europe view 136 on history (again)

Europe.view

Let us have no lies
Jun 11th 2009
From Economist.com


Using the law to salve a guilty national conscience
YOU automatically lose an argument if you call the other person a Nazi, states an adage coined by Mike Godwin, a writer about the internet, in 1990. With that in mind, it is wise to proceed with caution when discussing analogies between the Holocaust and anything else. Yet as Russia’s draft law on criminalising challenges to the Stalinist version of history comes closer to reality, it is worth looking at the successes and failures of other attempts to make certain views of history illegal.

Germany, Austria and more than a dozen other European countries have laws that more or less ban “denial” of the Holocaust. Sometimes these are part of general prohibitions of Nazi activity. Sometimes they are more generally framed as anti-hatred laws.

How far that is justifiable in theory is debatable. Every country curbs free speech to some extent (look at American companies’ use of corporate libel laws, for example). Whether one particular set of sensitivities deserves more protection than another is a matter for public debate: if voters mind enough one way or another, the politicians will pass or repeal the laws concerned.

From that point of view, it is hard to quibble with Russia’s desire to protect and sanctify the memory of its millions of soldiers who fell in the fight against Nazism. As the western wartime allies wallow in nostalgia, it is worth remembering that more than ten times as many “Soviet” (admittedly a loose term) soldiers died in combat than British and American troops combined.

But it is also worth noting that Holocaust-denial laws have done little to restrict the pernicious myths peddled by those who think the Jews were the victors, not the victims, in the second world war. In fact, a bit of legal persecution is just what those advocating fringe history most want. They can argue that the authorities are trying to suppress the “truth” because they have no other answer to it. What is in reality little more than a bunch of quibbles, anomalies, loose ends and historical puzzles becomes a grand scheme of events, and thus more potent in attracting the gullible or prejudiced.

The best antidote to Holocaust denial is truth, such as the excellent nizkor.org, which provides a painstaking refutation of the mythmongers’ cases, backed up with meticulous documentation. (An enterprising group of researchers ought to provide a similar dossier to rebut the equally absurd claims of the 9/11 conspiracy theorists).

Of course, questioning the Stalinist version of history is not directly comparable to Holocaust denial. If anything, the label should be on the other side. When a Russian defence-ministry website can argue straightfacedly that it was Poland that started the second world war, it is hard to accept that the authorities in Moscow are really interested in nailing falsehoods, rather than—as they seem to be—promoting them.

But Poland has not responded by banning the import of modern Russian textbooks, or passing a law making the denial of the Katyn massacre (which Stalin ordered and then blamed on the Nazis) into a criminal offence.

Banning a particular version of history is usually a sign of a guilty conscience. In the case of continental Europe, it is to make amends for collaboration and perpetration during the darkest years of the last century. In Russia’s case, what should be a source of proud sorrow—the heroism of those who fought and defeated Hitler—is being used to cover up Stalin’s behaviour: both his bungling of the Soviet defences against Hitler’s attack, and before that conspiring with the Nazis to carve up the Baltics, Balkans and central Europe.

Eichmann book review

Adolf Eichmann

Manhunt
Apr 2nd 2009
From The Economist print edition



Hunting Eichmann: How a Band of Survivors and a Young Spy Agency Chased Down the World’s Most Notorious Nazi
By Neal Bascomb



Houghton Mifflin Harcourt; 400 pages; $26. To be published in Britain by Quercus in September
BRINGING old Nazis to justice was not a priority in the immediate aftermath of 1945. The three Western powers wanted to turn their zones of Germany into the Federal Republic, a functioning cold-war ally. Justice was delayed, denied or tied up in bureaucratic knots. But did that shabby, perhaps shameful compromise justify Israel’s action in kidnapping Adolf Eichmann from Argentina in 1960 and putting him on trial in a country that did not exist at the time when he was planning and executing the Holocaust?

The unspoken assumption of Neal Bascomb’s book is that the Israeli secret service’s daring and risky plan was not only heroic and skilful, but also justified. It starts by retelling the long and frustrating hunt for Eichmann, whom sympathisers had helped flee to Argentina after the war (a shocking tale in itself). It was a chance remark by one of his sons to a girlfriend who, unknown to him, was half-Jewish, that gave the first clue. Even so, it took years to follow up.

Those who like to believe that Mossad, the Israeli secret service, is the epitome of spookish efficiency may find themselves blinking at some of the mishaps and near-disasters that its posse encountered in Argentina. Clumsy snooping alarmed the Eichmanns, though not enough to prompt them to go into hiding. Having caught their quarry, the Israeli spy chiefs risked detection by ordering a further, madcap attempt to find another fugitive Nazi, Josef Mengele, a doctor responsible for hideous experiments at Auschwitz.

Nonetheless, the operation was both daring and brilliant. Eichmann was snatched from the street on his way home from work. One of the kidnappers—in an unplanned move—managed to persuade him that it would be to his advantage to stand trial in Israel, and put his side of the story. He boarded an El Al plane without protest, disguised as a crew member.

Mr Bascomb’s understandable distaste for his subject does not prevent him giving a good flavour of Eichmann’s slippery arguments once he went on trial: sometimes denying that he did anything wrong, sometimes saying he was only obeying orders, sometimes pleading other extenuating circumstances. He brings out well the paradox of Eichmann’s genuine interest in Jewish history and culture (he greeted his captors with a Hebrew prayer), and the abominable crimes he committed.

Argentina, in those days infested with Nazi sympathisers, was furious at Israel’s action. So were some other countries. Israel was unrepentant. The book spends a bit too long on the minutiae of the hunt and skates rather too quickly over the legal and ethical issues that it raised. Was it really so impossible to put Eichmann on trial in West Germany? The book criticises the prosecution’s conduct at the trial, but with a frustrating lack of detail. A bigger flaw is the re-creation of dialogue 50 years on, a trick that gives the narrative immediacy but erodes the credibility that the author’s research has earned.

Eichmann himself comes across as a pathetic figure, dwarfed both by the evil he committed and the efforts made to catch him. Like most of his fellow Nazis, he was monstrous only when fate gave him power. Without it, he was just a crotchety émigré with unpleasant views on Jews. Yet the story remains a gripping one: the shadowy world of ex-Nazis hiding away in a far-off continent, Germany’s own struggle of memory against forgetting, and a young country’s clamorous desire for justice.

Hunting Eichmann: How a Band of Survivors and a Young Spy Agency Chased Down the World’s Most Notorious Nazi.
By Neal Bascomb.
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt; 400 pages; $26. To be published in Britain by Quercus in September

Irena Sendler Obituary

Irena Sendler

May 22nd 2008
From The Economist print edition

Irena Sendler, saviour of children in the Warsaw ghetto, died on May 12th, aged 98

East News Poland

POLAND suffered more than any other European country during the second world war. And there was an extra twist: the history of that suffering was then systematically distorted by the Soviet-imposed Communist rulers, and widely misunderstood abroad. Auschwitz, for example, is still often referred to as a “Polish death camp”—rather than one run by the country's Nazi occupiers, in which huge numbers of Polish citizens perished. And gentile Poles are typically imagined to have rejoiced, collaborated or simply stood by as their Jewish compatriots were exterminated. Poles, said the former Israeli leader Yitzhak Shamir, “imbibe anti-Semitism with their mother's milk.”

Certainly prejudice was prevalent in pre-war Poland; but many Poles defied it. One of the bravest was Irena Sendler. As a doctor's daughter, she had been brought up in a house that was open to anyone in pain or need, Jew or gentile. In the segregated lecture halls at Warsaw University, where she studied Polish literature, she and likeminded friends deliberately sat on the “Jewish” benches. When nationalist thugs beat up a Jewish friend, she defaced her grade card, crossing out the stamp that allowed her to sit on the “Aryan” seats. For that, the university suspended her for three years. All this was good preparation for the defiance she was to show after 1939, when the Germans invaded.

She was, a friend said, “born to selflessness, not called to it”. Certainly she had good genes. A rebellious great-grandfather was deported to Siberia. Her father died of typhus in 1917, after treating patients his colleagues shunned. Many were Jewish. Leaders of the Jewish community offered money to her hard-up mother for young Irena's education. Like many social workers in pre-war Poland, Mrs Sendler belonged to the Socialist party: not for its political ideology, she said, but because it combined compassion with dislike of money-worship. No religion motivated her: she acted z potrzeby serca, “from the need of my heart”.

Under Nazi occupation the Jews of Warsaw were herded into the city ghetto: four square kilometres for around 400,000 souls. Even before the deportations to the Treblinka death camp started, death could be arbitrary and instant. Yet a paradox created a sliver of hope. Squalor and near-starvation (the monthly bread ration was two kilos, or 4.5lb) created ideal conditions for typhus, which would have killed Germans too. So the Nazis allowed Mrs Sendler and her colleagues in and out of the tightly guarded ghetto to distribute medicines and vaccinations.

That bureaucratic loophole allowed her to save more Jews than the far better known Oscar Schindler. It was astonishingly risky. Some children could be smuggled out in lorries, or in trams supposedly returning empty to the depot. More often they went by secret passageways from buildings on the outskirts of the ghetto. To save one Jew, she reckoned, required 12 outsiders working in total secrecy: drivers for the vehicles; priests to issue false baptism certificates; bureaucrats to provide ration cards; and most of all, families or religious orders to care for them. The penalty for helping Jews was instant execution.

Names in glass jars

To make matters even riskier, Mrs Sendler insisted on recording the children's details to help them trace their families later. These were written on pieces of tissue paper bundled on her bedside table; the plan was to hurl them out of the window if the Gestapo called. The Nazis did catch her (thinking she was a small cog, not the linchpin of the rescue scheme) but did not find the files, secreted in a friend's armpit. Under torture she revealed nothing. Thanks to a well-placed bribe, she escaped execution; the children's files were buried in glass jars. Mrs Sendler spent the rest of the war under an assumed name.

The idea of a heroine's treatment appalled her. “I feel guilty to this day that I didn't do more,” she said. Besides, she felt she had been a bad daughter, risking her elderly mother's life with her wartime work, a bad wife to both her husbands, and a neglectful mother. Her daughter once asked to be admitted to the children's home where her mother worked after the war, in order to see more of her.

Mrs Sendler need not have worried. Far from being honoured, she narrowly avoided a death sentence from the Communist authorities. Her crime was that her work had been authorised and financed by the Polish government-in-exile in London; later, she helped soldiers of the Home Army, the wartime resistance. Both outfits were now reviled as imperialist stooges. In 1948 repeated interrogations by the secret police in late pregnancy cost the life of her second child, born prematurely. She was not allowed to travel, and her children could not study full-time at university. “What sins have you got on your conscience, Mama?” her daughter asked her.

It was not until 1983 that the Polish authorities allowed her to travel to Jerusalem, where a tree was planted in her honour at Yad Vashem. Many of the children she had saved sought her out: now elderly themselves, all grateful, but some still yearning for details of their forgotten parents. In 2003 she received Poland's highest honour, the order of the White Eagle. It came a little late.