Davies, Rising ’44: The Battle for Warsaw (New York, 2003), 255, for the following English translations of Miłosz’s remarks. 2. Miłosz, Gelände, 283ff. 3. Ibid. 4. Ibid. 5. Ibid. 6. Ibid. 7. Ibid. 8. For an overview of the state of research, see Grzegorz Mazur, ‘Die politischen Gründe für die Auslösung des Warschauer Aufstandes’, in Hans-Jürgen Bömelburg, Eugeniusz

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Cezary Król and Michael Thomae (eds), Der Warschauer Aufstand 1944. Ereignis und Wahrnehmung in Polen und Deutschland (Paderborn, 2011), 23–44. 9. Borodziej, Geschichte, 246ff. 10. ‘Armia Krajowa w dokumentach, vol. 3, 210–213’; quoted in Mazur, ‘Gründe’, 24. 11. Ibid., 23. 12. Włodzimierz Borodziej, Der Warschauer Aufstand 1944 (Frankfurt am Main, 2004), 72f. 13. Bernd Martin, ‘Die internationale Lage im Sommer 1944: Interalliierte Zusammenarbeit – Anfänge des Kalten Krieges’, in Bernd Martin and Stanisława Lewandowska (eds), Der Warschauer Aufstand 1944 (Warsaw, 1999), 39–56, here 45. 14. Jost Dülffer, ‘Die Einstellung der USA und Großbritanniens: Hilfloses Zögern’, in Bernd Martin and Stanisława Lewandowska (eds), Der Warschauer Aufstand 1944 (Warsaw, 1999), 177–94, here 177. 15. Borodziej, Aufstand, 73; Mazur, ‘Gründe’, 23. 16. Hanns von Krannhals, Der Warschauer Aufstand 1944 (Frankfurt am Main, 1962), 67–72; Borodziej, Aufstand, 82–93; Mazur, ‘Gründe’, 25–28. 17. Von Krannhals, Aufstand, 73–76; Mazur, ‘Gründe’, 29f. 18. Mazur, ‘Gründe’, 29. 19. Ibid. 20. Ibid., 31. 21. Von Krannhals, Aufstand, 75. 22. Quoted in Mazur, ‘Gründe’, 33. 23. Ibid. 24. Quoted in ibid. 25. Borodziej, Geschichte, 248. 26. Mazur, ‘Gründe’, 39. 27. Borodziej, Geschichte, 248. 28. Ibid. 29. Mazur, ‘Gründe’, 39. 30. Borodziej, Aufstand, 104. 31. Mazur, ‘Gründe’, 40. 32. Quoted in ibid. 33. Mazur, ‘Gründe’, 34. 34. Operation ‘Bagration’ began on 22 June 1944 and lasted for seven weeks. During this time the Army Group Centre lost around 390,000 men. See Karl-Heinz Frieser, ‘Ein zweites “Wunder an der Weichsel”? Die Panzerschlacht vor Warschau im August 1944 und ihre Folgen’, in Hans-Jürgen Bömelburg, Eugeniusz Cezary Król and Michael Thomae (eds), Der Warschauer Aufstand 1944. Ereignis und Wahrnehmung in Polen und Deutschland (Paderborn, 2011), 45–64, here 46. 35. Mazur, ‘Gründe’, 32. 36. Frieser, ‘Wunder an der Weichsel’, 63. 37. Ibid. 38. Ibid., 51–53. 39. Ibid., 51. 40. Ibid. 41. Ibid., 55. 42. There have been heated debates on Stalin’s desire to occupy the Polish capital. In this context, too, Frieser’s observations are instructive: Stalin undoubtedly wished to occupy Warsaw but was unable to do so due to the success of Model’s surprise counter-attack.

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43.

44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58.

59.

60. 61. 62. 63. 64.

Following this event, however, there are many indications that Stalin no longer wanted to occupy Warsaw as quickly as possible. See ibid., 60–62; Borodziej, Aufstand, 126– 39. Ostdeutscher Beobachter, 5 November 1944 (my thanks to Dieter Pohl for alerting me to this document); Philipp Marti, Der Fall Reinefarth. Eine biografische Studie zum öffentlichen und juristischen Umgang mit der NS-Vergangenheit (Neumünster and Hamburg, 2014), 67f. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Martin Kohlrausch, ‘Warschau im Zweiten Weltkrieg – Besatzung und nationalsozialistische Stadtplanung’, in Fritz Mayrhofer and Ferdinand Opll (eds), Stadt und Nationalsozialismus (Linz, 2008), 23–43, here 31. In the course of the occupation, this led to a variety of plans to modify the city and a considerable decrease in the size of Warsaw. See Niels Gutschow and Barbara Klain, Vernichtung und Utopie. Stadtplanung Warschau 1939–1945 (Hamburg, 1994). This tendency was reinforced from autumn 1939 onwards by expulsions and deportations from the new Reichsgaue of Wartheland and Danzig-West Prussia. See Kohlrausch, ‘Warschau’, 31; Szarota, Hakenkreuz. ‘Rede Himmlers vor Wehrkreisbefehlshabern und Schulkommandeuren in Jägerhöhe, 21.9.1944’, quoted in von Krannhals, Aufstand, 309. Christian Ingrao, The SS Dirlewanger Brigade. The History of the Black Hunters (New York, 2011), 158–59. It is remarkable that the relevant selective bibliography on the history of the Warsaw Uprising comprises five volumes, yet key questions concerning actors, conditions and the practice of violence by German troops during the uprising have evidently yet to be answered. There are countless detailed chronicles for every quarter of the city, but these lexical studies concentrate predominantly on the perspective of the Polish insurgents. A history of the perpetrators remains to be written. See Henzel, Powstanie; HansJürgen Bömelburg and Eugeniusz Cezary Król, ‘Einleitung’, in Bömelburg, Król and Thomae (eds), Der Warschauer Aufstand 1944. Ereignis und Wahrnehmung in Polen und Deutschland (Paderborn, 2011), 19; Lehnstaedt, Okkupation, 297. Hans Umbreit, ‘Wehrmachtsverbände und Sondereinheiten im Kampf gegen die Aufständischen und die Zivilbevölkerung: Planloser Terror oder militärisches Kalkül?’, in Bernd Martin and Stanisława Lewandowska (eds), Der Warschauer Aufstand 1944 (Warsaw, 1999), 141–52, here 142. Von Krannhals, Aufstand, 92. On what follows, see Ingrao, Brigade, 154ff. Von Krannhals, Aufstand, 91. Ibid. This seems to have been an emergency solution, as there were hardly any SS and police units available in or near Warsaw. Himmler thus opted for ‘literally what was closest at hand’. See von Krannhals, Aufstand, 124.

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65. The following remarks are based on StA Flensburg, Einstellungsverfügung (Order for withdrawal of prosecution), 22.11.1966, BAL, B 162/19819, fol. 3–6; for a detailed account of Reinefarth, see Marti, Fall. 66. Marti, Fall, 56. 67. Ibid. 68. See ibid., 55–58; von Krannhals, Aufstand, 124–28. 69. StA Flensburg, Einstellungsverfügung (Order for withdrawal of prosecution), 22.11.1966, BAL, B 162/19819, fol. 3–6. 70. Marti, Fall, 313. 71. Hanns von Krannhals has emphasized the fact that ‘almost half of these newly arriving troops did not speak German but wore German uniforms’. See von Krannhals, Aufstand, 127. 72. Borodziej, Aufstand, 119–20; Hans-Peter Klausch, Antifaschisten in SS-Uniform. Schicksal und Widerstand der deutschen politischen KZ-Häftlinge, Zuchthaus- und Wehrmachtgefangenen in der SS-Sonderformation Dirlewanger (Bremen, 1993), 105–7. 73. Umbreit, ‘Wehrmachtsverbände’, 149ff. 74. Marti, Fall, 58; von Krannhals, Aufstand, 127. 75. Knut Stang, ‘Dr. Oskar Dirlewanger – Protagonist der Terrorkriegsführung’, in Gerhard Paul and Klaus-Michael Mallmann (eds), Karrieren der Gewalt. Nationalsozialistische Täterbiographien (Darmstadt, 2004), 66–75, here 66. 76. Ibid. 77. For a comprehensive account, see Ingrao, Brigade; Klausch, Antifaschisten; Stang, ‘Protagonist’. 78. Von Krannhals, Aufstand, 127. 79. StA Flensburg, Einstellungsverfügung (Order for withdrawal of prosecution), 22.11.1966, BAL, B 162/19819, fol. 227. 80. Ibid., 228. 81. Ibid. 82. Ibid., 227. 83. Ibid. 84. Quoted in Borodziej, Aufstand, 121f. 85. StA Flensburg, Einstellungsverfügung (Order for withdrawal of prosecution), 22.11.1966, BAL, B 162/19819, fol. 243. 86. Ibid. 87. Ibid. 88. Ibid. 89. Ibid., fol. 229. 90. Ibid. 91. Ibid. 92. Ibid., fol. 13f. 93. This report can be found in Klausch, Antifaschisten, 105–20. 94. Aussage (Statement) Walter H., 23.1.1963, BAL, B 162/Dok. Slg. 493 (Sonderband Dirlewanger), fol. 175f. 95. Aussage (Statement) Franz H., 29.1.1963, ibid., fol. 160. 96. ‘Bericht von Matthias Schenk’, quoted in Klausch, Antifaschisten, 108. 97. Ingrao, Brigade, 125–53. 98. ‘Bericht von Matthias Schenk’, quoted in Klausch, Antifaschisten, 108. 99. Ibid.

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100. Aussage (Statement) Paul F., 11.4.1962, BAL, B 162/Dok. Slg. 492 (Sonderband Dirlewanger IV), fol. 63. 101. Aussage (Statement) Peter E., 28.2.1963, ibid., fol. 76. 102. ‘Bericht von Matthias Schenk’, quoted in Klausch, Antifaschisten, 108. 103. StA Flensburg, Einstellungsverfügung (Order for withdrawal of prosecution), 22.11.1966, BAL, B 162/19819, fol. 24–86. 104. Aussage (Statement) Franz H., 29.1.1963, ibid. 105. StA Flensburg, Einstellungsverfügung (Order for withdrawal of prosecution), 22.11.1966, BAL, B 162/19819, fol. 249f. 106. Ibid., fol. 250. 107. Aussage (Statement) Walter F., 23.11.1961, BAL, B 162/Dok. Slg. 493 (Sonderband Dirlewanger V), fol. 9; see also Tomasz Szarota, Karuzela na Placu Krasińskich. Studia i szkice z lat wojny i okupacji (Warsaw, 2007), 389–92. 108. Aussage (Statement) Walter F., 23.11.1961, BAL, B 162/Dok. Slg. 493 (Sonderband Dirlewanger V), fol. 9. 109. ‘Bericht von Matthias Schenk’, quoted in Klausch, Antifaschisten, 113. 110. Ingrao, Brigade, 158. 111. Ibid. 112. StA Flensburg, Einstellungsverfügung (Order for withdrawal of prosecution), 22.11.1966, BAL, B 162/19819, fol. 259. 113. Borodziej, Aufstand, 123. 114. Fernschreiben AOK 9 an SS-Obergruppenführer von dem Bach (Telex AOK 9 to SS-Obergruppenführer von dem Bach), 8.8.1944, 12.10 Uhr, BA-MA, RH 20–9/219. 115. StA Flensburg, Einstellungsverfügung (Order for withdrawal of prosecution), 22.11.1966, BAL, B 162/19819, fol. 249f. 116. Snyder, Bloodlands, 304. 117. For comprehensive information on Bast, see Matthias Gafke, Heydrichs Ostmärker. Das österreichische Führungspersonal der Sicherheitspolizei und des SD 1939–1945 (Darmstadt, 2015), 202–24. 118. Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 23; an analysis of Spilker’s activities at the BdS Krakau can be found in Borodziej, Terror, 47f.; the activities of the Einsatzkommando in Warsaw are documented in BAB, R 70 Polen/75. 119. Marti, Fall, 314f. 120. Bömelburg and Król, ‘Einleitung’, 14. 121. On the figures, see ibid. 122. ‘Rede Himmlers vor Wehrkreisbefehlshabern und Schulkommandeuren in Jägerhöhe, 21.9.1944’, quoted in von Krannhals, Aufstand, 309. 123. Vorschlag für die Verleihung des Ritterkreuzes an Dirlewanger (Proposal for the award of the Knight’s Cross to Dirlewanger), 10.9.1944, BAB, BDC, SSO Oskar Dirlewanger; Marti, Fall, 316. 124. Ibid. 125. Ibid. 126. Ibid. 127. Ibid. 128. Ibid. 129. First noted in Klausch, Antifaschisten, 120.

Part III

Coming to Terms with the Past after 1945

Violence was undoubtedly the constitutive medium of Nazi rule in Poland. The conquest of Polish territories, the establishment of a new spatial order, the exploitation of resources and the establishment of a racist stratificatory order were essentially based on the carrying out of massacres; the same may be said of the strategies intended to maintain and stabilize German rule. Ultimately, however, all this violence proved useless: outside violence – namely, the military pressure brought to bear by the Allies – had a far greater impact. The violence of the war now rebounded on its originator, gradually narrowed the territory under German control and destroyed the Nazi empire. The use of violence could not stop this process from happening.1 In the spring of 1945, the last German occupation troops departed from Polish territory. They left behind ravaged landscapes, broken lives and mountains of corpses. No country was exposed to Nazi violence longer than Poland was: on every single day of the occupation, an average of more than two thousand citizens of the Second Polish Republic lost their lives.2 From the perspective of the Polish society of survivors, the withdrawal of the Nazi occupation personnel to the west was a significant turning point: no German, to put it bluntly, could subject them to violence or suffering any longer. The era of German massacres of Polish civilians was unambiguously over.3 For the Polish people, the year 1945 was primarily associated with relief: a sense of being able to breathe again, and to hope. For the perpetrators, meanwhile, ‘1945’ primarily triggered feelings of disappointment, loss and fear of the future. For violent German actors, the year marked a rupture in

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two respects. First, it meant a withdrawal from a zone of violence in which civilized norms of behaviour had largely been suspended. The conquest of Poland had opened up new realms of opportunity in which the use of various forms of violence became an attractive form of social action at the individual level. Within this specific milieu, multiple forms of violence were considered an acceptable and necessary way of dealing with the Polish people. The year 1945, then, primarily meant taking leave of a way of life based on the freedom of the ‘master race’ to do anything it liked to the Poles. Against this background, individuals’ departure required them to readjust their behaviour patterns and refamiliarize themselves with the norms and values of a bourgeois order.4 Second, ‘1945’ was associated with anxious glances into an uncertain future. For many Germans leaving occupied Poland, their main concern was not the need to build a new life, to find a livelihood and perhaps to build a bourgeois existence in a defeated and occupied country; it was their awareness that what they had done might now be classified and punished as criminal acts. Hence, the year 1945 not only marked the end of Nazi fantasies of order and licences for violence but also implied the prospect of sweeping criminalization and condemnation of the practice of violence in occupied Poland. This prompted some of the leading protagonists to end their own lives. HSSPF Krüger, for example, committed suicide – as did the SSPF Lublin, Odilo Globocnik.5 Other precariously positioned representatives of the Nazi system of violence were immediately interned and convicted by Allied courts. Hans Frank, for example, was sentenced to death as part of the Nuremberg trials of the major war criminals.6 Most of them, however, went underground, rearranged their lives and set off in search of the oft-invoked second chance that they hoped would facilitate a fresh start in the post-Nazi era. Against this background, in what follows I analyse the German approach to massacres of Polish civilians through the prism of criminal prosecution. This allows us to explore social discourses, political parameters and legal problems after 1945 as part of an interconnected whole. The basis of the following observations is the assumption that while ‘1945’ undoubtedly features aspects of historical rupture, we can also discern elements of continuity. For example, certain patterns of perception and interpretation proved remarkably hard to dislodge despite the supposed caesura of 1945 – such as the victimizing trope centred on an alleged Polish affinity for violence and German suffering and, closely related to it, the idea that German massacres were a legitimate reaction to Polish acts of violence. There is no room here for a comprehensive account of legal attempts to get to grips with the events of what was then the recent past.7 Instead, once again I seek to bring out key, typical phenomena that reveal the basic structures of these legal efforts. First, the following chapter scrutinizes the

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legal prosecution of Nazi crimes in the new People’s Republic of Poland and, in this context, provides insights into Polish courts’ sentencing practices and the extradition of Nazi criminals from the Allied occupation zones. I then analyse how the West German justice system dealt with massacres of ethnic Poles. Here, I address the fundamental problems and challenges involved in the judicial process as well as individual trials and their social environment.

Notes 1. Ian Kershaw, The End: Hitler’s Germany 1944–45 (London, 2011). 2. Brewing, ‘Viktimisierung’, 279. This calculation is based on figures suggesting that in the 2,078 days of German rule, around three million Polish Jews and around one million ethnic Poles lost their lives. 3. However, it should be noted that the ‘liberation’ of Poland by the soldiers of the Red Army had ambivalent features. There was a tremendous sense of relief that Poland had been freed from the German yoke, yet the invasion of the Red Army implied the integration of Poland into the Soviet domain. The Sovietization of Poland from 1944 to 1948 was associated with multiple processes of violence directed chiefly against ‘national’ or ‘bourgeois’ resistance groups. See Gontarczyk, Polska; Meyer, Legitimationsstrategien. 4. See Christina Ullrich ‘Ich fühl’ mich nicht als Mörder’. Die Integration von NS-Tätern in die Nachkriegsgesellschaft (Darmstadt, 2011). 5. For more on this subject, see Christian Goeschel, ‘Suicide at the End of the Third Reich’, Journal of Contemporary History 41 (2006), 153–73. 6. Erich von dem Bach-Zelewski, of all people, appeared as a witness for the prosecution, seriously incriminating the accused in the course of the proceedings. The latter then demanded – not without good reason – that their defence lawyers point out ‘what a bloodthirsty pig’ he himself had been. Quoted in Gustave M. Gilbert, Nürnberger Tagebuch (Frankfurt am Main, 1962), 115. Because of his cooperation in court, von dem Bach-Zeleweski was neither extradited nor charged by the Allies. The West German justice system, however, investigated him in connection with various murders in 1933–34 and finally sentenced him to life in prison. His activities as head of the band-fighting units and as HSSPF Russia-Centre went unpunished. Angrick, ‘Himmlers Mann’, 43. 7. A comprehensive study of this topic is a key research desideratum.

Chapter 9

Extradition and Punishment Poland, the Allies and German Perpetrators

 Given the experience of extreme violence under Nazi rule, calls for revenge and retribution rapidly grew loud within Polish society.1 The Polish underground movement responded to these wishes and longings by sentencing to death, before underground courts, individual German occupation officials who had stood out as particularly violent.2 These verdicts, which were simultaneously meant to symbolize the enduring strength of the Polish resistance movement, were enforced through a large number of assassinations. For example, the SSPF Warsaw, Franz Kutschera, was killed after an underground court sentenced him to death.3 In parallel to this, the Polish government in exile and the bourgeois underground movement worked tirelessly, from 1939 onwards, to create a foundation for the criminal prosecution of war and occupation-related crimes after the end of the conflict. In essence, we can distinguish three strategies here. (1) Attempts were made to secure evidence of German crimes, to identify specific acts and perpetrators, and to collect statements from witnesses in order to create a basis for future criminal prosecution. Through countless appeals in the underground press, the government in exile and the underground movement also called on the Polish people to help advance this mission; in order to ensure that those responsible received fitting punishment, the goal was to involve Poles in the investigation of criminal acts at an early stage. This was a vast project of compilation

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encompassing recollections, reports, documents and sometimes photographs of relevance to a multitude of complexes of violence.4   At an early stage, the Polish government in exile also endeavoured to establish binding international guidelines on the punishment of Nazi crimes. To this end, it was in constant contact with other governments in exile, which collectively put pressure on the Allies. These efforts ultimately resulted in the establishment of the United Nations War Crimes Commission (UNWCC), which was tasked with developing binding principles for the prosecution of Nazi crimes and was concurrently supposed to function as the central coordinating agency for the investigation of individual perpetrators. Crucial here were the war-crimes lists, which were drawn up on the basis of reports from national authorities. By 1947, sixty lists had been compiled in this way, which included the names of around 28,000 people. The Polish authorities had submitted more than 6,000 names.5 Ultimately, these diverse efforts led to the signing of the Moscow Declaration on 30 October 1943, through which the Allies enabled the extradition of Nazi criminals to those countries where they had committed their crimes so that they could be brought to justice there.6 This, at least potentially, should have given Poland comprehensive access to all former functionaries of the German occupation apparatus who were guilty of various crimes in occupied Poland.7   After the German defeat, however, the parameters of the prosecution of German war and occupation-related crimes in Poland shifted. We can isolate analytically the individual elements that were to shape the process of legal prosecution, but these were closely linked in historical reality. First, the end of the war and the liberation of Poland from German rule did not lead to the establishment of a free and independent state as envisaged by the government in exile and the bourgeoisnational resistance groups. Instead, Poland was incorporated into the Soviet empire so that communist structures of rule were gradually established there after 1944–45. As a result, Poland was the scene of the violent repression and persecution of members of the bourgeoisnational resistance by the communist security apparatus, especially between 1945 and 1947.8 (2) Polish nationality policies from 1944 onwards came to be dominated by the notion of an ethnically pure nation state. Only a purely Polish state, key Polish power holders reasoned, could be successful in the future. In particular, continued cohabitation with the country’s German minority was considered impossible in virtually every political camp and social class. There was a growing desire for the complete removal of this group, which ultimately culminated in violent expulsions and resettlements.9 We have to locate these processes within the overarching context of

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international developments – particularly, the ever-worsening relations between the Western Allies and the Soviet Union, the gradual hardening of the associated political fronts and the new global political constellation of the Cold War. These developments were closely linked to a readjustment of US and British policy on West Germany, which increasingly viewed the country as a ‘bulwark against Bolshevism’ in such a way that it gradually developed from pariah to partner.10 At different times and to varying degrees, these aspects were to shape the Polish prosecution of Nazi crimes after the Second World War. They constituted the framework for Polish efforts to ensure legal punishment for crimes committed under German rule. (3) The communist rulers had two broad groups in their sights. First, the functionaries of the German occupation apparatus were to be brought to justice. This group subdivided chiefly into members of the various levels of civil administration and the men of the SS and police apparatus. But it also included the ethnic Germans, who were viewed collectively as pillars of occupation rule. Second, the communist regime aimed to prosecute Polish ‘collaborators’. This open-ended, by no means clear-cut category was intended to cover not only members of the Polish police, informers and extortionists but also individuals who had operated within the milieu of the German administration – such as pub owners and village mayors, landowners, hairdressers and prostitutes.11 The crucial law concerning punishment of war and occupation-related crimes in the new Poland, enacted by the Polish communists in August 1944, reflects this twofold thrust: the so-called August Decree was primarily aimed at punishing the ‘Hitlerite fascist criminals guilty of killing and mistreating the civilian population and prisoners of war’. At the same time, possible ‘traitors to the Polish nation’ were also to be brought to justice.12 The focus of Polish criminal law in the post-war years, however, was undoubtedly on the prosecution of genuine and alleged collaborators: around 20,000 people were convicted with reference to the August Decree. These included around 5,000 Germans, roughly 25 percent of those sentenced.13 Thus, the vast majority had not been members of the German occupation apparatus but were non-German suspects accused of various forms of collaboration, denunciation or membership of the Polish police or auxiliary police formations. Those facing the new Polish courts, then, were not primarily the Germans who had held positions of power but Poles accused of weakness, opportunism and individual transgressions. These people – rather than the German perpetrators – were to be the numerically largest group in the context of Polish efforts to come to terms with war and occupation-related crimes.14

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Three factors were crucial to what seems at first glance an astonishing finding. First, as Edmund Dmitrów has brought out, these figures undoubtedly reflect ‘“bottom-up” initiatives for the self-purification of society’.15 In a country in which the many had suffered from German violence, those who had aligned themselves with the occupiers or supported them, in whatever form, aroused particular contempt. At the same time, a tough crackdown on alleged collaborators gave the country’s new communist rulers the opportunity to gain the acceptance and trust of the Polish people. Second, these numbers have to be seen against the background of the establishment of communist rule in Poland in another sense too. It is no coincidence that most of the trials took place between 1945 and 1947, which was also a key phase in the repression and persecution of the bourgeoisnational opposition by communist security forces.16 Many members of the Home Army, for example, had to stand trial on the basis of the August Decree. The document thus proved a flexible tool for the securing of communist rule.17 Third, we need to bear in mind a factor that is seemingly obvious: non-German suspects were the group to which the communist lawenforcement authorities had direct access. While the German perpetrators had generally taken refuge in the west, most alleged collaborators had not fled and probably saw no reason to flee. For this pragmatic reason, too, the prosecution of war and occupation-related crimes in Poland chiefly targeted all those non-Germans who could be accused of various forms of collaboration.18 To get at the real initiators of the violence, the Polish authorities had to pursue other avenues – and here, they were dependent on the support of external actors. Most of the functionaries of the German occupation apparatus had managed to flee westwards from the approaching Red Army; they found themselves in the Allied occupation zones when Germany surrendered. While they had removed themselves from the ambit of the Polish justice system, the Moscow Declaration made it possible for Nazi criminals to be extradited from the Allied occupation zones to the People’s Republic of Poland. To this end, the communist rulers first established the Central Commission for the Investigation of German Crimes in Poland, whose members were faced with the complex task of documenting German crimes, isolating individual criminal complexes and identifying specific perpetrators.19 They collected documents, sent out questionnaires to every corner of the country and questioned survivors in local settings. Over the course of time, this gave rise to a central register of war criminals that recorded all those identified as participants in various crimes in occupied Poland. This war-criminals register in turn became the basis for the work of the Polish Military Mission for the Investigation of German War Crimes, which was tasked with coordinating the extradition of Nazi criminals from the various occupation zones. This

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body entered into negotiations with the Allied occupying powers, which could decide independently which individuals were extradited as the Allies had been unable to agree on a unified set of procedural rules in the Moscow Declaration.20 The extradition of Nazi criminals thus depended primarily on the attitudes and calculations of the Allied occupying powers, which by no means dealt uniformly with Polish extradition requests. We can distinguish two basic phases here. Between 1945 and 1947, requests by the Polish Military Mission for the extradition of certain individuals were given sympathetic consideration. In principle – as the US government, for example, resolved – all suspected Nazi criminals were to be extradited to Poland on the basis of a detailed report on the offences involved, with no need to submit prima facie evidence.21 From 1947 onwards, however, this goodwill was gradually transformed into an increasingly negative attitude towards Polish extradition requests. Two aspects are crucial here. First, the practice of extradition became increasingly problematic due to the looming Cold War. As the rivalry between capitalism and communism heated up, the US occupation authorities – for example – became ever less willing to hand over former German occupation officials to the Soviet Union and its ‘slave satellite states’.22 These individuals were now regarded as bearers of important information, as experts on Eastern Europe whose knowledge it was vital to tap.23 By the same token, the Western powers aimed to make West Germany an ally in the conflict with the Soviet Union. The general cessation of extradition in this context offered an opportunity to use concessions to gain the support of broad social and political circles: the dispatch of Nazi criminals to Poland was widely disdained within West German society. In an article entitled ‘Better dead than at the mercy of the Poles’,24 for example, Die Zeit assailed the practice of extradition with reference to fictional horror stories about the treatment of Germans; the reader learned that the extradited had to perform backbreaking forced labour, that they were mistreated and tortured and sometimes even killed by their Polish guards. ‘And these things happen’, the article went on, ‘under the banner of fighting crimes against humanity’.25 This text is revealing in several respects. It stands in continuity with the trope centred on a Polish affinity for violence and German suffering. In addition – and closely bound up with this image – German conduct between 1939 and 1945 was clearly projected onto the Polish prosecuting authorities in an attempt to delegitimize the prosecution of German crimes. In this social climate, concessions such as decelerating or ceasing extradition offered the US occupying power the opportunity to gain prestige and trust. In these changing times, the Allies now tightened up their extradition requirements. From 1948 onwards, even prima facie evidence was no longer sufficient to extradite a suspect. Here, the Allies often justified their actions to

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the Polish Military Mission with reference to the supposedly purely reactive – in other words, understandable and legitimate – conduct of the German occupation forces in Poland. US occupation officials initially responded positively to one Polish application for the extradition of a former SS man accused of participating in various massacres: ‘There were several depositions to indicate that this [involvement in massacres of the Polish civilian population] was so.’26 In the next sentence, however, a crucial qualification was introduced: ‘[B]ut there was no proof that the individuals executed had not been connected with the Polish resistance movement or otherwise guilty of acts against the occupying power.’27 The Polish extradition request was thus rejected. In essence, this was nothing but ex post facto legitimization by the Allies of all massacres of the Polish civilian population committed in the context of ‘band-fighting’. The Americans thus implicitly adopted the self-interpretation of violent Nazi actors, who had of course viewed their own actions in the context of ‘band-fighting’ as justified measures intended to restore peace and order. From the perspective of the US occupation authorities, mere participation in massacres was no longer a sufficient reason to approve extradition to the People’s Republic of Poland. To put it bluntly, in assessing Nazi violence they introduced a distinction between legitimate and illegitimate massacres. The fact that the violence involved in Nazi ‘bandfighting’ was directed primarily against defenceless civilians was lost from sight in this line of argument. At the same time, even years later, this trope was to have a decisive influence on the actions of the West German prosecuting authorities – leading to cases in which legal proceedings were terminated in a quite scandalous way. The number of extraditions from the Allied occupation zones fell rapidly in the wake of these developments. It became evident that it was more important to the Western Allies to win over West Germany as an ally in the context of rivalry with the Soviet Union than to extradite former functionaries of the German occupation apparatus to Poland. In 1950, the Allies transferred at least some powers to the West German authorities such that not a single Nazi perpetrator was subsequently extradited to Poland. According to the latest estimates, the Allies delivered a total of 1,817 individuals from the four occupation zones to the People’s Republic of Poland between 1945 and 1950. The vast majority, 1,315 people in total, came from the US zone.28 ‘There was nothing’, as Bogdan Musial has put it, that ‘members of the occupation apparatus were more afraid of after 1945 than extradition to Poland’.29 What they feared above all was being thrust into the kind of extra-normative realm that they themselves had created in occupied Poland. Nobody expected a fair trial based on the rule of law. And yet, according to Dieter Pohl, it turned out ‘that these trials were conducted by and large in

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accordance with the rule of law’.30 In particular, Pohl tells us, the quality of the evidence was in line with Western standards.31 The hearings took place within two different frameworks, which diverged depending on the significance of individual actors and their position within the German occupation regime. The sentencing of the main war criminals took place before the Najwyższy Trybunał Narodowy (NTN), the Supreme National Tribunal. There was a total of seven elaborately staged trials, in which a large number of witnesses testified and that were widely reported in the media. The main war criminals included the Gauleiter of the Wartheland, Arthur Greiser, who was sentenced to death in 1946 – as was the commandant of Plaszow concentration camp, Amon Göth. In another trial of members of the occupation apparatus in Warsaw district, the governor, Ludwig Fischer; the KdS, Josef Meisinger; and Max Daume, head of a branch of the Ordnungspolizei, received death sentences. The city governor of Warsaw, Ludwig Leist, meanwhile, was sentenced to eight years in prison. In another dramatic hearing before the NTN, Rudolf Höß, the longest-serving commandant of Auschwitz, was sentenced to death. The former Gauleiter in Danzig-West Prussia, Albert Forster, and the former Deputy Governor General, Josef Bühler, received the same punishment in two subsequent trials. In addition, in a final trial before the NTN, twenty-three members of staff at the Auschwitz concentration camp were sentenced to death, six were given life sentences and seven received prison terms of several years.32 All other proceedings took place initially before special courts, then before district courts from 1946 onwards. In their rulings, the judges imposed surprisingly low sentences: around half of the accused received prison terms of less than five years, a third were sentenced to between five and fifteen years in prison, and 4 per cent received life sentences. The judges imposed the death penalty on 11 per cent of the convicted, but this was not always carried out as some of them were later pardoned. Given these figures, it is clear that the extradited Nazi criminals were unquestionably treated in a differentiated way: in at least sixty-two cases, proceedings were discontinued due to a lack of evidence.33 All in all, Polish efforts to punish German war and occupation-related crimes leave us with an ambivalent impression. An evident effort was made to prosecute the guilty, but this adhered to the rule of law. Under difficult circumstances, the Polish authorities identified a large number of massacres and potential culprits – and did everything in their power to bring them before a Polish court. And they did in fact manage to charge and convict key actors within the German system of violence. These attempts by the Polish prosecuting authorities were initially supported by the Allies. Over the course of time, however, the latter switched to a rejectionist stance and

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sought to torpedo Polish efforts to have Nazi criminals extradited. Here, the overarching developments of the looming East–West conflict played a decisive role in the Allies’ change in attitude. Overall, then, only a fraction of the perpetrators had to answer for their crimes before Polish courts. The overwhelming majority of the accused were of non-German descent, an indication that these trials must also be seen in the context of the establishment of communist rule in Poland – in other words, that political considerations were crucially important. To simplify only a little, for a variety of reasons Polish efforts to prosecute war and occupation-related crimes largely turned into a reckoning with alleged collaborators. The vast majority of German perpetrators, conversely, evaded the Polish prosecuting authorities. They hoped to integrate into a West German society undergoing reconstruction, though there too – at least, potentially – they faced the prospect of criminal investigation.

Notes  1. Włodzimierz Borodziej, ‘“Hitleristische Verbrechen”. Die Ahndung deutscher Kriegs- und Besatzungsverbrechen in Polen’, in Norbert Frei (ed.), Transnationale Vergangenheitspolitik. Der Umgang mit deutschen Kriegsverbrechern in Europa nach dem Zweiten Weltkrieg (Göttingen, 2006), 399–433.   2. Leszek Gondek, Polska karząca. Polski podziemny wymiar sprawiedliwości w okresie okupacji niemieckiej (Warsaw, 1988).   3. The shootings were carried out by the Kedyw, a special division of the Home Army. The German occupation authorities in Warsaw responded with sweeping retaliatory measures and murdered 300 Warsaw citizens. ‘Arbeitsbesprechung, 1.2.1944’, in Präg and Jacobmeyer, Diensttagebuch, 778–81, here 781; see also Mix, ‘Organisatoren’, 133.   4. See Roth, Herrenmenschen, 311f.; Edmund Dmitrów, ‘Vergangenheitspolitik in Polen 1945–1989’, in Włodzimierz Borodziej and Klaus Ziemer (eds), Deutsch-polnische Beziehungen 1939–1945–1949 (Osnabrück, 2000), 235–64, here 238.   5. See, for example, Elżbieta Kobierska-Motas, ‘Międzynarodowe listy przestępców wojennych sporządzone przez United Nations War Crimes Commission (UNWCC)’, Pamięć i Sprawiedliwość 40 (1997/1998), 317–36.   6. ‘Moskauer Erklärung, 30.10.1943’, in Eberhard Heidmann (ed.), Zur Deutschlandpolitik der Anti-Hitler-Koalition (1943–1949) (Berlin, 1968), 40.  7. For a comprehensive account, see Elżbieta Kobierska-Motas, Ekstradycja Przestępców Wojennych do Polski z czterech stref okupacyjnych Niemiec 1946–1950 (Warsaw, 1992); Bogdan Musial, ‘NS-Kriegsverbrecher vor polnischen Gerichten’, Vierteljahrshefte für Zeitgeschichte 47 (1999), 25–56.   8. For a detailed treatment, see Borodziej, Geschichte, 253ff.; see also Gontarczyk, Polska.   9. Esch, ‘Bevölkerungsverschiebungen’, 199–211. 10. For an overview, see Jost Dülffer, Jalta, 4. Februar 1945. Der Zweite Weltkrieg und die Entstehung der bipolaren Welt (Munich, 1998), 178–200. 11. Edmund Dmitrów, Niemcy i okupacja hitlerowska w oczach Polaków. Poglądy i opinie z lat 1945–1948 (Warsaw, 1987), 149ff.; Borodziej, ‘Hitleristische Verbrechen’, 410ff.

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12. Dmitrów, ‘Vergangenheitspolitik’, 239; Borodziej, ‘Hitleristische Verbrechen’, 410ff.; Roth, Herrenmenschen, 314. 13. Leszek Kubicki, Zbrodnie wojenne w świetle prawa polskiego (Warsaw, 1963), 180–84; Kobierska-Motas, Ekstradycja, 6–12. 14. Borodziej, ‘Hitleristische Verbrechen’. 15. Dmitrów, ‘Vergangenheitspolitik’, 238f. 16. Dieter Pohl, ‘Sowjetische und polnische Strafverfahren wegen NS-Verbrechen – Quellen für den Historiker?’, in Jürgen Finger, Sven Keller und Andreas Wirsching (eds), Vom Recht zur Geschichte Akten aus NS-Prozessen als Quellen der Zeitgeschichte (Göttingen, 2009), 132–41, here 134. 17. For a trenchant account, see Roth, Herrenmenschen, 314. 18. Borodziej, ‘Hitleristische Verbrechen’. 19. Andreas Mix, ‘Von der “Hauptkommission” zum Institut des Nationalen Gedenkens’, in Wolfgang Benz (ed.), Wann ziehen wir endlich einen Schlussstrich? Umgang mit schwieriger Vergangenheit in Deutschland, Polen und Tschechien (Berlin, 2004), 75–94. 20. Musial, ‘NS-Kriegsverbrecher’, 29. 21. However, there were a number of provisos that saved some prominent Nazi perpetrators from extradition. If the extraditions had implications for overarching political interests, the individuals at issue were not to be transferred. See ibid., 30. 22. ‘The Legal Division to the Deputy Military Governor, 2.4.1947’, quoted in ibid., 32. 23. Erich von dem Bach-Zelewski and Heinz Reinefarth, for example, were not extradited because, among other things, their ‘band-fighting knowledge’ in Eastern Europe was apparently of particular interest to the Western secret services. See ibid. 24. ‘Lieber tot als an die Polen ausgeliefert’, Die Zeit, 28 October 1948. 25. Quoted in ibid. 26. ‘Chief, Administration of Justice Branch to the Director, Legal Division, OMGUS, 8.11.1948’, quoted in Musial, ‘NS-Kriegsverbrecher’, 32f. 27. Ibid. 28. A total of 396 people were extradited from the British occupation zone and 36 from the French zone, while the Soviet Union itself transferred 69 suspected Nazi criminals from its zone. See Kobierska-Motas, Ekstradycja, 160–72; Musial, ‘NS-Kriegsverbrecher’, 30–35. 29. Musial, Deutsche Zivilverwaltung, 355. 30. Pohl, Judenverfolgung, 392; Pohl, ‘Sowjetische und polnische Strafverfahren’, 136; Musial, ‘NS-Kriegsverbrecher’, 52. 31. Ibid. 32. Kobierska-Motas, Ekstradycja, 10ff.; Musial, ‘NS-Kriegsverbrecher’, 38f. 33. See Musial, ‘NS-Kriegsverbrecher’, 48.

Chapter 10

Prosecution and Suppression Massacres and German Justice

 The history of the legal efforts made in West Germany to come to terms with German massacres of the Polish civilian population is essentially one of failure. Only in the rarest of cases did any of the numerous preliminary investigations result in a court trial. This can be put down to several factors, which reflect general tendencies in the legal approach to Nazi perpetrators but also highlight specific issues thrown up by massacres of Polish civilians. Among the general problems facing the judicial prosecution of Nazi crimes were the difficulties involved in determining the facts.1 The effort required to identify the perpetrators of violent crimes that had occurred decades earlier was enormous and, above all, time-consuming: dozens – in fact, often hundreds – of witnesses had to be heard and their statements compared. When it came to the perpetrators, investigators frequently encountered downright conspiracies of silence and witness-cooperation agreements. Meanwhile, for understandable reasons, very few victims could identify a specific perpetrator by name; due to these factors inherent in the investigations, there was little prospect of identifying living culprits. Even more serious was the lack of sources directly connected with the crime that might have clearly proven the responsibility of certain actors. During the last few months of Nazi rule in Poland, the perpetrators had systematically sought to destroy incriminating documents – making it hard to track down vital materials. Committed public prosecutors sometimes went to great lengths here: through the mediation of the West German Foreign Office, requests for administrative assistance were sent to the Polish authorities in order to gain

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access to Polish archives. German public prosecutors sometimes got hold of important documents in such cases, but the processing time in Warsaw sometimes extended over several years. Rapid punishment of the perpetrators was, therefore, essentially impossible.2 In addition, it is important to bear in mind the specificities of West German legislation, which made it extremely difficult to convict perpetrators. Crimes such as manslaughter, robbery and bodily harm resulting in death were subject to a statute of limitations of fifteen years. As a result, these acts could no longer be prosecuted from the spring of 1960 onwards, the West German Bundestag having failed to extend this limitation period.3 In addition, the so-called Gehilfenjudikatur (judicature on aiding and abetting) was established in the context of the Ulm Einsatzgruppe trial. Henceforth, Nazi perpetrators had to be shown to have contributed subjectively to a crime in the form of base motives.4 Hundreds of Nazi perpetrators were classified as Mitläufer (followers) with reference to this amendment and acquitted because they had, supposedly, merely acted at the behest of Hitler, Himmler and Heydrich without any recognizable Täterwillen (perpetrator’s will) of their own.5 For example, the proceedings against Heinz Reinefarth for crimes committed during the Warsaw Uprising were discontinued because he supposedly knew nothing about the mass murders carried out by his troops, had not ordered them and inwardly disapproved of them.6 A specific problem affecting the prosecution of massacres of ethnic Poles was the categorization of acts of violence as ‘reprisals and atonement measures’, which – within certain limits – were permissible means of combating resistance movements according to international law and custom of war. In such cases, massacres were to be regarded as manslaughter and thus came under the statute of limitations in the spring of 1960.7 Such arguments systematically ignored the fact that Nazi ‘band-fighting’ in occupied Poland generally targeted uninvolved rural civilians. Against this background, investigations by public prosecutors were often not opened at all or were discontinued prematurely. The investigations into the mass shootings carried out to combat Hubal and his men were symptomatic in this context. The accused fell back on the notion of legitimate reprisals. Georg W. seemed almost relieved to be able to tell investigators: ‘In my view, the victims were only Poles who had been accused of something by the SD at the time. I don’t think there were Jews among them.’8 This explicit reference to the fact that the victims were ‘only Poles’ is revealing. First, it provides insight into the complacency of a Nazi perpetrator who was still convinced that the shooting of men, women and children had been quite appropriate given the situation. Second, he implicitly assumed that the investigators saw things in the same basic way. And the investigation was in fact closed with the following remark: ‘The execution mentioned in

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the report of all residents of the village of Krolewiec liable for military service (approx. 70 people) does not constitute a violent Nazi crime, but rather a reprisal measure in the context of a military operation against scattered remnants of the former Polish army.’9 Another specific feature of the process was the aforementioned persistence of the victimizing trope, according to which Poles were violent barbarians who had committed particularly terrible acts of violence against Germans. This is particularly evident in one of the few court cases centred on participation in massacres against ethnic Poles – namely, those carried out by the Selbstschutz Lublin in Józefów in the spring of 1940. The accused was SS-Hauptsturmführer Friedrich Paulus, who had commanded the 1st Company of the local Selbstschutz. Born in 1906, Paulus, whom his comrades remembered as a ‘tough and stalwart SS leader’,10 had been a member of the SS since 1932, in whose ranks the qualified accountant had pursued a fulltime career.11 Before the war, Paulus had served SS-Standartenführer Wilhelm Stemmler as adjutant in the Sturmbann II/85 battalion in Neunkirchen and in 1937 had moved to Neustadt an der Weinstraße to join SS Section XXXIV. When the war began, Paulus was transferred to the ‘German East’ to serve under the SS and Police Leader in Lublin district, and commanded the 1st Company of the Selbstschutz Lublin until August 1940. After the Wehrmacht’s victorious campaign against France, he was transferred back to the Saarland in September 1940 – where he commanded the 85th SS-Standarte Saarbrücken, and was also responsible for building up the 125th SS-Standarte in the de facto annexed city of Metz. In February 1943, Paulus volunteered for the Waffen SS and was on active service as a member of the SS Division ‘Das Reich’ and the 8th SS Cavalry Division until he was seriously wounded at the end of 1944. When the war ended, he was in a military hospital near Bad Gastein, where he was taken prisoner of war by the US forces. When he was released in 1948, Paulus moved to Frankfurt am Main, where he initially found a job in the city’s Food Office before finally obtaining a post as accountant in Frankfurt’s Konrad Blei foodstuff factory in 1949. It was then that his past first caught up with him, wrenching him out of his new bourgeois circumstances. On 20 December 1949, the Frankenthal District Court sentenced him to ten years in prison for ‘crimes against humanity’. Paulus was found guilty of personally setting fire to the Jewish old people’s home in Neustadt an der Weinstraße during the ‘Reichskristallnacht’. The old people’s home had been razed to the ground and two elderly women were burned alive.12 He served part of his sentence until August 1952. After being pardoned by the Rhineland-Palatinate justice minister, Paulus, now with a criminal record, found a safe harbour once again in the foodstuff

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factory, where he worked until his early retirement in 1964. Due to his war injuries; liver, gallbladder and circulatory ailments; plus diabetes, Paulus was considered unable to do any kind of work from 1965 onwards. However, the former SS-Hauptsturmführer’s sunset years were not to be peaceful ones. In the course of extensive investigations of the staff of the SSPF Lublin, the Hamburg Public Prosecutor’s Office came across the Selbstschutz Lublin and the mass shootings in Józefów following the murder of the Kassner family (see chapter 2). As former commander of the 1st Company of this unit, Paulus came to the attention of the West German justice system for the second time. During the preliminary investigation, he was seriously incriminated by several witnesses: he was said to have given inflammatory speeches, personally participated in manhunts, coordinated shootings in the field and had himself shot people in this context. On this basis, the Hamburg Public Prosecutor’s Office finally charged Friedrich Paulus with murder on 24 November 1969.13 The prosecution began by ruling out the possibility that the mass shootings could have been reprisal measures legitimized under international law, since no attempt had been made to track down the murderers of the Kassner family – nor was the crucial principle of proportionality and, in particular, the ‘barrier of humanity’ respected. The Public Prosecutor’s Office emphasized the cruelty entailed in the execution of the crime, in which Paulus had participated ‘in an inhuman manner’ through orders and actions by his own hand. In addition, the prosecution concluded that the former commander was well aware of the obviously criminal character of the mass shootings and, as an ‘old fighter’, had participated with inner approval. In view of these investigative findings, Paulus was characterized as an accomplice of the late Ludolf von Alvensleben. The Public Prosecutor’s Office was convinced that Paulus had to be convicted as perpetrator and not just of aiding and abetting, since his dedication had shown that he himself had wanted to commit this crime. Given his political attitudes, the public prosecutors stated, this ‘old fighter’ was ‘far from inwardly disapproving of the kind of execution orders issued in Josefow’.14 In the course of the proceedings at the Hamburg Regional Court, however, it became apparent that the judges would not assent to the indictment.15 Paulus defended himself with a dual strategy. He had not wanted the shootings; he had, so to speak, experienced them in a state of inner emigration. In addition, after the first shootings he had gone to the home of an ethnic German community leader by the name of Tews, with whom he stayed until the next morning. In the course of the proceedings, the judges found no cause to refute these statements. After a two-month trial, they discontinued the proceedings due to the statute of limitations – emphasizing that Paulus should not be designated a perpetrator or accomplice but merely an accessory

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to murder. Although Paulus had taken part in the mass shooting as commander of the 1st Company of the Selbstschutz Lublin, according to the judges he had exercised ‘no decisive influence on the ordering, implementation or outcome of the operation’. Since Paulus did ‘not himself intend the murders’ and had not acted ‘on the basis of callous, merciless convictions’, the judges calculated a reduced limitation period of fifteen years in light of Article 50, Section 2 of the Criminal Code. This meant that Paulus could no longer be prosecuted, as the statute of limitations applied from 9 May 1960. The Hamburg Public Prosecutor’s Office appealed this ruling to the Federal Court of Justice (Bundesgerichtshof, or BGH), whose 5th Criminal Division under Werner Sarstedt upheld the appeal and overturned the decision of the Hamburg Regional Court on 28 March 1972.16 The BGH explained that in view of the ‘shocking scenes’ prior to these brutal murders, Paulus may also have been guilty of aiding and abetting. This level of involvement was not subject to the statute of limitations after fifteen years but only after thirty years, and was therefore still liable to prosecution.17 The new case was to be heard before a jury at the Frankfurt am Main Regional Court, near Friedrich Paulus’s place of residence. However, there were serious delays. It was not until four years later, in October 1976, that the actual trial began at the 21st Criminal Division of the Regional Court under presiding judge Johannes Seipel.18 The proceedings degenerated into a farce. After twenty-eight days, to the surprise of all those involved in the trial, Seipel declared that in this case complicity to murder would become subject to the statute of limitations after twenty years. His argument was based on the assumption that if the law had been changed several times between the offence and the start of the trial, the mildest option would have to be applied to the offender – both in terms of the sentence and the limitation period. Public Prosecutor Johannes Hirsch interpreted this as a signal that the proceedings could finally be terminated: he immediately submitted a plea to this effect. On 17 March 1977, as agreed by both the Frankfurt Public Prosecutor’s Office and the judges at the jury court, the trial was dismissed due to the statute of limitations. We can get a sense of the atmosphere during the proceedings thanks to the observations of journalist Wolfgang Gutmann, who laid bare the court’s fundamental reluctance to deal with the mass murder in Józefów. Gutmann tells, among other things, of a clerk of the court who approached him during a recess and made it very clear to him that the real crime was the murder of the Kassner family. Why did he always write about Nazi crimes but not about the murder of the Kassner family? ‘When I pointed out to her that this [the shooting of at least 161 Poles] and not the pretext provided by unknown perpetrators was the subject of the trial, the clerk of the court walked off with

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a shrug of her shoulders. She was obviously expecting a “national” journalist who would be untroubled by the murder of mere Poles.’19 Gutmann tells of the aversion to this trial palpable among all those involved every day in the courtroom. He mentions that ‘every conceivable consideration’ was shown to the accused. While no witnesses for the prosecution were heard, ethnic German farmers from the region did testify, ‘one of whom, when he is supposed to take the oath, first raises his hand to give the Hitler salute before remembering: times have changed’. When the Frankfurt judges finally dismissed the trial of Friedrich Paulus, who – according to Gutmann – ‘came across as extremely unmoved, attentive and composed in the courtroom’, they had acquitted themselves of a ‘loathed duty’.20 But just one day after the ruling, the Frankfurt Public Prosecutor’s Office expressed its disagreement with the deal between Judge Seipel and Public Prosecutor Hirsch and again appealed to the Federal Court of Justice in Karlsruhe. On 28 June 1978, its 5th Criminal Division overturned the ruling on the basis that complicity in murder in the form of brutal killing generally did not become subject to the statute of limitations until thirty years had passed and the limitation period had begun on 1 January 1950.21 This time, it was to take another three years before the case was reopened – on 28 January 1981 – before the 22nd Criminal Division of the Frankfurt am Main Regional Court. The focus of media reports now shifted to Friedrich Paulus’s state of health; he was increasingly depicted as himself a victim. This reportage of the trial may be characterized as the victimization of the perpetrator, who had ‘lost his right leg’ in 1944, was ‘80 percent seriously war-disabled’ and suffered from ‘severe neuralgia’ as well as ‘heart problems and circulatory disorders’.22 The lengthy duration of the proceedings was also criticized, which, according to defence counsel Dieter Schweizer, ‘no normal mortal [could] understand’. It could not be ruled out, he contended, that Paulus ‘will be persecuted until Judgment Day’.23 As the climax of this campaign, the defence requested that the case be terminated immediately – citing international human-rights conventions.24 Although the presiding judge conceded that the proceedings had ‘certainly taken an unfortunate course’,25 she rejected this noteworthy request from the defence. Instead, on 12 February 1982 the 22nd Criminal Division sentenced Friedrich Paulus to a prison sentence of four years for complicity in 161 murders. But this verdict did not mark the end of the proceedings. After it was announced, this time Friedrich Paulus submitted an application for appeal to the BGH, which upheld the ruling on 22 January 1985 with respect to the guilty verdict but overturned the sentence. In its ruling, the court had stipulated a sentence of at least six months. But since it listed only mitigating circumstances in setting out the reasons for its judgment, while the four-year prison sentence – as the BGH criticized – ‘exceeds the minimum

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many times over’, the court had violated substantive law. An explanation of aggravating factors was particularly vital since the verdict would ‘hit the aged, seriously war-disabled defendant particularly hard after the long duration of the proceedings’.26 The case was thus referred back to the Frankfurt Regional Court. Its 6th Criminal Division, to which the case had now been assigned, terminated the proceedings on 3 September 1986 after just two days.27 In setting out the reasons for their verdict, this time the Frankfurt judges cited the fact that the defendant had been acting under orders. In addition, his right to a fair trial based on the rule of law had been violated so profoundly that it would be unacceptable to continue proceedings. This verdict was then overturned by the Federal Court of Justice. In the course of the latter’s proceedings, another verdict was issued by the Frankfurt Regional Court – although it too was later overturned. Under presiding judge Dr Heinrich Gehrke, its 29th Criminal Division pronounced Friedrich Paulus guilty of complicity in murder on 16 December 1986, sentencing him to a four-year prison term.28 At the end of this fifth trial, Gehrke declared that the four-year prison sentence corresponded to ‘the lowest limit one might set’. After all, at least 161 men had been ‘murdered in a brutal and bestial manner – solely because they were Poles’ in the course of the operation. The public prosecutor had requested just two years on probation but Gehrke rejected this, contending that the justice system would lay itself open to ‘ridicule’ were it to impose such a sentence.29 For formal reasons, the Federal Court of Justice also rejected this judgment in response to the defence’s appeal. But there were to be no further proceedings. On 16 December 1987, the 1st Criminal Division of the Frankfurt Regional Court finally terminated the case against Friedrich Paulus due to his incapacity to stand trial. When Paulus left the court building as a free man after his trial was discontinued, this concluded the final chapter of a story that had begun with the robbery and murder of an ethnic German family near Lublin, continued with a bloody ‘reprisal’ and finally culminated in a lengthy criminal trial. If we try to take stock of what happened and draw conclusions in light of this trial, at least two points stand out. First, these events illustrate the potency of the long-standing trope centred on Germans as victims of foreign violence, to which it appeared not only legitimate but vital to respond – whether to protect, prevent or avenge – with violence of their own. The trajectory of the criminal proceedings against Friedrich Paulus indicates the continuity of this trope. We are left with the impression that, years later, sections of the West German justice system and the media still took the view that the robbery and murder of the Kassner family was a legitimate reason for ‘retaliatory operations’. At the same time, against this background, public interest shifted away from German violence and its victims and towards the physical condition of the accused and whether it was still legitimate to put Friedrich

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Paulus on trial. Criminal proceedings thus unfolded that, in the words of Klaus-Michael Mallmann, were characterized ‘by the popular projection that the conduct of Nazi institutions had merely been a – sometimes excessive – reaction to Polish atrocities against the “ethnic Germans”’.30

Notes   1. Adalbert Rückerl, NS-Prozesse. Nach 25 Jahren Strafverfolgung: Möglichkeiten-GrenzenErgebnisse (Karlsruhe, 1972), 291.  2. Cüppers, Wegbereiter, 334f.   3. Adalbert Rückerl, Die Strafverfolgung von NS-Verbrechen 1945–1978. Eine Dokumentation (Heidelberg and Karlsruhe, 1979), 54.   4. Klaus-Michael Mallmann and Andrej Angrick, ‘Die Mörder sind unter uns. GestapoBedienstete in den Nachfolgegesellschaften des Dritten Reiches’, in Klaus-Michael Mallmann and Andrej Angrick (eds.), Die Gestapo nach 1945. Karrieren, Konflikte, Konstruktionen (Darmstadt, 2009), 7–55, here 22f.   5. Michael Greve, Der justitielle und rechtspolitische Umgang mit den NS-Gewaltverbrechen in den sechziger Jahren (Frankfurt am Main, 2001), 52.  6. StA Flensburg, Einstellungsverfügung (Order for withdrawal of prosecution), 22.11.1966, BAL, B 162/19819, fol. 24–86; for a detailed account, see Marti, Fall.  7. Rückerl, NS-Prozesse, 291.   8. Vern. Georg W. (Interrogation of Georg W.), BAL, B 162/3798, 60.   9. Ibid., 66. 10. Vern. Anton B. (Interrogation of Anton B.), 11.11.1968, ibid., fol. 274. 11. Urteil LG Hamburg (Ruling Hamburg Regional Court) v. 23.4.1971, BAL, B 162/14443, fol. 2–6; Vern. Friedrich Paulus (Interrogation of Friedrich Paulus) v. 8.10.1968, BAL, B 162/16849, fol. 399ff. 12. Staw Frankenthal (Frankenthal Public Prosecutor’s Office) 9 KLs 31/49. 13. Anklageschrift Staw Hamburg (Indictment Hamburg Public Prosecutor’s Office) v. 24.11.1969, BAL, B 162/16850. 14. Ibid., fol. 821. 15. Urteil LG Hamburg (Ruling Hamburg Regional Court) v. 23.4.1971, BAL, B 162/14443, fol. 157ff. 16. Urteil BGH (Ruling BGH) v. 28.3.1972, ibid., fol. 2–8. 17. This ruling confirms Annette Weinke’s observation of a ‘negative correlation between continuity with Nazism and the exculpation of perpetrators’. The 5th Criminal Division of the BGH, dominated by Nazi judges like Sarstedt, by no means interpreted the notion of accessories in Nazi proceedings generously to the benefit of the accused, and often voted against a statute of limitations for criminal offences. See Annette Weinke, ‘“Alliierter Angriff auf die nationale Souveränität?” Die Strafverfolgung von Kriegs- und NS-Verbrechen in der Bundesrepublik, der DDR und Österreich’, in Norbert Frei (ed.), Transnationale Vergangenheitspolitik. Der Umgang mit den deutschen Kriegsverbrechern in Europa nach dem Zweiten Weltkrieg (Göttingen, 2006), 37–93, here 49f. 18. Urteil LG Frankfurt/M. (Ruling Frankfurt am Main Regional Court) v. 17.3.1977, BAL, B 162/14443. 19. Die Tat, 3 December 1976. 20. Ibid.

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21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

Urteil BGH (Ruling BGH) v. 27.7.1978, BAL, B 162/14443. Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 29 January 1981; Der Spiegel, 8 (1981), 82–84. Both quotes in Der Spiegel, 8 (1981), 83f. Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 29 January 1981. Quoted in Der Spiegel, 8 (1981), 82. Urteil BGH (Ruling BGH) v. 22.1.1985, BAL, B 162/14443, fol. 4. Urteil LG Frankfurt/M. (Ruling Frankfurt am Main Regional Court) v. 3.9.1986, ibid., fol. 14–16. 28. Dto. v. 16.12.1986, ibid., fol. 8ff. 29. Stuttgarter Zeitung, 17 December 1986. 30. Mallmann, Böhler and Matthäus, Einsatzgruppen, 108.

Conclusion



As Polish poet Czesław Miłosz once put it, people generally tend to ‘take the order in which they live to be natural’.1 The buildings, factories and offices – the entirety of everyday life, with its habits, routinized actions and patterns of perception – ‘are just as they should be in their eyes’.2 This state of affairs, Miłosz tells us, includes a specific sense of security as people move within social space; they trust in the stability of social rules and norms and in the institutions of the state monopoly on violence, which in principle guarantee their own physical integrity at all times. ‘That a horseman might suddenly appear on the street they know so well, where cats sleep and children play, one who lassoes passers-by and tows them away to immediately kill them or hang them on hooks’3 – such an idea would surely be considered the product of an eccentric’s wild imagination. This ‘belief in the naturalness of [one’s] way of life’4 is undiminished in the ‘countries of the West’. In his country, however, according to Miłosz, this insouciance is a source of irritation because such naive faith in the constancy of the ordinary world is nothing but the wishful thinking of people ‘who [have] experienced nothing bad’.5 In Poland, Miłosz emphasizes, people know that the entirely unexpected can happen and turn people’s lives upside down. The Poles learned this wary, sober attitude ‘in a tough school, in which ignorance threatened to result not in a bad mark but in the loss of one’s life’.6 For 2,078 days during the Second World War, the German occupation plunged the Polish people into a world structured in a completely different way than in normal times.

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And look, there’s the horseman with his lasso! It’s a covered delivery van waiting at the street corner. If someone rounds this corner unsuspectingly, he will suddenly see the barrel of a gun pointed at him. He puts up his hands and is shoved into a truck. Now he is lost to his loved ones. He is taken to a concentration camp or placed against a wall; his mouth is covered with adhesive tape … and then he is shot dead.7

The Poles were forced to submit to a situation in which the use and pervasiveness of violence differed significantly from what would previously have been perceived as normal and acceptable. Due to mass violence, standards of normality gradually shifted: habits and values, norms and rules that usually structured life, lost their relevance. One’s behaviour now had to be geared towards the new norms of violence upheld by the German occupiers: ‘Previously, if a citizen had found a corpse on the pavement, he would have rushed to the nearest telephone booth, while the curious would have discussed the incident at great length. Now he knows he has to walk past the mannequin lying there in a dark puddle without asking unnecessary questions.’8 Under German occupation, the practice and suffering of violence were no longer out of the ordinary; they were everyday phenomena. This ubiquity of violence destroyed social trust, created an atmosphere of pervasive fear and triggered feelings of helplessness: ‘In order to avoid [violence] one would prefer not to leave one’s home at all. But the father of a family has no choice because he has to ensure the day-today subsistence of his wife and children. Every evening the family waits in fear: will he be coming home or not?’9 Violence changes everything, and whoever is exposed to it will long be changed as well – to quote Jörg Baberowski’s recent, succinct formulation.10 Violence ate its way into the experiential horizon of Polish society; Poles found that the familiar world could literally collapse. According to Miłosz, it is the ‘instructive experience … that judgments and habits of thought are relative’11 – in other words, that nothing can be taken for granted and that anything can happen – that opens up a deep rift with the ‘people of the West’. ‘Their lack of imagination’, as the Polish poet concluded his observations, ‘is downright frightening’.12 Half a century later, so it seems, we would surely come to a different conclusion. In the ‘countries of the West’, and especially in Germany, one encounters at every turn a pronounced willingness to grapple with the history of violence under Nazism. This is especially true of what Norbert Frei terms the ‘well-meaning culture of reflective consternation’ and the associated efforts to remind people, in admonitory fashion, of the victims of Nazi violence.13 At the centre of a booming landscape of remembrance and commemoration, to simplify only very slightly, is the persecution and extermination of European

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Jews. After decades of ‘diligent forgetting’,14 during which German society had refused even to acknowledge the suffering of the murdered and surviving victims, a change in the culture of remembrance set in in the late 1970s – one that remains formative today.15 It changed our image of Nazism by finally placing the exercise of mass violence against European Jews at the centre of remembrance.16 However, this process also produced a regressive tendency to reduce the overall complex of Nazi violence to the Holocaust. This spotlighting may also be understood – to quote Jan Philipp Reemtsma – as a matter of ‘rendering invisible by illuminating the extreme’.17 In public discourse, an image of the history of violence under Nazism is constructed that focuses on its most radical manifestation while marginalizing and obscuring numerous forms of violence against other groups.18 This tendency to ignore other contexts of persecution applies especially to the fate of the Polish civilian population under German occupation, which has largely been overshadowed by the Holocaust. In fact, the centrality of the Holocaust deforms our perception of the experience of Polish civilians in a quite specific way. In essence, Poles are only of relevance as ‘neighbours’19 who participated in the persecution and murder of Polish Jews.20 All the negative connotations of Poles converge in two figures. The first is the uneducated farmer in the documentary Shoah, who, with glazed eyes and rows of broken teeth, babbled antisemitic gibberish into director Claude Lanzmann’s camera. The second is the figure of the szmalcownik, the greedy, unscrupulous informer and grassroots antisemite.21 As it happens, this is where the West German historical consciousness converges with a new doctrine of much contemporary potency, which is making considerable efforts – under the leitmotif of ‘normalization’ – to ‘finally’ address supposedly long-suppressed German suffering in the Second World War. In addition to the bombing of German cities by Anglo-American air fleets22 and the mass rape of German women by soldiers of the Red Army,23 it is the expulsion of Germans from East-Central Europe that has formed the focus of emotionally charged debates.24 In a disturbing way, the victimizing remembrance rituals cultivated by German expellees’ associations, who remember Polish civilians as protagonists of mass violence, correspond to the image of Poland in the Holocaustcentred culture of remembrance.25 To put it bluntly, the emphasis on a Polish affinity for violence forms the common denominator of what are in fact opposing models of remembrance.26 Quite rightly, then, there is a widespread fear in Poland that ‘there will soon only be two groups of victims left: the Jews – and the Germans. The latter because they were displaced or their cities were bombed’.27 There can be no doubt that the violence visited upon Poles has left virtually no traces in the German collective memory; it is not present on Germans’ ‘mental map’. Outside Poland, and particularly in the West, the ‘extent of Polish suffering is

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underappreciated’,28 as Timothy Snyder recently noted. The mass shootings, the burning of villages and the destruction of entire cities are basically irrelevant to the German culture of remembrance, which is almost always highly praised and sometimes self-satisfied. As Peter Jahn pointed out a few years ago, ‘the well over one million non-Jewish victims of Nazi terror in Poland are still not worth mentioning’.29 Hence, half a century later, Czesław Miłosz’s critique of a certain lack of imagination retains much of its relevance. With respect to an oft-lamented deep chasm ‘between historiographical knowledge and the prevailing view of history within society’,30 it might seem reasonable to ascribe this attenuated view of the Nazi history of violence to the aporias of a culture of remembrance that strives to avoid ambiguity. But as we will see, despite all the crucial distinctions that emerge from a detailed account, it is not the case that public discourse and collective memory preserve readings of Nazism long since overhauled by historical research. This fact has repeatedly led to misunderstandings and a clouding of the current German–Polish relationship, as the debates on the television series Generation War have demonstrated so clearly. Thomas Weber referred to a ‘very understandable reason’31 for Poles’ sharp criticism of this 2013 drama commissioned by the German public broadcaster ZDF. ‘The reason’, according to Weber, ‘is the tremendous ignorance among the German and American publics of Poles’ suffering in the Second World War’.32 This ‘lack of historical understanding of German crimes in Poland’, he continued, is ‘an obstacle to good German-Polish relations’.33 Against this background, he underlined the urgent need to ‘target the lack of knowledge of German-Polish history’.34 Polish commentators have identified the same desideratum in the debate on Generation War. Bartosz Wieliński, for example, writing in Gazeta Wyborcza, demanded that there be ‘no repeat of such a scandal’.35 ‘The ZDF series’, stated Wieliński, ‘is fresh evidence that the Germans are utterly ignorant when it comes to the fate of occupied Poland’.36 The fundamental problem, he contended, is that ‘the crimes committed by Germans against Poles [are] little known’:37 ‘This is exactly what needs to change.’38 Against this background, the present study has, for the first time, placed the mass killing of Polish civilians during the German occupation centre stage. Given the multifaceted character of the Nazis’ violent practices, it was vital to use a highly selective term as I have by no means set out to analyse the full spectrum of German violence. This is why the book is geared towards the concept of the massacre, which facilitated a conceptual grasp of mass killing while differentiating it from other forms of violence. The goal was to reconstruct massacres of Polish civilians and to analyse the conditions and circumstances that fostered them. My core objective was to embed massacres in an analysis of historical constellations in order to tease apart their different aspects in light of relevant historical and cultural factors. The empirical focus

Conclusion • 299

was on counter-partisan measures. Against this background, the present study is an interpretation of the history of massacres of Polish civilians under Nazi rule. I have attempted to analyse, in relation to one another, the ambivalences of the preceding history; the changing political, economic and ideological parameters during the years of occupation; and the performative level of concrete practices of killing. To conclude, I now sum up the study’s main findings in the form of a number of key hypotheses. (1) First, the present study has shown that the attribution of violence was a crucial source of legitimation for Nazi massacres. In this context, I have outlined a trope as steeped in tradition as it is potent, one centred on Germans as victims of outside violence to which – in order to protect, prevent or avenge – it seemed not only justified but vital to respond with violence of one’s own. This construction enabled actors to interpret countless massacres as a merely defensive reaction to Polish acts of violence. The roots of this specific interpretive model can be found in the years of Freikorps combat after the First World War. In the perception of these bloody confrontations among contemporaries, new enemy stereotypes formed that revolved around a supposed Polish affinity for violence and German suffering. Widely distributed commemorative literature established an image of the Poles as aggressive barbarians who subjected German civilians of all ages and both sexes to an unfettered practice of violence. This attribution of a specific Polish affinity for violence opened up an ‘echo chamber’ that the Nazis could use in several ways to legitimize violence from 1939 onwards. To simplify, we can distinguish two frameworks in which this victimization discourse, revolving around a Polish affinity for violence and German suffering, was put to strategic use. The first was the ‘atrocity propaganda’ unleashed in the run-up to September 1939, which disseminated countless bogus reports of violent attacks on ethnic Germans in Poland. Deploying a rhetoric of human rights, Nazi propaganda essentially aimed to legitimize the upcoming invasion as a necessary humanitarian intervention to protect the threatened ethnic Germans. Second, cases of real violence against ethnic Germans after the German invasion were grossly exaggerated for propaganda purposes. In particular, ‘Bloody Sunday at Bromberg’ attained the status of key event in the Nazi remembrance of ‘Polish atrocities’ and ‘ethnic German suffering’. In several respects, ‘Bloody Sunday’ was a convenient occurrence: it seemed to retrospectively underline the need for humanitarian intervention in order to protect the persecuted ethnic Germans and made it possible to declare that there was no alternative to any form of violence. After all, on this view Germans were being confronted by violent barbarians who had themselves transgressed the boundaries of civilization and had been the first to do so. This enabled the Nazis to legitimize countless massacres of Polish civilians as the courageous defence of the defenceless.

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In addition, within the Wehrmacht the notion of a Polish affinity for violence generated specific expectations with regard to the war against Poland. In view of the ruthlessness and deviousness ascribed to the Poles, there was a firm conviction that once over the border German soldiers would be embroiled in a ‘band war’ in which large sections of the Polish population were involved. This specific perception of the enemy was to be of key importance for the mass violence perpetrated against Polish civilians, as the Wehrmacht became convinced that a war against ‘violent Poles’ could not be fought within the classic parameters of armed conflicts. The attribution of a propensity for ruthless violence and cruelty to the Poles, then, implied the expansion of the zone of permitted violence as the only possible response. Finally, the notion of Polish deviousness, ruthlessness and affinity for violence also became pervasive in the context of Nazi counter-partisan measures. The appearance of ‘Polish bands’ in the forests of occupied Poland seemed to confirm all German fears, in the manner of a ‘self-fulfilling prophecy’. In a potentially threatening, confusing situation – confronted with largely out-ofreach and vicious ‘Polish hordes’ – unleashing one’s own unbounded violence seemed necessary and justified in every respect. In this scenario too, any form of German violence could be interpreted as a straightforward reaction to ‘Polish savagery’. Finally, my examination of the approach to mass violence against Polish civilians in West Germany after 1945 has shown that elements of this victimization discourse continued to have a powerful effect. One of the main findings in this context is the lack of empathy shown by the perpetrators, who, with depressing unanimity, described their acts of violence in retrospect as appropriate. The fact that the mass killing of human beings was still being interpreted years later as legitimate in the context of ‘counterresistance’ activities or protective measures intended to ‘rescue’ persecuted ethnic Germans is, perhaps, hardly surprising in the perpetrators’ statements. But the structural adoption of this interpretation by the Allied occupation authorities and the West German justice system illustrates the long-term influence of a trope that turned Nazi massacres into justified and necessary reactions to the actions of violence-loving Poles. (2) Furthermore, the present study takes issue with a specific image of Nazi occupation rule that foregrounds the contrast between occupiers and occupied. We have seen that this perspective is overly hermetic and obstructs deeper insights into the dynamics of massacres. I have tried to present a nuanced picture of a flexible order of violence within which offers of participation and invitations to participate were addressed to certain groups within what had been the Polish state. This must be understood against the background of the specific realities of foreign rule by a comparatively small number of conquerors over a clear majority of the conquered. Above all, the

Conclusion • 301

partial inclusion of groups outside the occupation institutions per se served to compensate for this structural inferiority and to manage the massive expansion of state power by tapping local knowledge and by recruiting personnel. The ideological foundations of occupation rule channelled these opportunities for participation in quite specific ways. By no means did they include permission to use indiscriminate violence against anyone, but instead facilitated violence against ‘members of foreign races’ who were in any case excluded from the ambit of mutually binding norms. At bottom, the order emerging here introduced a far-reaching distinction between those who used violence, who could participate in and benefit from it, and those who were not allowed to use violence but had to suffer it. By no means, however, should we view this order of violence as static. In fact, this drawing of boundaries turned out to be flexible and could be adapted to new constellations and challenges. The present study distinguishes between two main situations in which the issuing of a licence for violence led to the involvement of certain groups in Polish society in massacres of Polish civilians. In the first two years of German occupation, the ethnic Germans in particular were the recipients of a large number of offers and invitations to participate in and support massacres of their Polish neighbours. In this context, I have distinguished between denunciations as a condition of possibility for police measures and the Volksdeutscher Selbstschutz as the institutionalization of ethnic German involvement in violence. A wide range of opportunities were opened up here for ethnic Germans to enrich themselves; to take revenge on loathed neighbours, colleagues and superiors; and to settle scores. This inclusion of the ethnic Germans must be linked analytically with the transfer of the violent project of the Volksgemeinschaft, which aimed to downgrade the Poles and ennoble the ethnic Germans. The latter were empowered to violently enforce the boundaries of membership of the Volksgemeinschaft in their local social milieu. To put it bluntly, the Volksgemeinschaft included anyone who was allowed to legitimately exercise violence against ‘members of foreign races’. From 1942 onwards, in the context of ‘band-fighting’, the all-important boundary between those who were allowed to use violence and those who had to suffer it was redrawn – at least, in certain cases. Polish farmers and policemen were authorized to carry out killings of ‘bandits’, ‘accomplices’ and ‘accessories’ independently. In contrast to the ethnic Germans’ situation, however, the involvement of Polish farmers and police in counter-partisan measures was based on coercion. Only through violent engagement in opposition to alleged ‘bands’ could Polish farmers prove their own innocence. If they failed to cooperate, they were automatically ‘suspected of supporting bands’ and risked severe reprisals. Conversely, these qualifying remarks do

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not mean that some farmers and policemen did not zealously participate in ‘band-fighting’ for a variety of reasons. (3) I have also examined massacres to determine their functional significance to the Nazi occupation through the most precise possible analysis of historical constellations. To this end, I have linked the analysis of massacres to the changing overall setting of violence – which was shaped by the shifting long-, medium- and short-term goals associated with Nazi rule in Poland and Eastern Europe more generally. What emerged in this context was that for German actors in occupied Poland mass violence was a constructive form of social action that they used to enforce their interests. Only from the perspective of the Polish victims were German massacres destructive. Members of the German occupation apparatus, meanwhile, viewed the exercise of mass violence as a productive element in the establishment of a new order. They used violence to achieve a variety of goals. Massacres helped to forge a racist stratificatory order, clarify issues of belonging and non-belonging, advance the exploitation of economic resources, restore security and stabilize Nazi rule. In addition, the present study has revealed the dysfunctionality of this policy of violence. Measures intended to establish a new order, to exploit and to achieve security were in constant tension with each other, sometimes obstructed each other and thus created countless conflicting goals. Attempts to create a new racist spatial order stood in the way of consistent economic exploitation, which in turn ran counter to the establishment of peace and order. Nevertheless, the Nazi authorities were never to change course. The present study brings out a cross-institutional inability to learn from mistakes and a radicalism characteristic of the entire occupation regime. The SS and police apparatus, Wehrmacht and civil administration all continued to put their faith in large-scale massacres to achieve their goals though their ineffectiveness was increasingly obvious. De-radicalization was never a serious option. (4) Ultimately, this study shows that the dynamics of massacres can only be understood against the background of the asymmetric interaction between victims and perpetrators. Victims too interpret situations, draw conclusions and act on this basis. Their actions in turn change the situation and force the perpetrators to adapt – and to modify their approach. The emergence of an armed Polish resistance movement was the logical consequence of a violent occupation. Over time, it developed such momentum that the German occupiers were forced to shift the parameters of occupation policy in such a way that long-term plans gradually took a back seat to medium- and short-term goals. From 1942–43 onwards, in the wake of heightened perceptions of crisis, ‘security’ increasingly moved to the centre of German occupation rule. Responsibility for the conception and implementation of strategies to secure

Conclusion • 303

German rule lay with the SS and police apparatus, which responded to the challenge posed by the armed Polish resistance with violent counter-partisan measures in the shape of so-called ‘band-fighting’. The present study has produced a number of findings of considerable importance in this regard. First, ‘band-fighting’ was based essentially on a series of massacres of the inhabitants of those villages and hamlets in whose vicinity ‘band activities’ were suspected. The aim was to force all residents of rural areas to adopt a loyal attitude towards the German occupiers. However, this radical practice of violence turned out to be largely dysfunctional and did much to inspire the influx of recruits into partisan groups that made them an ever-greater risk to German rule. Rather than reacting with a change of strategy, however, the SS and police instead tried to realize their promises of security by continuing the same tactics but using even greater violence and pouring in more resources. Second, the dynamics of counter-partisan measures were anchored in a specific interplay of intention and situation. Quite general framework commands issued at the leadership level created a terrain of possibilities for violence but delegated decisions on its concrete practice to local commanders, who became masters of life and death on the basis of their situational interpretations. This process was closely related to the core categories of counterpartisan activities – namely, ‘bandit’, ‘accomplice’ and ‘accessory’ – which were by no means precisely defined but open to broad interpretation. Over time, clear tendencies emerged to do away with the fundamental difference between being and acting: commanders on the ground began to subject large parts of the Polish rural population to an indiscriminate general suspicion, which essentially abolished the notion of non-participants. My analysis has also shown that in the context of the fight against partisans the massacre was in part a communicative tool, through which signals of strength and determination were sent in two directions. First, a signal of absolute superiority was conveyed to the external world – above all, to the Polish people, who were to be forced to recognize German rule. In time, regular massacres of the inhabitants of rural areas were to signal that while German rule was increasingly precarious it was by no means over. Second, a message of strength was conveyed to German actors. Particularly in the fearful and frustrating situation of ‘band war’, massacres were intended to demonstrate that the Nazi authorities could still take effective action. The present study ultimately shows that counter-partisan measures formed a frame of reference for the actors on the ground in which the use of violence, especially against civilians, ‘made sense’. Years later, when questioned by West German law-enforcement authorities, the actors involved presented their actions as appropriate in the circumstances. This is a clear indication of how reasonable and legitimate it appeared to them to carry out massacres in the context of counter-partisan activities. In this sense, the fight against partisans

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was in part a means of interpreting situations – one that declared the massacre of civilians to be sensible in every respect. It is virtually impossible to reconstruct the exact number of Polish civilians murdered in the course of German massacres because the sources do not allow us to paint a complete picture of the countless counter-partisan operations. In addition, the perpetrators did not always differentiate between individual groups of victims who were killed in the context of these activities. Wacław Długoborski clearly underestimates the number of those murdered, asserting that fewer than 4,000 people lost their lives in the course of German counterpartisan measures.39 The figures put forward by Czesław Madajczyk are closer to reality: at least 769 Polish villages destroyed by German ‘pacification measures’ and 19,792 people murdered in the process.40 However, the number of unreported cases is probably significantly higher since in 1942 alone over 17,000 people were killed in the course of counter-partisan measures. Given the intensification and radicalization that began in 1943, a figure of between 35,000 and 40,000 victims is probably not too high.41 The experience of violence, pain and loss is firmly anchored in Polish society to this day. On walks through Polish villages and towns, one often comes across small memorial plaques recessed into the walls of buildings, sometimes accompanied by withering flowers and the odd, flickering memorial candle. They remind the visitor that in this place a certain number of Poles were murdered by Germans at a specific point in time under German rule. Little mention is made of any of this in Western societies, especially Germany. And this alone confirms the relevance and topicality of Czesław Miłosz’s observation that the ‘people of the West’ suffer from a quite terrifying lack of imagination.

Notes   1. Czesław Miłosz, ‘Der Westen vom Osten aus gesehen’, in Czesław Miłosz, Verführtes Denken (Cologne, 1959), 38–62, here 38.  2. Ibid.  3. Ibid.   4. Ibid., 39.   5. Ibid., 42.   6. Ibid., 42.   7. Ibid., 40.   8. Ibid., 39f.   9. Ibid., 40. 10. Jörg Baberowski, ‘Einleitung: Ermöglichungsräume exzessiver Gewalt’, in Jörg Baberowski and Gabriele Metzler (eds), Gewalträume. Soziale Ordnungen im Ausnahmezustand (Frankfurt am Main, 2012), 7. 11. Miłosz, ‘Westen’, 41f.

Conclusion • 305

12. Ibid. 13. A critique, both trenchant and apt, of this commemorative work can be found in Götz Aly, ‘Wider das Bewältigungs-Kleinklein’, in Hanno Loewy (ed.), Holocaust: Die Grenzen des Verstehens. Eine Debatte über die Besetzung der Geschichte (Hamburg, 1992), 42–51. 14. Mallmann, ‘Täterdiskurs’, 299; see also Ralph Giordano, Die zweite Schuld oder von der Last, ein Deutscher zu sein (Munich, 1990). 15. Mallmann, ‘Täterdiskurs’; see also Hans Mommsen, ‘Forschungskontroversen zum Nationalsozialismus’, Aus Politik und Zeitgeschichte, 14–15 (2007), 14–21. 16. Michael Wildt, ‘Die Epochenzäsur von 1989/90 und die NS-Historiographie’, Zeithistorische Forschungen/Studies in Contemporary History, Online edition, 5/3 (2008). Retrieved 4 December 2021 from https://zeithistorische-forschungen.de/3-2008/4757. 17. Jan Philipp Reemtsma, ‘Was man plant, und was daraus wird. Gedanken über ein prognostisches Versagen’, in Michael Th. Greven and Oliver von Wrochem (eds), Der Krieg in der Nachkriegszeit. Der Zweite Weltkrieg in Politik und Gesellschaft der Bundesrepublik (Opladen, 2000), 273–90, here 276. 18. In this context, Hans-Ulrich Wehler has remarked that German high-school graduates and students now know as a matter of course about six million murdered European Jews, ‘but if we say that one in five Poles lost his life … , we come up against ignorance and astonishment’. Quoted in Adam Krzemiński, ‘Die schwierige deutsch-polnische Vergangenheitspolitik’, Aus Politik und Zeitgeschichte, 40–41 (2003), 3–6, here 3. 19. Jan Tomasz Gross, Nachbarn. Der Mord an den Juden von Jedwabne (Munich, 2001). 20. See, for example, ‘Die Komplizen. Hitlers europäische Helfer beim Judenmord’, Der Spiegel 21 (2009); this also applies to the TV series Generation War, broadcast in spring 2013. Here, Poles appear exclusively as antisemitic partisans. See Adam Krzemiński, ‘Der polnische Lückenbüßer’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 28 March 2013, 2. 21. Given these particular constructs of Poles, I believe it is more than mere thoughtlessness that prompts German commentators, journalists and politicians, among others, to refer to ‘Polish concentration camps’. 22. Jörg Friedrich, Der Brand. Deutschland im Bombenkrieg 1940–1945 (Munich, 2002); see also Klaus Naumann, ‘Bombenkrieg – Totaler Krieg – Massaker. Jörg Friedrichs Buch “Der Brand” in der Diskussion’, Mittelweg 36(4) (2003), 49–60. 23. Anonymus, Eine Frau in Berlin. Tagebuch-Aufzeichnungen vom 20. April bis 22. Juni 1945 (Frankfurt am Main, 2003); see also Laurel Cohen-Pfister, ‘Rape, War, and Outrage: Changing Perceptions on German Victimhood in the Period of Post-Unification’, in Laurel Cohen-Pfister (ed.), Victims and Perpetrators: 1933–1945 (Berlin and New York, 2006), 316–36. 24. A renewed debate was kicked off by Peter Glotz, Die Vertreibung. Böhmen als Lehrstück (Munich, 2003); on German–Polish conflicts, see Hans-Jürgen Bömelburg, ‘Gestörte Kommunikation. Der polnische Monolog über Flucht und Vertreibung und seine deutsch-polnischen Ursachen’, Mittelweg 36(3) (2005), 35–52. 25. Hans-Jürgen Bömelburg, ‘Fachhistorische Ansätze zu “Krieg und Vertreibung”’, Historie. Jahrbuch des Zentrums für Historische Forschung Berlin der Polnischen Akademie der Wissenschaften 1 (2007/2008), 135–48, here 141. 26. This is also the context in which we must place revisionist attempts to ascribe partial blame to Poland for unleashing the Second World War. See, for example, Stefan Scheil, Fünf plus Zwei. Die europäischen Nationalstaaten, die Weltmächte und die vereinte Entfesselung des Zweiten Weltkriegs (Berlin, 2003); not long ago, Erika Steinbach, president of the Federation of Expellees (Bund der Vertriebenen), also implied such

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c­ omplicity: ‘I’m afraid I can’t change the fact that Poland had mobilized by March 1939.’ For this quotation and all the requisite corrections, see Arkadiusz Stempin, ‘Steinbach – sie kann es leider nicht mehr ändern’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 12 September 2010, 2. 27. Adam Daniel Rotfeld, ‘Suche nach der Identität. Über Polens Umgang mit der Geschichte’, Der Spiegel 23 (2009), 62f., here 63. 28. Snyder, Bloodlands, 405. 29. Peter Jahn, ‘Die unbedachten Toten’, Die Zeit, 28 January 2009, 11. 30. Jürgen Matthäus, ‘Perspektiven der NS-Forschung. Neuerscheinungen zu “Euthanasie” und “Endlösung”’, Zeitschrift für Geschichtswissenschaft 44 (1996), 991–1006, here 991. 31. Thomas Weber, ‘Gefangen in einer ausweglosen Hölle’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 7 May 2013. 32. Ibid. 33. Ibid. 34. Ibid. 35. Bartosz Wieliński and Paweł Wroński, ‘“Nasze matki, nasi ojcowie” – skandal czy serial poruszający’, Gazeta Wyborcza, 21 June 2013. Retrieved 4 December 2021 from http:// wyborcza.pl/1,76842,14141962,_Nasze_matki_nasi_ojcowie_skandal_czy_serial_po ruszajacy.html. See also Daniel Logemann, ‘After the Conflict is before the Conflict? On the Debate over the Three-Part Miniseries Unsere Mütter, unsere Väter Shown on ZDF German Television, Cultures of History Forum (02.09.2013), DOI: 10.25626/0006. 36. Wieliński and Wroński, ‘Skandal’. 37. Ibid. 38. Ibid.; it is thus by no means true that ‘developments in the countries occupied by Germany in the Second World War have for the most part been thoroughly explored’, as Hans Mommsen claimed a few years ago. See Mommsen, ‘Forschungskontroversen’, 21. 39. Długoborski, ‘Besatzungspolitik’, 320. 40. Madajczyk, Terror, 9. 41. If we also factor in the victims claimed by the putting down of the Warsaw Uprising, which was declared a counter-partisan measure, and the killings carried out in the context of the German invasion of September 1939, a total figure of around 250,000 victims seems a reasonable ‘educated guess’.

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Index

accusation collective accusation, 76 of residents, 2, 293n17 agricultural councillor, 219. See also Globocnik, Odilo Alvensleben, Ludolf von, 46, 77 on killing of poles, 78, 83 (see also revenge) See also Volksdeutscher Selbstschutz Alzey Nazi Party District Office, 63 anti-bolshevism, 49–51 anti-German elements, 73, 105n138, 145. See also denunciations anti-Hitler coalition, 236, 240 anti-partisan, 16 German anti-partisan activities, 14, 16–18, 118 See also enemy construct anti-polonism, 51–52. See also enemy construct anti-slavism, 11. See also enemy construct arbitrary acts and lack of discipline, 122 of Polish citizens, 200 (see also enemy construct) against Polish residents, 78–81, 136–40, 220–22 armaments office. See under Rüstungsinspektion armaments teams. See under Rüstungskommandos armia krajowa, 211, 223n9, 232, 246n42 and Polish underground state, 114n305

army high command. See under Oberkommando des Heeres, OHK assimilation German cultural superiority, 37 and occupation, 86–87 See also Lebensraumpolitik attack group centre, 263–68. See also Reinefarth Combat Group Ausschaltung policy of, 87 of Polish intelligentsia, 31n147, 146–47 Bach-Zelewski, Erich von dem, 266–68, 275n6, 285n23 and band-fighting units (Bandenkampfverbände), 46, 121, 220–22 in Warsaw court, 220–22 band-fighting, 182–89, 230–33, 265 band problem, 241–44 cooperation of poles, 196–200, 302 (see also denunciations) in countryside, 259 failure of, 210–12 and final solution, 193–94 and masculinity, 192, 235–36 measures, 167, 175–76, 187–90, 237–40, 282–84 operations, 121–123, 193–196, 219, 259 (see also Biłgoraj Forest, Operation Sturmwind, Warsaw Uprising) and radicalization, 195–196, 208n133 (see also enemy construct) in urban areas, 267–68

Index • 341

victims, 287 violent excesses, 192, 301–03 and war economy, 194–95 (see also forced labour) battle for nationhood. See under Volkstumskampf Biłgoraj Forest, 232–44 massacres, 233–35 (see also Operation Sturmwind) partisan groups, 232, 246n42 See also band-fighting Bork, Max, 234, 235–42. See also Operation Sturmwind Bromberg, 63–68 Bloody Sunday at Bromberg, 64–68, 73 German residents of, 73–76 (see also denunciations) German press on, 75 Nazi remembrance, 299–300 (see also propaganda) victims of massacre, 104n131, 105n146, 160n161 Bühler, Josef, 183 Central Commission for the Investigation of German Crimes in Poland, 280 church and clergy, 39–40, 132–33, 144 civil administration, 120–21, 215, 224n32, 302 on band-fighting, 194, 218, 243 of General Government, 181, 184, 236–37 in German occupation regime, 94, 102n102, 219, 233 collaboration (Poland), 279–84 commands, 7–8, 191–92 military commands, 18–19, 120 techniques of violence, 147, 188, 241, 303 communism in Poland, 278–80, 284 communist partisan groups, 181, 220, 232–33, 246n42 Communist Polish Workers’ Party, 96 and occupation rule, 279 Polish Committee of National Liberation, 254 cultural struggle. See under Kulturkampf

concentration camp deportation of poles, 15, 86–88, 149, 181, 194, 267 (see also völkische Neuordnung) and violence, 9, 15–16 Częstochowa, 136–138. See also massacre (Nazi) Danzig, 42–43 annexation of, 50, 56n103 Danzig-West Prussia, 85, 88 (see also Reichsgaue) executions, 151, 153 in German press, 98n12 denunciations, 72–76 condition of police control, 72, 301 German haters, 76–78, 104n131 of German residents, 73–75, 82, 105n146, 160n161 of Polish residents, 74, 173, 201–2 Deutsche Rundschau on violence against poles, 75–77 (see also propaganda) Dirlewanger, Oskar, 262–68 Attack Group Centre, 263–64 (see also Reinefarth Combat Group) Ernst Rode on, 162 Dobrzańsk, Henryk ‘Hubal’, 162–79 and Polish bands, 123, 162–79, 185, 287 Eastern Front, 240, 255–56 military developments at, 254 (see also Wehrmacht) economic war. See under war Einsatzgruppen Operation Tannenberg, 141–53 and Polish civilians, 138, 183 raids, 73 and Sicherheitspolizei, 141, 147, 150 trial, 287 See also Sondereinsatzgruppen elimination. See under Ausschaltung enemy construct, 33–34, 59–60, 142, 147 anti-Polish, 7, 11, 43, 58–59, 62, 187 Polish bands, 43, 117, 164 Polish intelegentsia, 151 radicalization of, 118

342 • Index

enemy construct (cont.) and violence, 60, 38 (see also Volkstumskampf ) See also propaganda escalation mechanism, 11–12, 162–163, 222, 224n24 ethnic Germans, 71–72, 80 legitimacy for expansion, 69, 88, 90, 109n238 (see also Lebensraumpolitik) legitimacy for violence, 17, 68–70, 73, 76–79, 82–83, 102n98, 132, 147, 196–98 (see also enemy construct) and military actions, 73–74, 77 under occupation rule, 72–73, 279 recruitment of, 261 victimization, 59–62, 64, 75, 299–300 (see also propaganda) volksdeutscher Selbstschutz, 72, 76–84, 198–99, 301 See also Volksgemeinschaft ethnonational extermination. See volkstümliche Ausrottung exclusion, 82 nationalism, 35–42, 144 racism, 130, 143 violent, 71–72 See also Volksgemeinschaft expansion, German eastward, 36–37, 49–50, 51 justification, 60, 68, 77, 128 (see also Lebensraumpolitik) military, 69 (see also general plan east) expropriation, 39, 61 first world war, 42. See also war final solution, 13, 193 forced labour (Polish), 15, 90–94, 111n255, 181, 219 recruitment, 2, 4, 84, 93, 120, 194–95, 267 war economy, 17, 93 francs-tireurs, 148–49 Frank, Hans on Germanization, 88–89, 113n293, 212–13 on German victimization, 68, 102n98 on military actions, 238, 245n8

on Polish violence, 179n77 (see also enemy construct) Freikorps, 43–46, 142–43 remembrance of, 59–60, 65 Garbatka-Letnisko, 193–94 gendarmerie units, 184–85, 189–90, 192–93 General Government, 123, 126nn33–34, 153, 181–85, 230–32 economic policy, 92­–94, 111n271, 194 incorporation, 90, 113n302 Jewish policy, 180 military district command, 233–34 Polish region under, 84–86, 88 (see also Germanization) and resistance movement, 96, 119, 215–16, 267. (see also partisans) security measures, 175, 177n32 general plan east, 37, 89 Generation War, 298 Germanization, 37–39, 41–42, 113n302 of eastern Europe, 40–41, 90 ethnic cleansing, 41–42, 68 general plan east, 89 See also Lebensraumpolitik German nation state, 35–38 German national movement, 35–36 German police, 148, 194 on band-fighting, 193–95 in occupied Polish territories, 66, 170, 197, 261 and violence, 76, 148, 153, 200–201 (see also violence) German-Polish relation, 298 enthusiasm for Poland, 35–36 non aggression pact, 48, 50 perpetrator-victim relationship, 66 German press on violence, 61, 75–76, 98n12. See also propaganda German research foundation, 89 German rule, 16–19, 240, 253, 273, 303 liberation of Poland from, 278–79 occupation regime, 9, 37, 84, 94–96, 119–20, 124n16, 182, 185 (see also occupation) Polish civilians under, 15, 164, 196

Index • 343

violence under, 12, 46, 58–59, 210–12, 262, 275n2 (see also violence) Geheime Staatspolizei (Gestapo), 72, 144–45 Gerteis, Adolf, 230 ghettos, 181, 193–94 Globocnik, Odilo, 183–84, 211, 213, 219 Goebbels, Joseph on propaganda, 61 on violence against Germans, 143 Göring, Hermann, 50, 85, 149 Gutmann, Wolfgang, 290–91 Haenicke, Siegfried, 233–34, 244 Halder, Franz on war against Poland, 131, 149, 155n23 Heißmeyer, Eugen, 121 on Polish resistance, 117 higher field commands, 120, 245 Himmler, Heinrich, 76, 87, 119, 124n16, 182, 213, 217, 287 on deportation, 88 Einsatzgruppe, 146, 148, 185 on uprising, 257, 259–63, 267–68 Hindenburg, Paul von, 141–42 Hitler, Adolf, 254 on ethnic cleansing, 86–88 on foreign policy, 49, 150 on invasion of Poland, 50–52, 65, 128–30 (see also Lebensraumpolitik) on Polish atrocities, 65–66, 267 on Polish economy, 92 Hitler-Stalin pact, 51 Higher SS and Police Leader (HSSPF), 87, 119, 120 international law of war, 45, 127–29, 132, 287 invasion of Poland (German), 40, 48, 51, 148 military, 128–30, 132–33, 144–46, 151, 260–63 (see also Wehrmacht) and Polish civilians, 122 propaganda, 60–62, 64–68, 134–36, 299 Jewish policy (German), 92, 129–30, 132, 211

culture of remembrance, 298 in General Government, 180 See also Operation Reinhardt Józefów, 82–84, 288–90. See also massacre (Nazi) judicial investigation, 20 judicial processing of Nazi crimes, 18–20 Kąkolewski, Krysztof, 174 Kalmykian calvary corps, 243 Kassner, Adolf, 82–84, 107n200, 289, 292 Katzmann, Friedrich, 166–67, 176n20 Kielce, 165, 225n48 Komorowski, Tadeusz ‘Bór’, 253–55, 267. See also Operation Burza Koppe, Wilhelm, 124n16, 235 on band-fighting, 231, 238 on Red Army, 230, 232 Koschorke, Helmuth, 66–68. See also Polizeireiter in Polen Kulturkampf, 38–39 Kulturnation (German), 46 Królewiec, 169–70, 288. See also massacre (Nazi) Krüger, Friedrich Wilhelm, 124n16 and band-fighting, 167–68, 170, 177n32, 185, 213–14 in Radom, 163 Lebensraumpolitik, 89 new ethnological order, 10, 86–88 racial ennoblement, 77 war for living space, 49 local guard force, 198 Lublin massacres, 1–2, 82–83 (see also massacre [Nazi]) police apparatus, 195, 231, 288 partisans, 17, 183–84, 210–11, 213, 215, 220 (see also partisans) manly self-control, 122, 139–40, 157n75, 267. See also violence manoeuvre critique, 186 massacre (Nazi), 4–7, 15, 18, 168–69 actors of, 11, 14, 150, 300

344 • Index

massacre (Nazi) (cont.) anti-partisan campaigns, 122, 164, 172–73, 191, 274, 303 battle for nationhood, 128 development and dynamics, 18, 136, 140, 189, 300 German invasion, 133, 302 institution of violence, 16, 80, 95 justice system on, 282–83, 286–93 legitimacy, 3, 7, 299–300 military leadership, 138, 233, 266–267 of Polish civilians, 2–3, 8–11, 16, 18, 33, 73–76, 95, 118–22, 184, 222, 257–59, 298–99 practice of, 19, 58 setting of, 17, 33, 95, 153, 162–64, 304 survivors, 19, 173–74 mass shootings, 42, 78, 170, 177n20, 222, 266. See also massacre (Nazi) German police, 153 legitimacy, 289 remembrance, 83, 297 survivors, 171 mass violence, 42, 63, 243. See also violence actors, 12, 66, 137, 148, 210, 300 band-fighting operation, 241 and irregular psychosis, 122 justification, 122, 137, 172, 182–85 under Nazi occupation, 46, 94, 121, 138, 302 on Polish civilians, 45, 90, 139–40, 148, 162, 175–76, 214, 259 migration, 38, 47 military discipline, 77, 138–40, 150 manly self-control, 122 Military District Command, 215–19, 231–37, 241, 244 military leader (German), 140, 149–50 on mass violence, 138–39 preparation for war, 128–30, 133–35 Miłosz, Czesław, 252–56, 295–98, 304 Model, Walter, 234, 255, 269n42 Moscow Declaration, 278 Motorized Gendarmerie Battalion, 185, 199, 234–35 shootings, 189–91, 193–95 Munich Agreement, 50–51

Najwyższy Trybunał Narodowy (NTN), 283–84 Nationalism, 35–42 national community, 62–63, 71 (see also Volksgemeinschaft) Nazism, 48, 296–98 Natoniewski, Winicjusz, 1–2 Naumann, Karl, 194, 230–31, 237 Nazi crimes, 18–20, 274–75, 278–81, 286–88 criminals, 283–84 Nazi economy, 94 main trustee office for the east, 91 in occupied Polish territories, 90–94 Nazi leadership, 59, 84–85, 149, 254–55 Nazi order of violence, 32, 58, 69–70, 153, 197–198. See also violence Oberkommando des Heeres (OKH), 132 Ober Ost occupation zone, 41 occupation (German), 6–7, 9, 14, 295–99, 301 apparatus, 94, 120, 163, 175, 181, 212, 230–32 Nazi violence, 11–12, 95 policy, 10–14, 33, 86, 95, 117–26 regime, 11, 58, 68, 94–97, 120 society under, 10 old Reich, 3, 85 population policy, 87, 93 territorial exclusion, 71–72 Volksfremde, 71 Operation Burza, 253 Operation Citadel, 229 Operation Margarethe, 231 Operation Reinhardt, 211 Operation Sturmwind, 232–44 Operation Tannenberg, 141–42 Operation Wehrwolf, 219–20 Operation Zamość, 201, 203n13, 211–12 pacification, 234 campaign, 169 extraordinary pacification operation, 175 measures, 139, 175, 304 of Polish villages, 16 of the territory, 78, 189

Index • 345

partisans, 14, 162–179 activity, 134, 147 anti-partisan, 16–18, 118, 261 bourgeois and communist, 181, 203n13, 274–75, 277–80 counter-partisan campaign, 122–23, 166, 185–96, 232–42, 258, 262, 304 (see also Operation Sturmwind) Polish partisan movement, 16, 119–22, 134, 220–22, 259 Polish underground state, 96–97, 162, 252–53 Paulus, Friedrich, 288–93 perpetrators (German), 4, 16, 80, 95, 153, 277–85, 300 Nazi, 286 ordinary men, 13 punishment of, 287–90 radicalism, 214 SS-Totenkopfstandarte, 168–69 persecution, 17, 187–92, 201–02, 243, 278–80, 293n17 police apparatus, 18, 66, 87, 94, 102n102, 117–23, 124n16, 143–47 concentric cleansing method, 186–88 criminal police, 142 officers, 16, 152 Ordnungspolizei, 119–20, 123, 188–89, 192, 195–99, 201 police battalion, 148, 152, 166–67 Sicherheitspolizei, 119–20, 125n18, 138, 141–45, 193, 267 stations, 261 Polizeireiter in Polen, 66–67 policy of ethnic cleansing, 41–42 policy of equilibrium, 51 Polish bands, 44, 117–26, 132, 143 combating the, 97, 214 operation against, 119–20, 190 (see also Operation Wehrwolf ) total people’s war, 132–33 violence of, 45–46, 242–43 See also enemy construct Polish committee of national liberation (PKWN), 254 Polish corridor, 42, 50, 151 Polonization, 38–39

Posen, 42–47, 54n63, 85, 102n102 practices of violence. See under violence privatization of state violence. See under violence prisoners of war. See under war propaganda, 7, 68, 256. See also enemy construct atrocity propaganda, 11, 62–63, 65, 75, 299 Nazi, 45, 59–61, 63–64, 68, 91, 263 Polish cruelty, 97 Polish hordes, 45, 65–68, 75, 300 scholarship on the east, 47 protection police. See under Schutzpolizei protection squadron. See under Schutzstaffel Prussia, 37–38, 85, 155n23 East Prussia, 42, 46, 50, 98n12 Polish corridor, 151 Prussian Protestantism, 38 West Prussia, 42–43, 54n63, 85 punishment, 277–85 of crimes to the state, 71 fear of, 210–14 of norm violation, 129 racism, 14, 143 master race, 77, 136, 274 racial inferiority, 49, 87, 97 racial superiority, 95–97, 136, 167 subhumans, 65, 79, 148, 172 radicalization, 148–53, 181, 304 of enemy construct, 118 in General Government, 175 of German occupation, 97, 195, 219 Radom, 17, 162–63, 172–73, 175, 189 Red Army, 51, 123, 240, 280 in Poland, 128, 180, 255, 268 and Polish underground state, 252–54 and Wehrmacht, 229–32 Reich Districts. See under Reichsgaue Reichsgaue, 17, 84–86 Danzig-west Prussia, 88 Wartheland, Warthegau, 9–10, 85–86, 153 Reinefarth, Heinz, 256–64 Reinefarth combat group, 259 Warsaw uprising, 256–57

346 • Index

remembrance, 298 Bromberg, 64 and commemoration, 296–97 Freikorps, 45–46, 59 resistance, 90, 95–97, 162–79 armed-resistance activities, 217, 253 Polish underground state, 96–97, 162, 253 See also partisans Reichenau, Walter von, 135–36, 139 revenge, 70–72, 78, 83 Volksgemeinschaft, 72 Rheindorf, Konrad, 1–2 Ribbentrop, Joachim von on German and Polish relations, 50–51 Rode, Ernst, 262 Russian Liberation Army (RONA), 261, 264–67 Rüstungsinspektion, 18 Rüstungskommandos, 18 Sauckel, Fritz, 93, 195 Schutzpolizei, 19 Schutzstaffel, 10 Schwieger, Erich, 185, 190, 192–95 Second Polish Republic, 43–47, 163, 257, 273 invasion of, 127, 144 and Polish Jews, 92 Second World War. See under war secret police of Nazi Germany. See under Gestapo security and order, 121, 188, 230–31, 240–41, 244. See also occupation (German) Skłoby, 171, 174. See also massacre (Nazi) Social Democratic Party, 63 Sondereinsatzgruppen, 183–84 Soviet Ukraine, 230, 234 Soviet Union, 42, 84–85 Cold War, 281 (see also war) invasion of Poland, 51, 253 war against, 17, 49, 182 (see also Lebensraumpolitik) Sovietization, 96, 275n3 special task forces. See under Sondereinsatzgruppen

Speer, Albert, 217 Sudeten crisis, 59 survivors (Polish), 4, 148, 181, 267, 274, 280 forced labour, 2 in judicial processing, 18 of massacres, 3, 19, 171–74 testimony, 242–43 Staatspolizei (Stapo), 142 starvation, 89, 181 state monopoly on violence. See under violence state police. See under Staatspolizei task force. See under Einsatzgruppen Teutonic order, 141–42 terror, 3, 262 German, 13, 223n9 Polish, 62–64, 132 (see also enemy construct) Third Reich, 261 enemies of, 192 relations with eastern neighbour, 11 total war. See under war turf wars, 118, 121, 165 tragic 7 April, 169 United Nations War Crimes Commission (UNWCC), 278 Upper Silesia, 31n147, 43–44, 113n302, 143 uprising, 211 Polish underground state, 96–97 Upper Silesian, 143 Warsaw, 10, 18, 114n307, 123, 252–72, 306n41 victimization, 63, 291 of ethnic Germans, 17 (see also ethnic Germans) strategy, 59–60, 68, 147, 299–300 (see also propaganda) Versailles system, 47–48 violence, 33–34, 58–116, 210–27 acceptance of, 83 actors of, 12, 46, 76 acts of, 3, 6–7, 12, 15, 58–59, 69, 73, 78–80, 128, 173, 185, 195–96, 216, 242, 287–88, 300

Index • 347







against ethnic Germans, 61–65, 143 anti-Polish, 7 collective, 4–5, 75, 143 deadly, 4, 75, 147 (see also mass shootings) deportation, 15 dynamics of, 19, 68, 71–72, 133, 186, 193, 210–22, 239, 255, 264 escalation of, 66, 133–140, 152, 187–191, 233 excess of, 2–6, 72–73, 78–80, 122, 140, 175–76, 189, 257, 262 experience of, 4, 43, 303–04 justification, 7, 68, 78, 194, 239, 274, 281, 299 mass violence, 12, 42–45, 66, 70, 90–94, 118, 121–22, 129–30, 137–40, 148, 163, 172, 182–84, 210, 214, 239–41, 257–58, 268, 297 military, 128–30, 136, 215, 242–43 (see also Volkstumskampf ) monopoly on state violence, 68–71, 77, 196, 297–98 Nazi, 13–15, 43, 68, 118–19, 141, 175–76, 196, 273–74, 277, 282, 296 in occupied areas (German), 3, 11, 41–44, 46, 50–52, 65, 83, 186 order of, 5–6, 191–93 participation in, 72, 193–94, 200, 239, 301–03 police, 67, 153, 230–31 Polish affinity for, 7, 17, 43, 47, 58–61, 64–67, 77, 97, 132–33, 147, 187, 263, 274, 281, 297–300 (see also enemy construct, victimization) on Polish civilians, 11–12, 14, 78–79, 136–38, 166, 172, 196, 211, 268 physical, 65, 68, 93–95 practice of, 8, 12, 19–20, 45 (see also propaganda) routinization of, 181, 196 setting of, 6, 302 (see also massacre [Nazi]) sexual, 15, 44–45, 152–53, 243, 261, 266 situational, 5, 235–37 system of, 17–18 terrain of, 84, 94–97

vistula, 40, 45, 50, 89, 254–56 control of vistula crossing, 232 Volksdeutscher Selbstschutz, 76–84, 301 justification of violence, 198 participation on violence, 72 Volksgemeinschaft, 62–63, 71–72, 84 biologization, 143–44 ordinary men, 13, 66 and violence, 67–68, 144, 301 Volkstumskampf, 38–39, 82, 128–29, 132 against Poland, 129–30, 153 (see also enemy construct) volkstümliche Ausrottung, 149, 296–97 extermination camps, 181, 194 völkische Neuordnung, 10, 86–90 Wagner, Eduard, 145 war Cold War, 12, 128, 279–81 conventional war, 127–30 economic war, 49–50 economy, 10, 14, 17, 91–93, 194, 222, 229 as humanitarian intervention, 60–65, 299 prisoners of war, 17, 132, 180–181, 195–96, 279 Second World War, 9, 118, 295–97 small-scale, 180–209 Total people’s War, 130–32 Total War, 130–31 Warsaw, 50 court, 222, 287 Government General of Warsaw, 41, 86 killing in, 215 talks, 51 uprising of 1944, 18, 252–72 Wehrmacht, 1, 13–14, 127–33, 149–50, 167, 211–12, 260 and civil administration, 121, 302 counter-partisan measures, 120, 123, 173, 218, 232–44 court martial, 81 leaders, 177n32 massacres, 73, 152 (see also massacre [Nazi]) and Polish civilians, 147–48, 300

348 • Index

Wehrmacht (cont.) in Polish territory, 63–64, 134–135, 140–45, 180, 218, 229–30 security policy, 231 use of force, 48, 145, 216

Weimar Republic, 42–49 Western powers, 48, 90, 128–31 Workers’ party (Polish), 96