Prisoners of War, Prisoners of Peace

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Prisoners of War, Prisoners of Peace

Published under the auspices of the International Committee for the History of the Second World War

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Prisoners of War, Prisoners of Peace Captivity, Homecoming and Memory in World War II

Edited by Bob Moore & Barbara Hately-Broad

Oxford • New York

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English edition First published in 2005 by Berg Editorial offices: First Floor, Angel Court, 81 St Clements Street, Oxford OX4 1AW, UK 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010, USA © Bob Moore and Barbara Hately-Broad 2005 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the written permission of Berg. Berg is the imprint of Oxford International Publishers Ltd.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Prisoners of war, prisoners of peace : captivity, homecoming, and memory in World War II / edited by Bob Moore & Barbara Hately-Broad.— English ed. p. cm. Revisions of papers presented at a conference organized by the International Committee for the History of the Second World War in Hamburg in July, 2002. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 1-84520-156-6 (cloth) 1. World War, 1939-1945—Prisoners and prisons—Congresses. 2. World War, 19391945—Social aspects—Congresses. 3. Ex-prisoners of war—Social conditions—20th century—Congresses. 4. Ex-prisoners of war—Rehabilitation—Congresses. I. Moore, Bob, 1954- II. Hately-Broad, Barbara. III. International Committee for the History of the Second World War. D805.A2P756 2005 940.54′72′0922—dc22

2004028420

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN-13 978 1 84520 156 2 ISBN-10 1 84520 156 6 Typeset by Avocet Typeset, Chilton, Aylesbury, Bucks Printed in the United Kingdom by Biddles Ltd, King’s Lynn.

www.bergpublishers.com

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Contents Contributors

vii

Glossary

xi

Acknowledgments

xv

Foreword

xvii

Part I: Introduction

1

Overview Pieter Lagrou

3

1

2

The Repatriation of Prisoners of War once Hostilities are Over: A Matter of Course? Rüdiger Overmans

Part II: Prisoners and their Captors 3

4

5

23

British Perceptions of Italian Prisoners of War, 1940–7 Bob Moore

25

Hatred within Limits: German Prisoners of War and Polish Society, 1945–50 Jerzy Kochanowski

41

Japanese Deserters and Prisoners of War in the Battle of Okinawa Hirofumi Hayashi

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Part III: Re-education 6

11

Re-educating the German Prisoners of War: Aims, Methods, Results and Memory in East and West Germany Andreas Hilger

59

61

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vi • Contents 7

8

Anti-fascist Propaganda among Italian Prisoners of War in the USSR, 1941–6 Maria Teresa Giusti

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The Nucleus of a New German Ideology? The Re-education of German Prisoners of War in the United States during World War II Matthias Reiss

91

Part IV: Homecoming 9

10

11

12

Belated Homecomings: Japanese Prisoners of War in Siberia and their Return to Post-war Japan Yoshikuni Igarashi

105

The Internment of Returning Soviet Prisoners of War after 1945 Pavel Polian

123

Coping in Britain and France: A Comparison of Family Issues affecting the Homecoming of Prisoners of War following World War II Barbara Hately-Broad

141

After the Burma-Thailand Railway: The ‘Homecoming’ of Dutch Prisoners of War Mariska Heijmans-Van Bruggen

151

Part V: Memory 13

14

15

103

163

Languages of Memory: German Prisoners of War and their Violent Pasts in Post-war West Germany, 1945–56 Svenja Goltermann

165

Retaining Integrity? Sex, Race and Gender in Narratives of Western Women Detained by the Japanese in World War II Christina Twomey

175

Prisoners of War in Australian National Memory Joan Beaumont

185

Notes

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Index

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Contributors Joan Beaumont is Alfred Deakin Professor (History) and Dean of Arts at Deakin University, Victoria. She is one of Australia’s leading historians of war, including the history of prisoners of war, Australia’s role in the two world wars, and the history of Australian defence and foreign policy. Her publications include Gull Force: Survival and Leadership in Captivity, 1941–1945 (1988), Australia’s War 1914–18 (ed.) (1995), Australia’s War 1939–45 (ed.) (1996), Vol. 6 of the Centenary of Australian Defence, Australian Defence: Sources and Statistics (2000); and, (with David Lowe and Chris Waters) Ministers, Mandarins and Diplomats: Australian Foreign Policy Making 1941–1969 (2003). Maria Teresa Giusti received her PhD from the University of Bologna, ‘Italian and German Soldiers in the Prison Camps of the Soviet Union in the Second World War’. She teaches contemporary history at the University of Chieti and is also attached to the Scuola Superiore di Pubblica Amministrazione in Rome, undertaking a study on post-1945 Italian public administration. She is on the editorial board of Ventunesimo Secolo and has published extensively on the fate of Italian prisoners of war on the Eastern Front, including a monograph, I prigionieri italiani in Russia (Bologna, 2003). Svenja Goltermann is Assistant Professor at the University of Bremen. She received her PhD from the University of Bielefeld in 1997. Her publications include Koerper der Nation. Habitusformierung und die Politik des Turnens (1998), and several articles in the fields of German nationalism, the representation of the body, the history of psychiatry and post-war memory. She is currently writing a book, Gegenwaertige Vergangenheiten. Kriegsheimkehrer und Psychiatrie in der westdeutschen Gesellschaft, 1945–1970. Barbara Hately-Broad was, until recently, Senior Lecturer in the School of Education at Huddersfield University and is now Skills for Life Programme Manager for Adult & Community Education in Wakefield. She holds a PhD from the University of Sheffield entitled ‘Prisoner of War Families and the British Government during the Second World War’ and has published on this topic in the Journal of Family History XXVII (2002). She has also published

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viii • Contributors articles on Traveller (Roma and Sinti) education and is currently researching the history of Adult Basic Education in the British Armed Forces. Hirofumi Hayashi is Professor of Political Science and Peace Studies at Kanto Gakuin University, Yokohama. He is currently researching war crimes issues, including comfort women and the Battle of Okinawa. His recent publications include Sabakareta Senso Hanzai (War Crimes Tried: British War Crimes Trials of the Japanese) (1998) and Okinawasen to Minshu (The Battle of Okinawa and the People) (2001). Mariska Heijmans-van Bruggen studied History at the Utrecht University. She has undertaken research in the collection of diaries held by the Netherlands Institute for War Documentation, and is presently attached to their research department. She contributed to Representing the Japanese occupation of Indonesia. Personal testimonies and public images in Indonesian, Japan and the Netherlands (Zwolle, 1999) which comprised three parts in the series De Japanse bezetting in dagboeken [The Japanese occupation in diaries] (Amsterdam, 2000–1). Andreas Hilger is affiliated to the Institute of East European History at the University of Cologne and teaches at the University of Hamburg. He studied history and Slavonic studies at the Universities of Cologne and Volgograd. He is the author of Deutsches Kriegsgefangene in der Sowjetunion, 1941–1956. Kriegsgefangenenpolitik, Lageralltag und Erinnerungen (2000) and joint editor of Sowjetische Militärtribunale, 2 vols. (2001–3). Yoshikuni Igarashi is Associate Professor of History and Director of the East Asian Studies Program at Vanderbilt University. He is currently working on a book project that focuses on the radical economic, social and cultural transformation of Japanese society in the late 1960s and the early 1970s. His recent publications include Bodies of Memory: Narratives of War in Postwar Japanese Culture 1945–1970 (2000). Jerzy Kochanowski works at the German Historical Institute in Warsaw. His main research interests are the Germans in postwar Poland, primarily the POWs and Volksdeutsche, and the black market, 1944–89. He is the author of W polskiej niewoli. Niemieccy jen´cy wojenni w Polsce 1945–1940 (2001) (In Polish Captivity: German POWs in Poland 1945–1950) and co-author of Niemcy w Polsce 1945–1950, t.II, Polska Centralna, Górny S´ lask (2001) Both these books have also ‘ appeared in German.

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Contributors • ix Pieter Lagrou is Professor of Contemporary History at the Université Libre de Bruxelles and is an associate researcher at the Institut d’Histoire du Temps Présent in Paris. Since 2000 he has been the Secretary-General of the International Committee for the History of the Second World War, and has published extensively on the period in both French and English, including The Legacy of Nazi Occupation. Patriotic Memory and National Recovery in Western Europe 1945–1965 (2000). Bob Moore is Reader in Modern History at the University of Sheffield. He has published extensively on the history of the Netherlands, on the Holocaust and on prisoners of war in World War II. His publications include Victims and Survivors: The Nazi Persecution of the Jews in the Netherlands (1997) and The British Empire and its Italian Prisoners of War, 1940–1947 (with Kent Fedorowich, 2002); and he is the editor of Resistance in Western Europe (2000). Rüdiger Overmans is Senior Researcher at the Militärgeschichtliches Forschungsamt, Potsdam. His recent major publications include Deutsche militärische Verluste im Zweiten Weltkrieg (1999) and ‘Die Kriegsgefangenenpolitik des Deutschen Reiches’ in Das Deutsche und der Zweite Weltkrieg (2004). He also edited In das Hand des Feindes (1999) and co-edited Kriegsgefangenschaft im Zweiten Weltkrieg. Eine Vergleichende Perspektive (1999) with Günther Bischof. Pavel Polian is Senior Researcher at the Institute of Geography of the Russian Academy of Sciences in Moscow. As a geographer, historian and philologist, he is a leading authority on forced migrations, forced labour and prisoners of war, as well as Jewish emigration from the USSR. His most recent book is Zhertvy dvuh diktatur: zhizn’, trud unizhenije i smert’ sovetskih voennoplennyh I ostarbaiterov na chuyhbine i na rodine (Victims of two dictatorships: The life, labour, humiliation and death of Soviet POWs and Ostarbeiter at home and abroad) (2002). Matthias Reiss is a research fellow at the German Historical Institute in London. He studied history, political science and economics at the University of Hamburg, 1989–93 and completed an MA at University of Cincinnati, Ohio in 1995. Since then he has worked at the University of the Federal Armed Forces, Hamburg and completed his PhD at the University of Hamburg in 2000. Christina Twomey is a Lecturer in the School of Historical Studies at Monash University, Melbourne, Australia. She has published on the experiences of women and civilians detained by the Japanese in the edited collections Citizenship, Women and Social Justice: International Historical Perspectives and History on the Couch: Essays in Psychoanalysis and History. She is currently writing a book about Australian civilians interned by the Japanese in World War II.

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Glossary AAN ANZAC APKat ARMIR AUSSME AVP RF BA-MA BDO BRC CAMO CAW CGPGR

CIS CoS CPSU CSIR CZPW DCSfSvC DVA DWO FAFP FDJ

Archiwum Akt Noywch w Warsawie (Archive of Contemporary Documents, Warsaw) Australian and New Zealand Army Corps Archiwum Pan´stwowe w Katowichach (Katowice State Archives) Armata Italiana in Russia (Italian Army in Russia) Archivio Ufficio Storico Stato Maggiore dell’Esercito (Archive of the General Staff of the Italian Army) Arkhiv vneshnei politiki Rossiiskoi Federatsii (Archive for Foreign Policy, Moscow) Bundesarchiv-Militärarchiv (German State Military Archives) Bund Deutscher Offiziere (German Officers’ Association) British Red Cross See TsAMO (Central Archive for the Ministry of Defence, Moscow) Centralne Achiwum Wojskowe (Polish Central Military Archive) Commisariat general aux prisonniers de guerre rapatriés etaux families de prisonniers de guerre (General Commission of Repatriated Prisoners of War and their Families) Confederation of Independent States Chief(s) of Staff Communist Party of the Soviet Union Expeditionary Army Corps Centralny Zarzad Przemyslu Weglowego (Polish Central Coal Board) (US) Deputy Chief of Staff for Service Commands (Australian) Department of Veterans’ Affairs Wieziennictwa I Obozów (Polish Department of Prisons and ‘ Camps) Fédération des associations de femmes de prisonniers (Federation of Associations of POW Wives) Freie Deutsche Jugend (Free German Youth: SED-guided youth movement)

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xii • Glossary GARF

Gosudarstvennyi Arkhiv Rossiiskoi Federatsii (State Archives of the Russian Federation) GAS German Attitude Scale GKA Genf Kriegsgefangenen Abkommen (Geneva Convention) GKO Gosudarstvennyi Komitet Oboroney (State Committee for Defence) (Glav)PURKKA Glavnoje politischeskoje upravlenije Raboche-Krestjanskoj Armii (Political Administration of the Red Army) GUKR Glavnoe Upravlenie Kontrarazvedki (USSR Head Office of Counterespionage) GULAG Glavnoe upravlenie Ispravitel’no-Trudovykh Lagerei (Main Directorate for Correctional Labour Camps) GUPVI Glavnoe upravlenie po delam voennoplennykh I internirovannykh (Central Administration for POW and Internee Affairs) HBA Hauptarchiv der von Bodelschwinghschen Anstalten Bethel HD(S)E Home Defence (Security) Executive IKKI Executive Committee of the Communist International ITL Ispavitelno Trudovye Lageria KNIL Koninklijke Nederlandse Indische Leger (Royal Netherlands East Indies Army) KITLV Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal- Land- en Volkenkunde (Royal Netherlands Institute for South East Asian and Caribbean Studies) KPD Kommunistische Partei Deutschlands (German Communist Party) LNIDS Library of the National Institute for Defense Studies, Defense Agency, Tokyo MAP Ministerstwo Administracji Publicznej (Polish Ministry of Public Administration) MGB Ministerstvo Gosudarstvennoi Bezopasnosti (USSR Ministry for State Security) MPS Minister for Public Security MVD Ministerstvo Vnutrennykh Del SSSR (Deputy Minister of the Interior) NARA (United States) National Archives and Records Administration NIBEG Nederlands Indische Bond van Ex-Kriegsgefangenen en Geïnterneerden (Dutch East Indian Association for former POWs and Internees) NIOD Nederlands Instituut voor Oorlogsdocumentatie (Netherlands State Institute for War Documentation)

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Glossary • xiii NKID NKFD NKGB NKO NKVD NSDAP OMGUS OSOpriMGB PCI PFL PMGO POWRA PRO PVS PWE RAPWI RGANI RGASPI RGVA RSFSR SSAFA SBZ SEAC SED SMAD SMERSh SMGI

Narodnyi Komissariat Inostrannykh Del (People’s Commissariat of Foreign Affairs) Nationalkomitee ‘Freies Deutschland’ (National Committee for a Free Germany) Narodnyi Komissariat Gosudarstvennoi Bezopasnost (People’s Commisariat for State Security) Narkomat Oborony SSSR (USSR Ministry of Defence) Narodnyj Komisariat Vnutrennykh Del (People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs) Nationalsozialistische Deutscher Arbeiterpartei (National Socialist German Workers’ Party) Office of Military Government (US) Osoboje sobeschanije pri Ministerstva gosudarstuennoj (Special Board of Soviet Ministry for State Security) Partito Communista Italiano (Italian Communist Party) Proverochno Filtratsionnye Lageria (Screening Camps) Office of the Provost Marshal General Prisoner of War Relatives Association Public Record Office, London Prezidium Verkhovnogo Soveta SSSR (Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR) Political Warfare Executive (GB) Recovery of Allied Prisoners of War and Internees Rossiiskii gosudarstvennyj arkhiv noveishei istorii (Russian State Archive for Contemporary History) Rossiiskii gosudarstvennyi arkhiv sozial’no-politicheskoi istorii (Russian State Archive of Socio-Political History) Rossiiskii Gosudarstvennyi Voennyi Arkhiv (Russian State Military Archive) Rossiiskaia Sovetskaia Federationaia Socialisticheskaya Respublika (Russian Socialist Federal Soviet Republic) Soldiers, Sailors and Air Force Association Sowjetische Besatzungszone (Soviet Zone of Occupation, Germany) South East Asia Command Sozialistische Einheitspartei (Socialist Unity Party of Germany) Sowjetische Militäradministration in Deutschland (Soviet Military Administration in Germany) Smert’ shpionam (Death to the Spies) Stichting Mondelinge Geschiedenis Indonesië (Foundation for the Oral History of Indonesia)

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xiv • Glossary SNK SSSR

Sovet Narodnykh Komissarov (USSR Council of People’s Commissars) SPD (US) Special Projects Division SPP Sborno Peresylnye Punkty (Collecting Transit Points) SWPA South West Pacific Area Command TsAMO Tsentral’nyi arkhiv ministerstva oborony (Russian Federation Ministry of Defence Central Archive) TsIK Tsentral’nyi Ispolnitel’nyi Komitet (Central Executive Committee) TsK KPSS Tsentral’nogo Komiteta Rossiiskoi Kommunistischeskoi Partii (Proceedings of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the USSR) TsUPLENBEZL Tsentralnoje upravlenije po delam plennykh I bezhenzev (Central Managing Department of Captives and Refugees) UNIRR Unione Nazionale Italiana Reduci di Russia (National Union of Former Prisoners of War in Russia) UPVI Upravlenie po delam voennoplennych i internirovannykh (Administration for POW and Internee Affairs) YMCA Young Men’s Christian Association

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Acknowledgments Any edited collection is, by definition, a collaborative effort and the editors would like to place on record their thanks to all the contributors for meeting deadlines and answering queries with good grace and humour, often at very short notice. In addition, we owe debts of gratitude to a number of people without whose contribution the volume could not have been completed on time: Constantine Brancovan (University of Sheffield) provided invaluable assistance in translating and transliterating Russian texts, Harco Gijsbers (Nederlands Instituut voor Oorlogsdocumentatie) facilitated the research and production of the cover illustrations and Elizabeth Moore provided some essential administrative support when it was most needed. Finally, we would also like to thank Kent Fedorowich (UWE Bristol) for his comments on the manuscript as a whole, and Kathryn Earle and her staff at Berg Publishers for their efficiency in bringing this project to fruition. Bob Moore Barbara Hately-Broad Sheffield

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Foreword This book is the outcome of a conference organized by the International Committee for the History of the Second World War in Hamburg in July 2002. The Committee was created in the 1960s to promote historical research on all aspects of this period and encourages intellectual exchanges between historians across the world. One of its primary activities is the organization of a conference as part of the quinquennial International Congress of Historical Sciences, to which the Committee is officially affiliated. During the last Congress, held in Oslo in 2000, the Committee decided to intensify its activity by organizing an intermediate conference before the next Congress in Sydney in 2005 and to improve the circulation of its publications. Instead of the Bulletin or Blue Book previously published by the Committee, all its organizational information is now accessible on a website.1 As for the scientific content of the Committee’s activities, it has been agreed that a collective volume edited by a major publisher would have a more lasting impact than previous publications, and this book is the first-fruit of this new policy. With the Hamburg conference on the homecoming of prisoners of war after World War II, the Committee pursued three goals. The first was to counter the prevalent tendency to treat the European and Pacific theatres of war as completely separate from each other by involving historians from Australia, Japan and the United States, together with historians from most European countries, in an intensive exchange on defined areas of research relevant to all belligerent societies. The second goal was to encourage new approaches to the topic, crossing the barriers between social and military history, between political, cultural and gender history and widening the chronological horizon by investigating the longer-term consequences of war-related experiences, such as captivity. The third goal was to encourage the participation of younger researchers, as they stand to benefit most from international exchange, and to initiate a new phase of historical research based on the principles of a transnational approach. With nineteen contributors from eleven countries, the conference covered a great diversity of geographical areas, but the outcome showed a high degree of convergence between the participants on questions of methodology and interpretation and there is no doubt that the conference itself was a great success. Revised and expanded versions of fourteen papers presented to the conference form the chapters in this book. Gerhard Hirschfeld, Peter Romijn and Pieter Lagrou took charge of the conceptual and

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xviii • Foreword scientific organization of this conference, with the help of Gabrielle Muc. Bernd Wegner, the president of the German Committee, hosted the event at the Universität der Bundeswehr in Hamburg, while Bob Moore and Barbara HatelyBroad acted as editors. On behalf of the International Committee for the History of the Second World War, we would like to thank our national committees who encouraged their members to participate. We especially thank all the participants for their stimulating contributions and for the open and collegial debates that took place. We are particularly indebted to our Australian and Japanese colleagues, who travelled across the globe to participate in this event. Bernd Wegner, the German Committee and his colleagues and assistants at the Universität der Bundeswehr, were exceptional hosts who created a congenial atmosphere, of which all participants have fond recollections. Bob Moore and Barbara Hately-Broad cannot be thanked enough for turning the utilitarian English prevalent in these kinds of meetings into elegant prose and for undertaking the thankless task of insisting on deadlines and presenting the finished manuscript to the publishers. Without their efforts, this book could not have been produced. In an age of increased communications, mobility of researchers and the internet, one can, and should, ask the question whether structures like the International Committee for the History of the Second World War, created in a very different age, still serve a useful purpose. We hope that this book will convince its readers of the fertility of our efforts to bring together historians from different continents and different historical traditions. More than ever, World War II calls for a historiography capable of integrating the global dimension of the event. It is, in our opinion, the only way to contribute to a better understanding of the world today. Gerhard Hirschfeld, President Peter Romijn, Treasurer Pieter Lagrou, Secretary General

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Part I Introduction

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–1– Overview Pieter Lagrou

Prisoners of war (POWs) are a universal phenomenon of warfare. From antiquity until the most recent times, military prisoners have been a product of armed conflict and benefited from a particular status. Legal protection for POWs is among the oldest forms of modern international law, codifying norms of honourable warfare that are even older. However, the dramatic increase in the mobility of armies that characterized World War II also led to an enormous rise in the numbers of POWs. Captivity is an experience shared by belligerents in all theatres of war: the war in the Pacific, North Africa, and both Eastern and Western Fronts of the European war. In the age of total war, POWs are most often mobilized citizens, drafted by military conscription. Their experiences are thus not solely those of the professional soldier, but affect the societies to which they belong as a whole. The mass experience of captivity also spans the war years and the immediate post-war period, as a result of the length of the detention and the often belated liberation and repatriation. By focusing on the homecoming of prisoners of war after 1945, this book aims to contribute to a genuinely international history of the social, political and cultural consequences of World War II. More than ever before, the history of the fate of prisoners of war during this conflict markedly transcends the boundaries of military history. The authors of the chapters of this book revisit the subject of captivity by highlighting three innovative aspects of the topic: ideology and reeducation; homecoming and family; post-war narrative. First of all, the most distinguishing feature of World War II is the role of ideology in the conflict: more than a clash of nations, it was a clash of ideologies. Ideological warfare sets priorities other than classical military conflict, since the aim is not only to conquer the enemy, but also to transform conquered societies. This applies particularly to the treatment of the millions of captured soldiers. While codes of honourable warfare and international agreements such as the 1929 Geneva Convention offered protection to some in a context of generalized arbitrary violence, none of these provisions applied to others. In particular in Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan, where military aristocracies prided themselves on an image of chivalric warriors, more often than not racism gained the upper hand over 3

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4 • Introduction any form of protection for POWs. Forced labour carried out in murderous circumstances by Allied soldiers and civilians in Japanese hands and the death by execution and starvation of over 3 million Soviet POWs in German hands are among the most infamous crimes of the Second World War. Yet all belligerents utilized the masses of POWs for ideological purposes, though some in less obvious ways. Nazi Germany discriminated between Western European POWs of ‘Germanic’ and ‘non-Germanic’ descent and carried out New Order propaganda among French POWs. Japan organized the forced recruitment of POWs of Asian descent for the war against ‘Western imperialism’. The Western allies and the Soviet Union all organized denazification and re-education programmes (the so-called Antifa work) for their German and Italian captives, hoping to train a future German and Italian elite for the reconstruction of democratic nations. How successful were these various efforts at ideological conversion in the longer run? How did POWs behave collectively after their return: as a pressure group for material interests? as a recruitment reserve for political parties? The military captives constitute a particularly rewarding test case for the larger debate on the ideological consequences of World War II, the claimed moral bankruptcy of authoritarianism and the triumph of democratic values. Second, it is important to reflect on the scale of the conflict and its tremendous social impact, involving more countries and more individuals than ever before. The absence of hundreds of thousands and, in some cases, millions of men as POWs left the home front bereft of fathers and sons. The resulting feminization profoundly affected wartime societies, in the family, at the workplace and in politics. The subsequent remasculinization that accompanied the return of the POWs was nowhere a foregone conclusion. Many countries witnessed upsurges in divorce rates, denials of paternity, or juvenile crime attributed to an uprooted and fatherless upbringing. In the post-war years, societies lived through successive phases of acute anxiety over a crisis of the family, a crisis of male identity, plunging birth rates and physical degeneration and later, after a forced return to ‘normality’, a restoration of gender roles, family values and moral conservatism.1 The disruption of family life demographically multiplied the effects of military captivity and as such affected the whole of society. Third, the experience of captivity was central to both the individual and collective narratives of war. The condition of the POW consists of his combat experience before his capture; the shame of being taken prisoner, rather than escaping or dying in battle; the inactivity and deprivations suffered during military internment; and the hostile or welcoming reception on his return. Depending on the weight given to any part of this experience, the POW was portrayed either as a victim of a senseless war, or as a national martyr, a captured hero or a war criminal. In personal narratives, captivity often figures as a watershed between active participation in the violence of war, or the shame of defeat, and reintegration into civilian life.

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Overview • 5 Captivity can figure as a form of regeneration through asceticism and celibacy, introspection or religious conversion. It is a formative experience of male bonding and solidarity and allows for the collective elaboration of narratives and personal defence strategies against accusations of collective guilt. Finally, captivity was perhaps also a form of Bildungsreise for millions of ordinary soldiers unaccustomed to travel. The integration of individual experiences into collective narratives depends on the political battles on the interpretation of war: were the captives a ‘lost generation’ of men who lost their honour; a suspect group of indoctrinated subversives; or collective champions of national victimization, whose extended captivity served to suppress the memories of their prior participation in a war of attrition? In his opening chapter, Rüdiger Overmans draws a complete panorama of the very different modalities under which POWs returned ‘home’. Release, exchange, escape, transformation into civilian workers and, even more controversially, changing allegiance and joining the army of the captor were all part of the contrasting itineraries of military prisoners during World War II. Crucially, World War II formed an important exception to the general rule of an immediate release and automatic return of captives at the end of the hostilities. The Western allies, but especially the Soviet Union, considered large numbers of German captives as war criminals awaiting their trial or purging their sentences and thus not eligible for the treatment specified for POWs in the Geneva Convention. Another unprecedented feature was that of the forced repatriation of Soviet POWs who refused the return to the USSR, fearing harsh treatment or even summary execution after their return to Soviet soil. The first part of the book deals with the treatment of POWs by their captors. Bob Moore studies British perceptions of Italian captives. Often captured after mass surrenders, rather than after unremitting combat as would later be the case with the German soldiers, the Italians were the object of a mixture of British contempt and sympathy, rather than open hostility. Economic arguments in favour of their labour mobilization for the war effort and later reconstruction rapidly gained the upper hand over tepid efforts at ideological re-education. Jerzy Kochanowski uncovers the little known fate of the 40,000–50,000 German POWs in Poland between 1945 and 1950. No other country had suffered more under German occupation than Poland and nowhere else would revenge have seemed more understandable. Yet German POWs suffered relatively little physical abuse and in general terms enjoyed living conditions in accordance with accepted conventions. The first attempts at re-education dated from 1948 and coincided with the first repatriations. Put to work mainly in the mining industry, their relationship with the Polish population depended mostly on regional factors: from relatively friendly in western Poland to hostile in the central region of the country. In his chapter on surrender and desertion during the Battle of Okinawa, Hirofumi Hayashi draws a picture that

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6 • Introduction contrasts with the widely held belief that Japanese soldiers preferred death to surrender. The refusal to surrender was not only rooted in the code of honour of the Japanese warrior. It was also motivated by the fear of being killed after surrender by their American enemy, instead of being made prisoner.2 The overwhelming ratio of enemy soldiers killed in action, compared to those captured in the Pacific theatre of war shows these fears were perfectly justified. In the murderous Battle of Okinawa, the local population and local troops were trapped between the American assault and the unconditional resistance of a Japanese army that was ready to sacrifice the island. The fact that Okinawa was the first battle on Japanese territory, offering the possibility for soldiers to desert and disappear into the local population in great numbers, leads Hirofumi Hayashi to suggest that the casualty/captivity ratio would have been very different had mainland Japan been conquered, rather than forced to surrender by the dropping of atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In Okinawa, the ensuing long American occupation until 1972 contributed to the emergence of a local memory of the war that diverges from the main Japanese narrative, notably in relation to the desertion and surrender of local troops. The second part of this book analyses the policies of re-education of captives by their captors. Three case studies tackle the efforts to neutralize the effects of years of Fascist and Nazi propaganda to which Axis soldiers had been exposed: German captives in Soviet and American hands and Italian captives in Soviet hands. Andreas Hilger takes a very critical look at the Soviet Antifa Schüle for German POWs. Their impact was very limited, due to the strong anti-communist attitude of the vast majority of German soldiers and the simplistic recipes applied by the Soviet instructors, but even more so because of the dismal living conditions that created rancour and hostility. Upon their return, German POWs received a widely contrasting welcome in the Soviet and Western zones of occupation and later the GDR and the GFR: pioneers of German-Soviet friendship in the former, they were embraced as victims of totalitarian terror in the latter.3 Matthias Reiss is hardly less sceptical on the effectiveness of American re-education programmes for Wehrmacht soldiers. Ideological training was definitely not a priority for the American army and it did not enjoy unanimous support. It was dispensed selectively to those captives deemed to be the most indoctrinated by the Nazi ideology, who, not surprisingly, also turned out to be the least receptive audience. However, the standard of living of ordinary Americans deeply impressed the German POWs as a model to emulate for the German reconstruction. Maria Teresa Giusti analyses the anti-fascist programme for Italian captives in the Soviet Union and the controversial role of Italian communists in them. Giusti underlines the political polarization among Italian POWs as a source of permanent conflict. For some captives, communism did provide a new ideological anchor after the collapse of fascism and at the same time a strategy of survival in a very hostile environment. For many

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Overview • 7 others, though, any form of understanding with the Soviet captor equalled high treason. Accusations of ‘collaboration’ led to violent incidents during repatriation and to highly politicized lawsuits in Italian courts. The third part of the book is concerned with the homecoming of the prisoners of war and their reception by their home countries and by their families. Yokushini Igarashi examines the place awarded to Japanese prisoners returning from Soviet captivity. Unlike the American Army, the Soviet Authorities did capture over half a million Japanese citizens, mainly after the Japanese surrender. Most were subsequently transported to labour camps dispersed over Siberia. There they faced extremely harsh living conditions, suffered tens of thousands of casualties and the last of them – those accused of war crimes – were only released eleven years after the end of the war. Unlike their German counterparts, they did not receive a heroes’ welcome upon their return home. Their experience did not suit the political agenda of the nationalist camp, embarrassed by the humiliating reminder of Japan’s past that the former prisoners represented, but it likewise disturbed the communist opposition, who denounced their testimonies as anti-communist propaganda. More generally, in the Japanese narrative of the war, the suffering of the nation is symbolized by the women and children who died under the atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, indirect victims of a criminal and imperialist government and military. In such a narrative, there is no place for the ambiguous memories of Japanese soldiers, least of all those who had been captured. In his chapter on the treatment of the almost 2 million surviving Soviet POWs after their, sometimes forced, repatriation, Pavel Polian substantially nuances the dominant idea that they collectively ‘disappeared’ into the Gulag. Upon their arrival from foreign detention, all soldiers were remobilized in the Red Army or in so-called ‘working battalions’. Some, notably all the officers, were assigned to ‘spetscontingent’, and became the objects of political enquiry into their possible treasonable behaviour and condemned to six years of forced residence in remote regions like Kolyma. Even after this period, they were prevented from living in major cities or border regions and they were subject to regular control. Those who had been demobilized in the months and years after their repatriation also continued to suffer discrimination, not least because their years spent in captivity were not recognized as active service for welfare or other state benefits. A commission was created in 1956, as part of the de-Stalinization drive, to remedy these discriminations, but the prisoners’ situation only effectively started to change in 1990 and even today they are not eligible for compensation payments. In her chapter, Barbara Hately-Broad compares government policies and, more importantly, the way families of POWs tried to cope with the absence and subsequent return of a father and husband in Britain and France. In both countries, the government organized a system of allowances to replace the lost family revenue, accompanied by tax incentives and rent controls, with all the administrative

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8 • Introduction hurdles this implied. While in France families were relatively rapidly informed of the whereabouts of soldiers captured during or immediately after the battles of May-June 1940 and allowed to establish a regulated correspondence, many British families faced excruciatingly long periods of uncertainty about their husbands or sons ‘missing in action’, before death or captivity were confirmed, especially in the Pacific theatre of war. In both countries, marital infidelity by spouses of POWs was a central concern for both the moral and political authorities, not least because of the demoralizing effect this could have on the army. On the same issue, the prisoners themselves benefited from decidedly double standards. The profound reorganization of family life during the long years of absence turned the reintegration of a returning husband and father into a difficult and ultimately not always successful challenge. Mariska Heijmans-van Bruggen presents the complex case of the approximately 18,000 soldiers of the Dutch colonial army in Indonesia captured by the Japanese army in March 1942 and put to work on the construction of the Burma-Thailand railway. Only 11,000 of them survived the brutal and murderous conditions of their forced labour, but even after the Japanese surrender, their ordeal was far from over. The Indonesian independence struggle implied that for most of them there would never be a homecoming in the proper sense. Lingering for long months in the same detention centres where they had been liberated, they were later remobilized into the army and sent to reconquer the colony. Their homes were often destroyed in the war and their families imprisoned in internment camps for civilians and cut off from all means of communication. For most of them, family reunion only took place in the course of 1948, and in the Netherlands, which for the vast majority of them was a foreign country. The fourth and last part of the book deals with narratives of the war. Svenja Goltermann analyses the case studies of German POWs faced with mental breakdown after their return. Manifestly, the psychiatric disorders did not only result from the suffering and deprivations of captivity, but also from the traumatic episodes of engagement in brutality and violence that had preceded captivity. Whereas German society at large and the German psychiatric profession in particular was most willing to diagnose the returning POWs as victims and symbols of German suffering, both were unreceptive to the utterances of perpetrators reexperiencing their fits of violence and the acute anxiety for revenge these induced. The selective public memories put into place in post-war West Germany deprived these patients of a language with which to express their traumatic experiences. The return to ‘normality’ of most patients in the course of the first post-war years and the amelioration of their symptoms contributed to the stylized narratives of the late 1950s when popular film and novels reverted to a unilinear presentation of heroic soldiers and abandoned some of the more disturbing portrayals of the earlier period. Christina Twomey focuses on the popular memory of the captivity of British, Dutch and, particularly, Australian women by Japanese troops. Countless

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Overview • 9 novels, films and TV series have portrayed their ordeal, usually in an ambiguous way. At the heart of the – at times voyeuristic – fascination stands the confrontation of white women and their Asian captors, a sexually charged confrontation of race and gender. As such, this episode is a continuation of the colonial imagination, taking on the form of a morality play, where the complex intercourse between captives and captors is reduced to two equally despicable alternatives: brutal rape by savage guards or consenting prostitution by ‘weak’ captives tempted by an ‘easy life’. The latter reading is confirmed, for example, in the heroic accounts of Australian army nurses; the former by recent attention to forced prostitution by ‘comfort women’ and their claims for compensation payments from Japan. In the final chapter, Joan Beaumont reflects on the place of Japanese captivity in Australian memories of both World Wars. In a general way, in Australia World War II has always remained in the shadow of the first, when the feats of arms of the ANZAC (Australian and New Zealand Army Corps) volunteers became synonymous with a national spirit of combat and comradeship, a defining experience for an Australian national identity. The odyssey of the 21,000 Australians captured by the Japanese and their heroic survival of forced labour on the Burma-Thailand railway renewed this founding experience and provided it with a new generation of standard bearers. Taken together, the chapters of this book all attest to the durable consequences of military captivity during World War II on post-war societies. From Siberia to Southern Australia and from Tokyo to Texas, the experiences of millions of soldiers captured and abducted by the enemy profoundly influenced the political agenda of the societies they were to return to, the family life and gender relations, the narratives of the war and the way in which nations came to terms in very concrete ways with the legacy of this catastrophic event of a continental magnitude. As such it is an invitation for further research to continue to break down the barriers between military and social history, between political history and gender history, between diplomatic history and cultural history. A total war can only be captured in a history that attempts to integrate as many facets of human experience as possible. More importantly, taking into account the central aims of the conference organizers, this war – the first to span all continents and affect almost all countries on earth – calls for a genuinely international approach. By focusing on the itineraries of military soldiers, taking German and Japanese soldiers to the United States and the Russian steppe, Dutch and Australian soldiers to Thailand and Burma, Italian soldiers to Siberia and Wales, we hope to have illustrated how, regardless of the fundamental differences of language, ideology, political regime, cultural traditions and social organization, millions of participants in this war, belonging to all major belligerent nations, did share common experiences. No ‘total history’ will ever capture this total war, but we hope this book shows on a modest scale how these experiences can mutually illuminate each other through

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10 • Introduction collective research and intense intellectual exchange and thus contribute to a better understanding of the nature of this major cataclysm of the twentieth century history.

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–2– The Repatriation of Prisoners of War once Hostilities are Over: A Matter of Course? Rüdiger Overmans

Returnees, smiling happily and posing as victors while being received by their overjoyed relatives – these are the images which many people associate with the ‘return from World War II’. Often this was indeed the case, for example, when the Americans returned from Japan, but there were also other situations. French POWs returning in 1945 were welcomed by their relatives not as victors, but as losers. The real French heroes were the fighters of the résistance. A very different example was the transfer of the Cossacks and their families, who had fought alongside Germany, from British captivity into Soviet hands at Whitsun 1945. There were no laughing faces. Everybody involved expected that only some, if any, of the returnees would survive the transfer. There is also a second aspect of the story implicitly connected to the image of the happy returnee: the assumption that POWs would return home immediately and voluntarily after the war. Yet this image is deceptive. In World War II, the spectrum of possibilities ranged from release directly after the end of hostilities, which could have been well before the end of the war, to the POWs in Russian captivity who finally returned home in 1956. The aim of this chapter is to illustrate these various forms of repatriation albeit with three important reservations. The majority of the cases relate to World War II and focus on the European theatre of war, as here the phenomenon of ‘repatriation’ had comparatively more facets than in Asia or the USSR. Furthermore, this study deals only with conventional wars, in which the rules of international law were applicable, and ignores civil wars and similar conflicts. In addition to the obvious categories of prisoners of war, it is too often forgotten that there were additional groups in World War II, who were in enemy hands and had to be repatriated. These include civilian members of the forces, who were put on an equal footing with the soldiers; protected personnel – doctors, nurses and pastors – who could fall into enemy hands, but who were not to be treated as captives; civilian internees – civilian citizens of the enemy state held in custody – and forced labourers. These were by no means marginal groups. After World War II, the repatriation of millions 11

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12 • Introduction of displaced people was an enormous task for the Allies. In the Pacific theatre of war, civilian internees represented a substantial percentage of the total number of prisoners. As the following remarks relate exclusively to international law, only groups meeting those criteria will be included, namely, all members of the armed forces, including protected personnel. However, with some exceptions, these statements can nevertheless also be applied to civilian internees.

Repatriation before World War II Regulations about repatriation are seldom found in the rules and conventions of international law. This can be explained by the fact that repatriation through release after the end of war was traditionally a phenomenon that was rare, but nevertheless widely accepted. The peace treaty of Münster and Osnabrück, which ended the Thirty Years War in 1648, is regarded as the first important treaty on this issue in that it determined that all POWs were to be released without conditions after the end of the war. The reason for this can be summed up as follows: with a peace treaty, every belligerent war party lost interest in its employed soldiers, as well as in the prisoners in its custody. However, only small numbers of soldiers were usually in captivity at the end of a conflict as POWs were regularly exchanged between the belligerent parties within weeks or within a few months after fighting had ceased. Sometimes exchanges even took place when the parties were still on the battlefield. Other important ways of terminating captivity were escapes, release on parole, joining the enemy’s service and, last but not least, death. With the period of Enlightenment and the French Revolution, the value of soldiers changed, as did the concept of imprisonment during war. The mercenary was replaced by the patriotic citizen fighting for his country, which, in turn, had obligations towards him. The main purpose of captivity now became the incarceration of prisoners for the duration of the war. Thus, exchanges of prisoners during hostile actions went out of fashion. The collapse of the exchange cartel during the American Civil War set a precedent for this. Now camps for large numbers of POWs were needed, but they became obsolete after the war ended. Immediate release of POWs after the end of hostilities became such a matter of course, that in the first conventions on international law, such as the Declaration of Brussels in 1874, repatriation was not regulated at all.1 The 1907 Den Hague Rules of Land Warfare was the first convention to state briefly in Article 20: ‘After the conclusion of peace, the repatriation of POWs shall take place as speedily as possible.’ If one asks why the conclusion of peace and not the ceasefire was determined as the date of release, one has to take a closer look at the image of war in that period. Armistice treaties were agreed between enemies who were not yet defeated. Only a peace treaty brought about a

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Repatriation of POWs once Hostilities are Over • 13 real and permanent end to war. But at that point both sides were obliged to release the POWs without conditions and without reference to reciprocity.2 Since the Enlightenment, the idea of a soldier’s role in war has had a significant bearing on the tendency to delay repatriation for as long as possible. As long as a belligerent retained soldiers of the other side, he could exert pressure on his enemy. To cite just one example: during World War I, the German Reich had to release its Entente POWs immediately after the conclusion of the armistice in November 1918, while German servicemen remained in enemy custody as hostages until the Versailles Peace Treaty became effective on 10 January 1920.3 There was a second tendency in this direction, which resulted from the scale of warfare from the beginning of the nineteenth century onwards. Soldiers represented a considerable share of the population, as did POWs when they were held in large numbers. To impede or accelerate their release could affect the society of the homeland or the captor power. During the Franco-Prussian war of 1870–1, the German side sped up the release of French POWs so that the French government could deploy armed forces against the Paris commune. In World War I, the repatriation of Russians was delayed by the Entente in a similar manner, in order to prevent the Red Army from reinforcing their troops with returnees.4 Another development, which hindered the quickest possible repatriation, resulted from the tendency towards total warfare in World War I. The more important POWs became for the war economy of the captor power, the harder it became to substitute their loss at the end of hostilities. For this reason, the third Oberste Heeresleitung (Army Supreme Command) declared before the beginning of negotiations on the peace treaty of Brest-Litovsk in 1918 that, with the repatriation of the Russians, the German economy would ‘lose about 1,100,000 men from its workforce. This is simply impossible considering the shortage of workers in Germany, it would to lead to the collapse of our entire economic life’.5 Furthermore the French and Belgian governments regarded the use of their reserve of German POWs for clearance and reconstructive tasks as a favourable collateral effect. Ultimately, the immediate repatriation demanded by the Den Hague Rules of Land Warfare was more fiction than reality during World War I. Only members of the Entente forces were allowed home quickly, while some of the captives of the Central Powers were retained by Russia until 1926 – eight years after the end of war – ultimately returning from a country shaken by revolution. After the end of World War I, there was a general consensus that the formulations of the Den Hague Rules of Land Warfare were no longer sufficient. Propositions for new clauses stemmed from two aspects of modern warfare. First, wars were increasingly fought until the bitter end, and therefore a ceasefire closely preceded a peace treaty. Second, the necessity to accelerate repatriation was generally acknowledged. Article 75 of the newly formulated Geneva Convention on Prisoners of War of 1929 reads:

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14 • Introduction When belligerents conclude a convention of armistice, they must, in principle, have appear therein stipulations, regarding the repatriation of prisoners of war. If it has not been possible to insert stipulations in this regard in such convention, belligerents shall nevertheless come to an agreement in this regard as soon as possible. In any case, repatriation of prisoners shall be effected with the least possible delay after the conclusion of peace.

Even though practitioners of international law consented that, in principle, POWs were now to be repatriated after the end of hostilities and not after the peace treaty, one does not have to be a trained lawyer to understand that the formulation of the Geneva Convention was too vague, and offered every lever to delay repatriation until the conclusion of a peace treaty. Moreover, this formulation imposed another disadvantage: repatriation was no longer a unilateral obligation, but an issue for bilateral agreements.6

Repatriation in World War II One might be inclined to assume that repatriation generally takes place after the end of hostile actions or after the conclusion of peace. In fact, the spectrum of possibilities is much broader. To facilitate clarity, the process of repatriation will be differentiated into two different phases: liberation or release from the status of a POW, and homecoming. First, the discussion will focus on liberation, which could take many different forms in World War II. Two of these existed in theory but were never carried out in practice. Towards the end of World War I, agreements were concluded between the belligerents to send healthy POWs who had been in custody for more than eighteen months either home or to neutral countries. Under the terms of the Treaty of Bern in 1917, which never came into force because of the end of the war, POWs were to be exchanged after one year. In continuation of this humanitarian policy, Article 72 of the Geneva Convention on Prisoners of War of 1929 also included this possibility, but the belligerent parties never agreed on such a procedure during World War II.7 The same was true of another possible avenue for liberation. Although not even mentioned in the Den Hague Rules of Land Warfare, during World War I, tens of thousands of sick and wounded POWs were interned mainly in Switzerland, but also in the Netherlands, Denmark and Norway. Again the belligerent parties in World War II failed to agree a procedure for consent to such an agreement.8 If one looks at the releases that were carried out during World War II, one has to distinguish between those cases in which individuals finally did return home, and those cases in which release meant only a change of status. To start with the first group; of those who were released during hostilities without any reciprocal action. In the nineteenth century especially, it was commonplace to release

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Repatriation of POWs once Hostilities are Over • 15 prisoners if the captor power could no longer afford to support them. The war between the USA and Mexico of 1846–8, when the Americans freed about 10,000 Mexicans, is one example of this. Similarly, in the final stages of the South African War, the Boers stripped English prisoners of their clothes and weapons but then released them. During World War II, Hitler himself ordered the release of all French POWs who had already fought in World War One. After the Allied raid on Dieppe had failed in August 1942, approximately 1,600 soldiers from that city who were in German custody were released. From the German point of view, this was an acknowledgement that the population had, in accordance with international law, remained passive during the battle. In addition, the Germans released and sent home the Norwegian, Dutch and Greek forces immediately after their capitulation.9 Another possibility was liberation on parole. Until the nineteenth century, officers were usually not interned, but released on parole. This was no longer used in World War I and as a result, it was not included in the 1929 Geneva Convention on Prisoners of War. Perhaps surprisingly, it was revived during World War II when Dutch professional soldiers were liberated in 1940 by the German Reich in return for a written promise not to engage in actions against Germany. Such a release was not necessarily meant to be permanent, as the Dutch discovered in 1942, when the officers were called back into captivity because they had supposedly broken their word.10 Although the ransoming of prisoners had gone out of fashion after the eighteenth century, there were examples of Jews being released from German concentration camps in exchange for material aid for the German Reich.11 More important for POWs in World War II were the possibilities for exchange. Wounded prisoners had been exchanged between belligerent states as early as World War I. The signatories of the Geneva Convention intended this humanitarian gesture to become routine. Article 68 reads: ‘Belligerents are bound to send back to their own country, regardless of rank or number, seriously sick and seriously injured prisoners of war . . .’ However, the process of exchange clearly did not develop as intended. In October 1941, and to the great annoyance of the British, Hitler personally prohibited a long-planned Anglo-German trade at the last moment, because about 1,200 British repatriates were to be exchanged for only about 100 Germans. In spite of this, the number of exchanged personnel in World War II was not insignificant. About 35,000 sick, wounded and protected personnel, as well as civilian internees, were transferred between the German Reich and Italy on the one side, and the Western Allies on the other side. In addition, the German Reich unilaterally sent home 180,000 French, 13,000 Belgians and some transports of Italians and Serbs before hostilities ended.12 Beyond official exchanges, escapes were by far the most spectacular way of POWs ending their imprisonment, but also the most infrequent. Of all the German POWs held in Canada, only one soldier, Leutnant Franz von Werra, succeeded in

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16 • Introduction reaching the then neutral United States. At home he became a popular hero. The most famous escape of an Allied captive from German custody was achieved by General Giraud in April 1940 from Festung Königstein and prompted a huge deterioration in Franco-German relations. One of the most tragic attempts at mass escape was by 76 western Allied officers at Stalag Luft III (Sagan). Fifty of those recaptured were subsequently executed by the Germans. In Germany alone, from 1943 on, the monthly number of attempts to breach custody reached 5 digits. In all, about 100,000 French and an unknown – but much larger – number of Italians, Poles and Soviets reached freedom in this manner.13 Inherently linked with escape, but less spectacular, was attaining freedom when the imprisoning power retreated. In the final stages of World War II, German camp guard units often disappeared, leaving the prisoners to their own devices. The same happened to groups of POWs being sent on evacuation marches into the interior of the Reich who were abandoned by their guardians. Other POWs experienced the retreat of the German troops while working as labourers on farms or in industrial plants. If escape seemed possible, as was the case with some French, Italians, Poles and Soviets, many of them acted independently and succeeded in reaching their homes and families well before the war was over.14 The final form of release from captivity was liberation by one’s own forces, or those of one’s Allies. This was the most spectacular way from a public relations point of view, because the events could be recorded on film and the pictures could travel the globe. There are no exact numbers, and such instances may have been fairly rare and restricted mostly to officers as most other POWs lived outside the camps or near their employers. They did not experience liberation as a single event, but rather as a slow process of the collapse of German power. In the Pacific theatre of war, where the chain of command of the Japanese army remained intact after the capitulation, and where the prisoners lived in camps, the situation was obviously quite different. Here the captor power itself had to declare its capitulation and hand over the prisoners. The German POWs in Allied hands had to wait until after the end of World War II, without the reassurance of a fixed release date. With no government or protecting power to represent their interests, they were completely dependent upon the mercy of the victorious powers. Alongside these forms of liberation, which ended in repatriation, there were other forms of release that did not entail a return home. Many captor powers offered POWs release from captivity in return for an obligatory civilian employment contract. The German Reich used this measure extensively, especially with Poles, but later also with the French and Italians, and near the end of the war even with Soviet citizens. However, what should have been a voluntary act was almost invariably backed up by a degree of coercion. When in 1946, the USA urged the immediate repatriation of German POWs, the British, French and Belgians also attempted to ‘convert’ their POW labour force, but with little success. Beyond the

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Repatriation of POWs once Hostilities are Over • 17 switch from military to civilian worker status, the most controversial form of ending imprisonment was the transfer into the direct service of the captor power. This had already occurred during World War I, where the Czech legion in Russia is a good example, but in World War II it became a common practice on both sides. One might refer to the Vlasov army under German command; and from the Polish troops on the Allied side, 90,000 had been recruited in camps for German POWs. But there were also the prisoners of the French joining the Légion étrangère in order to escape further custody. One last and macabre method of ending captivity, but unfortunately not uncommon, was death. In keeping with their national traditions, the Western Allies exhumed the bodies of their servicemen who had died as POWs and brought them home after the war. Given that there are so many forms of release, one has to wonder what quantitative importance each one had in World War II. Although it is impossible to provide precise answers to this question, the following examples give some impression of what took place. In the case of Poland, the surrender meant that 400,000 Polish soldiers were taken into Germany custody, but the Wehrmacht soon released 100,000 in the winter of 1939–40 as there was no accommodation for them. A further 200,000 were transferred into civilian employment, beginning in May 1940 and 70,000 remained in captivity until the end of the war. Some 30,000 died, escaped or were released for different reasons. To these one has to add the Poles who had continued resistance against Germany. The largest single group was approximately 17,000 members of the Armia Krajova, who had been in German captivity since the Warsaw uprising in 1944. For the Poles, therefore, the duration of captivity ranged from a few days to six years. Only a comparatively small number, approximately 50,000, of the soldiers captured in 1939 were still working as POWs in Germany when the war ended in 1945. In France, 1,800,000 of her servicemen were captured by Germany in 1940. About 200,000 of them successfully escaped in transit or from the first POW collecting points in France. In addition, 300,000 were sent home for various reasons during the war. Of the remainder, 220,000 were transferred to civilian employment, 180,000 were repatriated on health grounds, 200,000 were paroled and the other 700,000 survived captivity in Germany until the end of war. Again, the time of imprisonment for the French varied from a few days up to five years. Not accounted for here are the Frenchmen who had fallen into Soviet hands as German soldiers, some of whom were returned home only in the 1950s. For most Germans, captivity began only with the end of the war. Until 1941 the number of German POWs in foreign countries was small. It increased mainly with the attack on the USSR and the first defeats in the winter of 1941. Just before the German collapse, at the turn of the year 1944–5, 2 million German soldiers were in captivity. When the war ended, nearly all German soldiers, totalling around 11 million men, were in enemy custody. The first few German soldiers had already

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18 • Introduction come home during the war as a result of exchanges and many, especially the old and the wounded, returned home as early as 1945–6. Nevertheless, at the beginning of 1947, almost two years after the end of the war, the figure for German POWs in Allied hands was still well above 2 million. Repatriation was completed only at the end of 1949, and even then 30,000 men were still held by the USSR, ostensibly as ‘war criminals’, the last returning home in early 1956. Therefore repatriation took from 1945 until 1956, if one excludes the exchanges, and many German soldiers consequently spent more time in camps than at war.15 In the Asian theatre of war there were approximately 180,000 Europeans and North Americans in Japanese custody, captured primarily during the Japanese advance into South East Asia at the beginning of 1942. If they were not liberated before the Japanese capitulation, they were brought home within a few weeks time to enormous public acclaim. Only the Dutch prisoners found it harder to return home, either to the European Netherlands or to the East Indies. The official reason for the delay was that the Dutch government did not have the means or the transportation to bring her captives home. However, it is clear from a later chapter that the government in The Hague was also keen to retain its liberated soldiers for use in the coming struggle for its overseas empire.

Homecoming If there were many different kinds of liberation, this was also true for the actual homecoming. The common assumption is that every captive longed to return home to his country and to his family. This is a simplification that fails to reflect adequately the reality of World War II. Due to mass destruction, changes in territorial boundaries and population movements, many people had neither a family nor a native country to return to. What homecoming actually meant for individual prisoners depended on the position of the three elements involved: the attitude of the detaining power, that of the home country and the wishes of the liberated prisoners themselves. To see the importance of the attitudes of the detaining powers, one has to bear in mind a fact often overlooked during the fighting, but which grew in importance during captivity. Many armies in World War II were far from being nationally homogeneous. Some consisted of inhabitants of the mother country and of the colonies, the latter usually being afforded a lesser status. The Allied forces included members of all countries occupied by Germany. On the German side there were Austrians, (citizens of a state that was to become independent again after the war), Alsatians, Lorrainois and ethnic Germans from the Balkans who were not native German citizens. This was not a theoretical, but a deeply practical problem that emerged before the end of war. Of the 380,000 German POWs in American custody in the United States, 4,000 claimed not to be German but Soviet

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Repatriation of POWs once Hostilities are Over • 19 citizens. Accordingly they demanded to be repatriated to the USSR. This placed the US government in a fix. If they deprived these men of the status as ‘German’ soldiers and sent them to the USSR, they risked the possibility that Germany might do the same with their US Jewish or Afro-American prisoners. This explains why the US Government initially refused demands for such repatriations, although from the US point of view those concerned were citizens of an Allied country being held in custody in contravention of the law. The situation changed to some degree once the war came to an end. Then it was the USSR demanding the release of all Soviet citizens in US custody, in the USA as well as in Europe. The possibility of retaliation by the German Reich disappeared, while the position of the USSR grew stronger. That was because the Germans had shifted Western Allied POWs as far eastward as possible to keep them out of Allied reach for as long as possible. As a result, the first liberated British and American POWs were released by the Red Army. The Soviet Union agreed to the hand over of the freed US citizens only on condition that the USA proceeded in the same manner. Therefore the first transport of US POWs did not arrive from Germany but from Odessa (USSR) in March 1945, while even before the end of war more than 10,000 Soviets captured in German uniforms were transferred back to their native country.16 The same applied to France. Draftees from Alsace and Lorraine, as well as collaborators from other regions of France, lived in Soviet POW camps as German soldiers. In this case it was again the USSR that urged France to release its Soviet captives if the French wanted to see their citizens again.17 Yet even if the native country did not exert any pressure, the detaining powers nonetheless pursued repatriation only according to their own interests. The Italian POWs in Anglo-American custody, for example, were no longer enemies after Italy had switched sides. Nevertheless the POWs were not released, but had to serve in labour units in a semi-free status. A similar situation applied to the Germans remaining in custody after the end of hostilities. In the case of the USA, the self-interest of society was in their favour. After the end of war, the trade unions urged the repatriation of POWs to get rid of unwanted competitors in the job market. To the Germans, this release from American captivity often did not result in repatriation, but in transfer to another detaining power for further years of forced labour.18 The interests of the native countries were similarly complex. In the beginning, the USSR took a very extreme position on this topic in refusing to accept any repatriates. According to the German-Soviet Agreement on population transfer, it would have been the USSR’s duty after the occupation of Poland in 1939 to take in the Polish and Baltic POWs in German custody originating from the areas occupied by the Soviet Union. That was the procedure until October 1939, when the USSR refused further exchanges, resulting in 100,000 additional workers being placed at the disposal of the German Reich, which had originally intended to dispense with them.19

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20 • Introduction After the German attack on the USSR, the Soviet government declared every citizen in captivity to be a traitor, and subject to severe punishment. To be taken prisoner against one’s own will was unthinkable to them. One of the victims of these orders was Stalin’s son, Jacob, who committed suicide in German captivity knowing that in his father’s eyes, he was nothing but a traitor. The actual fate of the repatriates depended largely on their role during the war. Those fighting actively on German side, like many of the Cossacks mentioned earlier, were usually murdered. POWs, who had done nothing wrong were recruited into labour units. Women deported to Germany as civilian forced labourers were often left alone, but they often had to face continuous discrimination on grounds of political unreliability.20 In other communist countries the situation was not so extreme, but a central distinction always remained important. If a returnee had been in Western Allied custody and had possibly even acquired linguistic skills there, then he had been engaged with capitalists and was therefore assumed to be politically unreliable in the future. In western countries, the state of affairs was more complex. Here there was no concerted discrimination against unwanted groups of returnees, but more attention was given to society’s assessment of the ‘POW phenomenon’. British and American societies were unequivocal, the returning POWs were heroes, but this did not apply to all victorious powers. Thus in France, POWs were not afforded the same heroic status as this went to the members of the résistance. The situation in West Germany was more complicated, and not only because of the lost war. In 1918 the Germans had lost the war too, but the returning POWs had been welcomed as heroes nonetheless. This time, however, the Germans were fully aware that they had not been cheated out of victory, but had been comprehensively defeated. Thus although the relatives rejoiced when the POWs came home, they were seen not as victors but as losers. Only with time did this image begin to change. Thus when the last POWs were returned from the USSR in 1956, they were greeted as heroes, albeit more as heroes of the Cold War than of the conflict in which they had been captured.21 The POWs themselves stood literally between their captors and their native countries. Being only partly aware of the intentions of the captor powers, and ill informed about the international situation and conditions at home, they had to make decisions about their futures. Take as an example the case of a Galician, the son of a civil servant of the Austro-Hungarian administration. Born in a Polish region he was an Austro-Hungarian citizen before World War I. He served in the Habsburg army, then became a Polish citizen. In World War II he served in the Wehrmacht because of his German ethnicity, but at the end of the war found that his home region had been incorporated into the USSR. Was this man to be seen as Austrian, Pole, German or Soviet? And what happened if his mother came from Moravia? Then he could also claim to be a true Czechoslovakian. There were many

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Repatriation of POWs once Hostilities are Over • 21 cases like this and most people tried to make the supposedly ‘best’ out of the situation. But what was the ‘best’? What should an ethnic German from the Balkans decide when facing repatriation from the USSR? Return home, where his family awaited him as well as the discrimination of being ‘German’, or – build a new life in West Germany, hoping that his family would be able to follow him?22 The circumstances were even more complex for those who expected to be called to account, either because they had switched sides, or because they had collaborated with the enemy, or because they had committed war crimes. Some, including many Soviet citizens, attempted to reach their homes incognito before the end of the war, without using the official means of repatriation. Others, also often Soviets, attempted to pass themselves off as missing and reported back to their units. Yet a third group evaded the danger of recognition by beginning a new life, either by emigrating, or by enlisting in foreign services such as the Légion étrangère. Only a relatively small number of prisoners decided to make their lives in the countries where they had been held captive, yet some did find the love of their lives and either stayed on or returned. One of the most popular examples was that of Bernd (Bert) Trautmann, whose goalkeeping talents were discovered after he had been brought to Britain in 1945 as a POW, and who became a professional footballer with Manchester City.

Outlook On 12 February 1945, even before World War II had come to an end, the International Red Cross appealed to every government in the world to learn from the experiences of World War II and to formulate newer, improved conventions. Changes relating to repatriation all appeared in the following two clauses of the 1949 Geneva Convention. Article 7 stated that ‘prisoners of war may in no circumstances renounce in part or in entirety the rights secured to them by the present Convention’, and Article 118 stipulated that ‘prisoners of war shall be released and repatriated without delay after the cessation of active hostilities. Both sentences sound trivial, but the implications were profound. In future, POWs were not to be held until a peace treaty was concluded, as had often been the case during World War II. Henceforward they had to be released after the end of hostilities, which meant immediately after an armistice treaty, if this was the de facto peace treaty, but undoubtedly after a capitulation. Repatriation again became what it had been before World War II, a unilateral duty of the captor power. Moreover, a release of POWs into civilian status was no longer possible; in future they were to be ‘released and brought home’.23 The exclusion of individual POWs from repatriation to their home country was not permissible. Returning home was a right a POW could no longer renounce. The last definition in particular was delicate, as there had been many POWs, especially from the USSR, who did not want to return

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22 • Introduction home. The Western custodial states, and especially the United States, had had to struggle with the resulting consequences for a long time. It is primarily due to the joint pressure of the USA and the USSR that the Geneva Convention on Prisoners of War of 1949 gave no credit at all to the individual’s right of self-determination. That this radical solution – which promoted expediency at the expense of individuality – would not, and could not work, would become evident in the very first case where the new convention was applied, the Korean War. Both sides were aware that the question of POWs had to be fully addressed in the armistice. After it came into force, both factions would have been obliged to return their POWs without delay, but there were undeniable problems. The supreme command of the UN forces, de facto the USA, had noticed that of about 170,000 North Korean and Chinese POWs, only 70,000 were prepared to accept repatriation to their native countries without an active struggle. Therefore the question of captives became a central topic of the negotiations, the success of which seemed at times to be threatened by this dilemma. The USSR, leading the discussions for the North Korean side, stated that there was no reason to discuss repatriation as the Geneva Convention on Prisoners of War of 1949 provided an automatic mechanism that could come into action after the conclusion of an armistice. As legitimate as this position was in general, the UN was faced with the problem of forcefully expediting the removal of 100,000 North Koreans and Chinese to their native countries against their will. Such a procedure would not have been compatible with the UN’s principles, nor with the Universal Declaration on Human Rights of 1948. Although the Soviet–North Korean side had more compelling arguments, it was finally agreed not to repatriate anyone against his will.24 The experience of the Korean War thus highlights one particular point: although the problems of repatriation are well known, it is easier to recognize these problems than actually to negotiate an internationally accepted solution, which does justice to the interests of the three sides: the captor state, the native country, and the POWs themselves. As it stands, the Geneva Convention on Prisoners of War of 1949 simply does not provide a solution to this dilemma.

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Part II Prisoners and their Captors

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–3– British Perceptions of Italian Prisoners of War, 1940–7 Bob Moore

Between June 1940 and the surrender signed by Marshal Badoglio on 8 September 1943, British Imperial forces took more than 400,000 Italian servicemen prisoner, primarily in the African theatres of war. Often captured in huge numbers, they were held initially in makeshift POW camps that were little more than patches of desert or scrub surrounded by a rudimentary barbed-wire fence. Later they were dispersed across the Empire and remained in captivity until the end of the war in Europe and beyond. Their treatment, dispersal and subsequent employment seems to have been based primarily on the ‘official’ British military, governmental and civil service perception of the prisoners as largely docile, uncommitted to Fascism and posing few real threats to security. The first part of this chapter therefore seeks to explain the origins and development of this view. Following the dispersal of the prisoners across the British Empire, the Italians also came into contact with a broad cross-section of the civilian population, and a second part of this discussion is devoted to an assessment of the general public’s view of the enemy in its midst. Finally, some attention has been devoted to the attempts at political re-education carried out by the British during the war. It would be impossible to do justice to these questions across all the Imperial territories and this therefore represents a case study that deals more or less exclusively with the United Kingdom.

British Perceptions of Italy and the Italians before 1940 The ways in which the British government and public saw their Italian enemies during World War II were inevitably coloured by long-standing cultural perceptions developed over many generations and then ‘refined’ and built upon by cartoonists and propagandists after war was declared in June 1940. Italians had been a feature in many British communities since the mid-nineteenth century. They had arrived as immigrants and itinerants, as organ-grinders and street sellers, often subsequently establishing themselves in the service sectors as hoteliers, restaurateurs, cooks and 25

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26 • Prisoners and their Captors street vendors.1 As such, they were regarded by the general population as harmless and in any case did not muster the sort of numbers to pose any real or imagined threat to ‘British’ interests in the labour market. Traditionally, they had evinced some public sympathy as the victims of Habsburg tyranny and support for liberation and the feats of Garibaldi had been widespread in the later nineteenth century. An easy-going attitude, musicality and a tendency towards official corruption were all traits also associated with the Italians as a people. As allies during World War I, the Italians in Britain suffered little from the xenophobia that gripped the country and threatened so many other national minority groups. In the 1930s there was widespread condemnation of the war in Abyssinia and Italian intervention in the Spanish Civil War, especially from the Left. Although British love of the underdog had provided succour for the Italians in their war for independence, sympathy quickly drained away when they turned bully and engaged in unprovoked aggression against a weaker opponent. However, even with this change of attitude, there was almost a disbelief in the threat posed by Mussolini’s Fascist regime. In cartoons, the Italian was seldom the threatening figure posed by the German. The doyen of such caricaturists, Low, invariably portrayed Mussolini with a puffed out chest2 – almost as a figure of fun and an image which contemporary newsreel footage from Rome did nothing to dispel. None of this prevented outbreaks of popular violence in many cities when Mussolini declared war, although this seems to have been directed primarily against property rather than persons.3 Internment of Italian males followed almost immediately as they became subject to the policies relating to enemy aliens. Some Italian civilians were deported to Canada and Australia in these early months, as the fifth-column scare reached its height, and several hundred lost their lives when the SS Arandora Star was torpedoed in the Atlantic on 2 July 1940. However, the realities of internment soon served to reinforce the existing stereotype. These were not vicious committed fascists, but harmless traders, businessmen, chefs and waiters. It was difficult to stir up much sustained hatred against such people. Angus Calder recounts the popular view in Britain that, militarily, the Italians were no match for anyone, thus it came as something of a shock when a few Italian aeroplanes appeared over London at the height of the Blitz.4 As a result the satirist and playwright A.P. Herbert attempted to whip up ‘a little “healthy” hatred against the “Wops”’. SOCK THE WOPS, and knock their blocks; Sock the Wop, until he crocks; Slosh the Wop because he’s mean; Wash the Wop – he isn’t clean . . .5

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British Perceptions of Italian POWs, 1940–7 • 27

Government Perceptions The Italian declaration of war on Britain on 10 June 1940 was largely overshadowed by concern in London about the fate of its French ally. The imminent fall of Paris to the Wehrmacht preoccupied both the government and the press. As a result, there was little contemporary reflection on the Italians as an enemy – either in government circles or in the press. Duff Cooper, one of the few politicians to comment directly, saw the Italian entry into the war as entirely the fault of Mussolini’s opportunism at the impending fall of France, but he had nothing further to say about them as a future enemy.6 Although the Italians would always be perceived by the British as the junior partners in the Axis alliance, their entry into the war did create new theatres of war and additional threats to British imperial interests, most notably in relation to navigation in the Mediterranean and the security of Egypt and the Suez Canal. In the early months of war between the two powers, there were few military engagements and thus few prisoners were taken. Only with Marshal Graziani’s attack on Egypt from Libya on 13 September 1940 did fighting begin in earnest. The Italian advance was achieved only at considerable cost and then thrown back by General Wavell’s counter-attack, Operation Compass, launched on 9 December. From the first day, British forces took thousands of prisoners. Asked to provide more accurate numbers, the Coldstream Guards claimed they had had no time to count their captives, but they ‘held about five acres of officers and two hundred acres of other ranks’. Forty-eight hours later, the total number of Italians taken prisoner was 38,300 including four generals. This first large-scale capture of Italians was complemented by further successes at Bardia and Tobruk in January 1941. From the interrogations and reports from stool-pigeons inside the prisoners’ compounds in Egypt, British reports noted a huge rift between the majority of the soldiers and the Fascist regime. None of the former seemed committed to the war and condemned the latter as venal and corrupt. This corruption was also blamed for the poor showing of the Italian airforce and the lack of supplies. Much was made of several thousand Fascist officials who had joined the army to prove their heroism, but who had almost immediately returned to Italy to take up metropolitan policing duties.7 Interrogations also revealed that the men blamed their officers for defeat and the officers blamed the inefficient, ‘rascally’ Fascist politicians and Mussolini. Most claimed that they were fascists by force and resented the better pay and conditions awarded to blackshirt battalions who had made such a poor showing in battle. Fascism was generally derided and all were agreed that there was no popular support for the war in Italy and many voiced the view that it was a shame they had been pitted against England rather than the Germans.8 This intelligence material served to reinforce what had already become something of a stereotypical view of the Italians in

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28 • Prisoners and their Captors British eyes; of enemies whose hearts were not in the war and who were being driven solely by Mussolini and the Fascists. This introduces the wider question of how the British armed forces perceived their Italian enemies after these initial battles. Military intelligence reports evaluated the Italian soldier as the equal of his British counterpart, but let down by poor equipment and poor leadership. As early as October 1940, Anthony Eden on a visit to Egypt noted a comment from Lieutentant-Colonel (later General) W.H.E. Gort. ‘He said the Italians had shown some courage during their advance, but that they were ill trained and their tactics wretched.’9 For as long as the Italians remained as an enemy, their fighting men could not be dismissed entirely. Attempts to make jokes about Italian military prowess had to be coupled with caution lest it bred complacency among the British forces. However, the British military commanders in the field soon adopted a rather more pragmatic approach to the prisoners under their control. According to the official figures, the Eighth Army was woefully under strength and to make good some of the gaps in their manpower, unit commanders were not averse to ‘borrowing’ suitable prisoners from local camps for employment as cooks, batmen and other ancillary roles. Although never formally admitted, this piece of legerdemain helped to bolster the fighting strength of the British Army in the North African desert until 1943.10 Churchill was also anxious to make political capital out of his commanders’ successes; even to the point of flouting the Geneva Convention by having the captured Italians marched through the streets of Cairo and filmed for the newsreels.11 There is no doubt that British cabinet ministers and their civil servants made implicit assumptions about their two different enemies from the beginning of hostilities. The Germans were almost invariably envisioned as dangerous Nazi zealots completely committed to Hitler’s war. So dangerous were they considered to be that the Churchill Cabinet insisted that all German prisoners be transported to Canada, Australia, or other parts of the Empire. While this was ostensibly done to prevent the danger of a ‘fifth column’, more sceptical observers might have interpreted it as a new regime attempting to be seen doing something positive at a time of national crisis when the country had already experienced one military disaster in Norway and was facing a second in France. Although Italian servicemen and civilians had been included in the first deportations, this soon came to an end, but the removal of German prisoners of war from the UK to Canada continued as policy until 1944. The assumption of the inherent danger of the Germans was based partly on contemporary assessments of Nazism, but the language used in official memoranda also harked back to the experiences of World War I. Ministers and civil servants often used the word ‘hun’ in marginalia and private comments, and there were many references to the ‘Prussian’ attributes of their enemy. Conversely, the Italians were never quite perceived in the same light, even from the beginning of hostilities. The slang used to describe them in official quarters

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British Perceptions of Italian POWs, 1940–7 • 29 carried nothing of the same menace as attached to the Germans. Alexander Cadogan spoke of ‘our sweeping victory over the Wops’ in December 1940,12 and Leo Amery, then Secretary of State for India and Burma, remarked in February 1941 that Wavell was ‘mopping up the Wops in Africa’.13 This particular epithet was also regularly used in private letters sent home by serving soldiers.14 While the experiences of World War I may have had some impact on this differentiation between the Axis powers, there is no doubt that the evident national and cultural stereotyping was deeply ingrained into the ‘official mind’ and probably had its origins in the public school educations of the politicians and civil servants. The derogatory terminology was, however, universal and a POW camp report noted, ‘they are called Wops incessantly.’15 These prejudices became even more apparent when the decision was taken in the Spring of 1941 to import Italian POWs as labour into the United Kingdom. Eighteen months of war and widespread conscription had denuded many sections of the British economy of manpower. While the mobilization of women had offset shortages in some areas, heavy work in agriculture was considered beyond them. At the same time, Wavell was anxious to remove as many captured Italians from Egypt because of the security threat they represented, and it was at this point that the decision was taken to select an initial 5,000 prisoners for agricultural work in Britain. The background to this decision and the arrival of the Italians has been well documented elsewhere,16 but it is the attitudes conveyed by the government documents which are of importance to this study. There is no doubt that the pressure to bring prisoners of war to Britain as a labour force came primarily from the Ministry of Agriculture. Its (not unreasonable) collective view seemed to be that the Italian army contained large numbers of ‘the peasant type’, which could be used in the United Kingdom.17 David Margesson, the Secretary of State for War, was happy to agree provided that the incoming prisoners did not contain any ‘violent or fascist types’, implying that the two could easily be separated.18 The military authorities also backed the scheme, suggesting that prisoners ‘of the type of good mechanic and workman fairly common among the Italians’ might be used to conserve manpower at home.19 In approving the scheme and recommending it to the Cabinet, Churchill was clear that it was better to use the ‘docile Italian prisoners’ as a labour supply than the ‘disaffected Irish’.20 Even in the Empire, the same attitudes prevailed. W.C. Huggard, the Acting British High Commissioner in Pretoria noted that ‘Italians are noted as road makers and might volunteer for this service at the small wage to which they are accustomed in Italy’.21 This assumption that the majority of the Italians were peace loving, pleased to be out of the war, and potentially useful to the British war effort permeated every level of government. It was, however, in everyone’s interests to play down the possible complications of having Italians on British soil. Even the shadowy Home Defence (Security)

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30 • Prisoners and their Captors Executive (HD(S)E), which had been instrumental in recommending the arrest and deportation of civilian internees and POWs in May 1940, was prepared to make concessions on the siting of camps and the guarding of prisoners to maximize their potential utility as a labour force. Indeed, regulations were liberalized even before the first drafts had set foot in the United Kingdom. Initial plans to use them only in the North and in Scotland were soon amended so that most could be employed in the Midland counties. Guard ratios were also reduced.22 While this may well indicate the triumph of pragmatism over fear of the enemy, it also demonstrates that cultural assumptions about the Italians were widely shared in government circles, and even among those charged with the state’s security. Admittedly the early arrivals were supposedly carefully screened to include those with specific agricultural skills and exclude any obvious Fascists or malcontents, but the general impression was that these men did conform to the stereotypical view taken by the British. Early reports from the Ministry of Agriculture noted that the first arrivals included ‘some very good material . . . of good physique’ but that they were agriculturalists of different types. Many of the peasants were adept with sickle, scythe and spade, and would therefore be ideal for ditching and draining work. The more skilled workers were ‘a cut above’ being capable of ploughing with horses and oxen but with little or no experience of tractors or threshing machines.23 Even before the first few thousand had arrived, plans were also in train to extend the numbers to at least 25,000. Initially, the idea had been to incarcerate the prisoners in camps and then march them to their places of work each day but this limited their employment to fairly restricted areas around a relatively small number of camp sites. Soon a scheme for hostels was arranged to broaden their usage, and by the end of 1941, the first plans to billet prisoners on individual farms were made public. Somewhat to the authorities’ surprise, this was picked up by the national press, and the Daily Express carried some comment which suggested widespread discontent among the farmers and the rural communities where the billeting was to take place.24 While the journalists may have gone out of their way to find dissenting voices, communities may have been apprehensive. However, as the Ministry pointed out, no farmers were being forced to employ POW labour. The official view was that the initial Italian prisoners employed in the United Kingdom were very little trouble. A survey carried out after the first few months suggested that there had been only two serious breaches of discipline, one where a prisoner employed in forestry had wandered away from his unit and ‘exposed himself to a lady’, and a second where a group of men had been charged with mistreating a swan.25 These early experiences encouraged the government and the authorities to extend the scheme. By the time of the Italian surrender, there were 74,900 Italian prisoners in the United Kingdom. At that moment, there was an extensive debate among the Allies about the fate of the Italian POWs in their hands. The precise status of the new Badoglio regime had not been determined, but

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British Perceptions of Italian POWs, 1940–7 • 31 the issue had been complicated by Eisenhower demobilizing Italian soldiers captured in Sicily, and by the use of some Italian units alongside the British and Americans against the Germans on the Italian mainland. Both the British and Americans were unwilling to give up their Italian labour forces, and the designation of the Italians as co-belligerents rather than allies served to allow their captured servicemen to remain in Allied hands. While no new Italian prisoners could be moved out of Italy, this did not prevent the British authorities from continuing to exploit the pool of Italian prisoners held in other parts of the Empire, notably South Africa. Thus by the summer of 1944, the number of Italian prisoners in the United Kingdom exceeded 150,000 and their import was only halted by the need to find camp accommodation for the increasing numbers of Germans taken prisoner in Normandy after the D-Day landings in June. From late 1943 onwards, it was deemed important to widen the use of prisoner labour beyond that stipulated by the Geneva Convention. To that end, the prisoners were offered the chance to become ‘cooperators’. This involved them being employed in any form of work in exchange for better and more liberal conditions and, crucially, the understanding that they would be the first to be repatriated. The scheme effectively segregated the Fascists from the non-Fascists, with the latter accepting the potential advantages of cooperation. Although many thousands agreed to become cooperators, there was no formal agreement with the Badoglio regime and many Italians felt uneasy about this form of collaboration. Worse was the fact that the improved conditions and greater freedoms promised for cooperators could not be delivered by the British authorities. Work allocated to cooperator prisoners was often unpleasant or difficult – in other words, exactly the type of task which British workers were loathe to undertake. There were also other factors which the Italians regarded as important but which the British found difficult to change, namely the intermittent and unreliable transmission of mails to and from Italy and the exchange rate of £7 = 72 lira which had been dictated by Mussolini in 1940, but which was now punitive for prisoners attempting to send money to an inflation-ravaged Italy. This latter point was addressed and altered, but even in the summer of 1944, the Political Warfare Executive (PWE) was already reflecting that far from improving morale among cooperator prisoners, the new scheme had left them ‘disillusioned and dissatisfied’, with evidence of increases in Fascist propaganda and anti-British feeling in many of the camps.26 The cooperators also began to realise that there were few sanctions that the British authorities could use against them, and productivity suffered as a result. Protests and go-slows became more common, and there were even one or two short strikes which inevitably began to affect the perception of the Italians as willing and efficient workers. Even though the supply of new Italian prisoner labour had ceased after September 1943, and the Allies gained access to other sources of labour as increasing numbers of Germans were captured in 1944 and early 1945, there was

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32 • Prisoners and their Captors strong pressure to retain the Italians for as long as possible. In the Empire this was blamed on transport difficulties, but in Britain it was clear that continuing domestic labour shortages were the determining factor. Nearly all the Italians were held until the 1945 harvest season was completed and most did not return home until 1946. While the ‘official’ image of the Italians as a docile and pliant workforce remained more or less intact, the evidence of falling morale and increasing truculence did serve to undermine or at least modify some of the initial stereotypical views, both in government circles and among the public at large.

Public Perceptions Gauging public reaction to the arrival of Italian POWs into Britain is difficult. Little detail was reported in the wartime press and there was no systematic official or unofficial measurement of public opinion. Thus any assessment has to be based on a wide range of sources. Chief among these is the Mass Observation project, which in March 1943 fortuitously asked its diarists and reporters for views on a number of nationalities, including the Italians. In addition, we also have Home Office and police reports as well as scattered references through diaries, memoirs and various government files. The picture painted by these contemporary sources is mixed, but generally shows the British population well disposed towards the Italians. Initial wartime press coverage of the Italians had disparaged them for their behaviour in Abyssinia, and for the ‘cowardly’ way they had entered the war, but positive stories about prisoners soon began to appear. Thus in November 1941, when the Daily Express was carrying adverse comments about the Italian prisoners as a source of labour, The Times noted that the inmates of one particular camp had offered their week’s wages to the poor of the parish.27 In July 1943, the same newspaper was at pains to contrast the arrogant and surly Germans with the newly arriving Italians who ‘ran down the gangway, some smiling, a few silent, but all obviously thankful to be out of the war’.28 The Mass Observation material, while only a snapshot of opinion is nonetheless valuable. The timing of the exercise is also important. By March 1943, the war in North Africa was coming to an end and British propaganda had been directed towards belittling the Italian war effort and trying to dissociate the Italian people, who were portrayed as war weary, from their leadership, which had misled them. They were, therefore, more sinned against than sinners and so deserving of some compassion. This came out clearly in one particular response. The contempt shown by many of our cartoonists, music-hall jokers and journalists is greatly overdone. The Italian is, to me, a more acceptable member of the European family than many who think themselves their superiors. They are the victims of a swash-buckling regime that has vainly tried to make a blood and iron breed of them. I

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British Perceptions of Italian POWs, 1940–7 • 33 hope that we shall eventually re-establish our traditional friendship with them – though not with Mussolini.29

Another respondent summed up very neatly what appeared to be the general view of the Italians, at least from a middle-class perspective. We have a proprietary feeling towards the Italians. Did we not help them form their nation? We cannot believe they are malignant, as the Germans are, or treacherous and cunning, as the Jap[anese]. They are fat and rather lazy, they sell us ice cream when we are young, and chianti when we are older. It is monstrous that they should be terrorised into war by that bandit Mussolini.30

Some of the respondents had obviously had some direct contact with the prisoners. ‘Pleasant’ and ‘friendly’ were two common descriptions.31 Another reported that they were ‘affable, easy-going [and] content to make the best of their incarceration’.32 All the Italians were deemed glad to be out of the war. One farmer noted their enthusiasm for work on the land and considered that two of them were worth any ten causal labourers he could employ. From being tolerated, they became positively popular in some neighbourhoods.33 The general response was summed up by another Mass Observation diarist: ‘Few people, I think, dislike the Italians, even today. Prisoners in this country are shown kindness not demanded by the most liberal interpretation of International Law’.34 Certainly in these early years, there is no evidence of much public animosity against the prisoners. They were ‘nice’ and ‘hardworking’ and a number of women recorded how good they were with children.35 Employed in agriculture, the prisoners also encountered large numbers of women, either on family farms or through working alongside members of the Women’s Land Army. Recollections from the latter intimate a degree of proximity that neither the authorities nor the girls’ parents would have approved of. Yet even a girl who found the whole thing ‘appalling and disgusting’ was prepared to admit a degree of sympathy for prisoners who had been in captivity for nearly three years and for whom ‘a girl on a haystack must [have been] a very tempting proposition with no one around’.36 Other female workers were less charitable. Members of the Women’s Land Army in Lincolnshire went on strike in 1943 because Italians employed at a nearby stone quarry were allowed to roam ‘almost at will’ and refused to return to work until the prisoners were placed under ‘proper guard’.37 Other protests also occurred. The Italians were disgusting and bone idle. They’d spend all day cutting up one log. We were supposed to be picked up by their lorry every morning to go to the forest where we were working. When we climbed in, their hands would be everywhere and whoever was supposed to be in charge of them did nothing. We didn’t dare go to the lavatory, . . . they’d

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34 • Prisoners and their Captors be lying in wait to grab you. We were only kids. It really wasn’t fair. It got so bad we refused to go in the lorry with them. We said we’d rather walk.38

Whether this account is symptomatic of a clash of cultures or merely the inevitable result of placing long-term prisoners, who were largely unsupervised, alongside girls mobilized for the war effort is open to question. However reports of women being ‘molested’ by Italians were not confined to agricultural districts and came increasingly from urban areas as well. It is clear that it was the potential for fraternization with women that really exercised the journalists (and the authorities). Police reports on the behaviour of prisoners were asked to comment on this specifically and it remained an issue until the prisoners were sent home. In November 1944, the War Office issued a circular to all Area Commands on prisoners of war in response to ‘an increasing volume of public criticism’ where the first item dealt with ‘fraternisation with females’. This is strongly resented by the public although it is admitted there is often encouragement by irresponsible girls . . . Co-operators have been seen walking arm in arm with females and this practice must cease. They will not be permitted to make (or attempt to make) unwelcome approaches to women and will refrain from forcing their attentions on anyone.39

Even the Political Warfare Executive, which had a vested interest in improving the lot of the prisoners and which pressed for a removal of the humiliating and ineffective administrative order forbidding general fraternization, admitted that ‘to satisfy English public opinion, the severest sanctions against promiscuous relations with women would certainly have to be maintained’.40 The vexed issue of social or sexual contact between the prisoners and local women nonetheless needs to be treated with some caution. There is good evidence to suggest that the Italians were not always the guilty parties. As is evident from the above, there were many recorded examples of ‘fraternization’ being initiated by women. One Metropolitan Police report spoke of camps being a ‘source of attraction to young females’ and that ‘in the poorer districts some females, particularly young girls, [were] inclined to force their attentions on the Italians’.41 This suggests the possibility of a threefold attraction: first, of young, physically fit and attractive men at a time when most of their British counterparts were away on military service; second, of the exotic foreigner, and third, of the incarcerated male deprived of female company for months if not years. On the wider canvas, there is evidence to suggest that the general public perception of the Italians did begin to change during 1943. This can be attributed to a number of factors. First, in attempts to maximize the use of Italian labour, the prisoners were given much greater freedom of movement and much less supervision. They were also regularly conveyed in lorries or buses at a time when many British

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British Perceptions of Italian POWs, 1940–7 • 35 workers had to walk to work. Sometimes they were even given bicycles, when these were a prized luxury for ordinary civilians.42 Such apparently preferential treatment became even more of an issue when those volunteering for cooperator status were used in a much wider range of industries and occupations – and in an ever-increasing number of locations. This brought them into contact with more British workers and inevitably prompted some complaints about the better clothing and working conditions given to prisoners compared to those working alongside them.43 The greater freedoms granted as incentives to cooperators such as the use of public transport, entry to cinemas and certain types of shops also brought them into greater contact with the general public.44 This increased visibility led to some complaints and grumbles, but little more.45 There was at least one case where a local mayor agreed to ban Italians from the Town Hall dances after complaints from both British and American servicemen. Interestingly, he had earlier rejected a call from the Americans to ban their black fellow soldiers from the same premises.46 There is also some evidence of a deliberate press campaign against the Italians in late 1944 as Ernest Bevin, the Minister of Labour, specifically asked the Ministry of Information to see if they could ask the editors to moderate their line.47 The need to make maximum use of prisoner labour meant that by mid-1944, the Italians were spread across the entire country and were being deployed in what were termed ‘sensitive areas’, most notably in London. Here they were employed clearing bomb damage. Initial reports deemed this experiment an unqualified success, but trouble began in the autumn when the prisoners were moved from tents into vacant houses – in order to comply with the terms of the Geneva Convention. Once this became public knowledge, there was a storm of protest, again fanned by the local press, that these men were getting better treatment than bombed-out Londoners.48 There were also disturbances when the Italians encountered local troublemakers with at least one report of a fight on Kew Bridge between prisoners and civilians, and of disturbances in Bethnal Green.49 Thus although the general picture may have been of relative quiet, there were resentments against the Italians as a visible symbol of ‘the enemy’, even in 1945. Special treatment to conform to the terms of the Geneva Convention and to provide greater incentives to cooperate only served to make matters worse. One of the reasons there is so much information about opinion on the Italians in this period is simply that the authorities carefully monitored public reaction to the increased privileges granted to co-operators. While London may have been exceptional, there is no doubt that general public attitudes towards the Italians did harden in later 1944 and early 1945 when Allied forces were engaged in fierce fighting in Northern Italy. One Italian major attached to the 122nd Italian Labour Battalion stationed at Rayners Lane in West London spoke of the ‘incessant’ press campaign against his men, and cases of ‘insults, provocations and even spitting . . . as everyday occurrences’.50 There was a widespread feeling that the prisoners

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36 • Prisoners and their Captors should be sent home to liberate their own country, epitomized by the phrase ‘why should our boys be killed while Italians are living off the fat of the land’.51 The TUC (Trade Union Congress) also registered disquiet about the increased use of Italian prisoners in the engineering industry and the protests this had provoked from local unions and their members.52 There were also inevitably individuals with very strident views on the subject. For example, one woman employed as a bus conductress during the war, whose husband had been captured in Libya by the Italians, explained her personal bitterness ‘There were so many prisoners of war . . . going with English girls, getting on English buses, going where they liked . . . Your husband was behind barbed wire and there [they were,] running around everywhere.’53 Another change evident in the post-1943 period is that stories of the Italians being work-shy and lazy became far more prevalent. Apart from the strikes and goslows evident in official reports, men and women who worked alongside them were often less than complimentary ‘if it was pouring with rain, they left us poor girls out in the field muck spreading. We stuck it out all day [but] these [Italians] were under the hedge sheltering from the rain until their lorry came to take them home.’54 Some farmers also became less enthusiastic, berating their prisonerworkers for being inefficient and idle. This change of heart may have had a number of root causes. In 1941, when the Italians were the only likely source of labour capable of undertaking heavy agricultural work, then they were to be prized. However, the advent of the first German POWs in Britain during the spring and summer of 1944 produced the first adverse comparisons between the efficiency and hardworking nature of these new arrivals and the lethargy of the Italians. The Germans were, of course, better guarded and under greater coercion than the Italians. Moreover, the cooperators had by this time become disaffected as a result of what they felt were broken promises about pay, working conditions, mail and repatriation. Certainly, a preference for German rather than Italian labour became manifest in some agricultural districts. In spite of all this critical comment, there were others with good reason to thank the Italians. Many had been instrumental in keeping family farms running and others had performed both small acts of kindness and some of great heroism. For example, the News Chronicle reported an Italian prisoner being severely injured while shielding a young boy from a bomb blast in August 1944,55 and the Bury Times told the story of Santo Verde, who died trying to save two boys from drowning in the River Irwell in Manchester. The latter was awarded a posthumous Carnegie Medal for his bravery.56

Political Re-education Historians have largely ignored the British re-education programme directed at Italian prisoners of war, perhaps because it was felt to have contributed little or

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British Perceptions of Italian POWs, 1940–7 • 37 nothing, either to the war effort, or to the reconstruction of a post-war Italy. Nonetheless, at the time ‘de-fascistization’ and political re-education were perceived as important by both the military authorities and a number of government departments. It was reckoned that if Italy made a separate peace with the allies, then it would be useful if the country could be ‘flooded’ with some thousands of pro-British Italians. From this came the idea of the Free Italy movement.57 Further impetus was given to this idea by Churchill, Hugh Dalton and the Foreign Office who all championed the idea of an Italian anti-Fascist combatant force. This was undermined by the military authorities in the Middle East who pointed out that although some officers had expressed a willingness to fight against their former masters, ‘[their] words were better than their deeds’.58 An intelligence officer interrogating Italians in Egypt was more forthright. In his view, most Italians were prepared to say that they were non-Fascist if they thought they would obtain better food or privileged conditions, but it was impossible to ‘trust a single one of them’.59 Attempts to set up re-education schemes in Egypt were undermined by security imperatives as prisoners were shipped away from the area; the soldiers and NCOs to South Africa, East Africa, the United Kingdom and Australia and the officers to India. It was the latter who became the target for further programmes. Attempts were made to organize a propaganda initiative based on (independent) Italian representatives of some recognized Italian patriotic body. To that end, attempts were made to recruit suitable men from the Mazzini Society in the United States and then transport them to work in the camps in India. The whole project proved a disaster, with the volunteers falling out on the outward journey and being found totally unsuitable for the tasks involved when they arrived. As a result, the scheme was quietly dropped in December 1941. Subsequently, the PWE adopted a more broad-ranging policy on the basis that good treatment of the prisoners would have an effect on Italian domestic opinion, but would also create ‘friendly sentiments’ among the prisoners when they returned home, thus creating a large number of pro-British propagandists. Humane treatment was considered essential and if the war for the Italians’ hearts and minds was to be won, then all derogatory or racist language had to be dropped. A PWE directive was uncompromising. ‘Do NOT call them Wops’.60 The other essential element in this plan was for segregation of the Fascist from the non-Fascist elements. Simple enough in theory, but practically very complex as it required a detailed screening process staffed by fluent Italian speakers who could make informed distinctions about the political opinions and allegiances of the prisoners. In the event the screening of officers, let alone the NCOs and other ranks, proved beyond the capabilities of the small number of men assigned to the task. Early in 1943, the Foreign Office revived the idea of forming Italian labour detachments with a view to converting them into anti-Fascist fighting units at a later stage.

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38 • Prisoners and their Captors Likewise, the PWE had seen the potential of the Italian prisoners held in Britain as suitable material for re-education programmes as part of the battle for Italian hearts and minds as the war in North Africa came to an end. As a result, it began pressing for access to the camps in order to begin a screening process. While there were many practical objections to these schemes, it was the Ministry of Agriculture which ensured their rejection in the United Kingdom, on the grounds that the prisoners were ‘already being used for work of national importance’.61 Ultimately, it was labour imperatives which dictated the treatment of Italian prisoners of war across the Empire, but the PWE continued to press for some say in the fate and treatment of the prisoners. A memorandum in April 1944 made this clear. ‘In the present phase of the campaign in Italy, PWE does not hold many trump cards. If the game is to be won it is essential that the best possible use is made of those it does hold. The 400,000 Prisoners of War in Allied hands represent such a trump card, and one of high value.’62 Its twofold objective was relatively conservative, but probably realistic given the limited resources available. The first task was to maximize the provision of English-language classes among the prisoners, and the second to explain ‘the democratic way of life’ and ‘the projection of Britain’.63 This latter objective was to be achieved by lectures, discussion groups, camp libraries and opportunities to see the democratic way of life in action. Invitations to private houses were also to be encouraged and exploited, as was the promotion of recreational activities to ‘gild the pill of political education and make it more palatable’.64 Prisoner segregation of cooperators and unreconstructed fascists in the United Kingdom gave the PWE another opportunity to press its case, but reform of the ‘ungenerous, procrastinating and equivocal policy’65 towards the former did not materialize. Thus the potential propaganda and re-education benefits of the PWE programmes were sacrificed for the imperatives of the labour market and any goodwill that the Italians might have held towards their captors rapidly evaporated. Even those prisoners who had become so enamoured of the British way of life that they wanted to stay in the country were badly treated by the authorities, with nearly all being compelled to return home, even when they had promised marriage to girls in the United Kingdom – or had even fathered children illegally.66 The final insult for the cooperators came when the repatriation promises were broken. The British authorities attached to the Badoglio regime were all too conscious of the potential communist threat in the newly liberated Italy and pressed for the immediate repatriation of Carabinieri units to resume their policing functions.67 Once again, the interests of pragmatism and the needs of the short-term won out over the longer term, but less well-defined aims of political re-education and post-war reconstruction.

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British Perceptions of Italian POWs, 1940–7 • 39

Conclusion There is no doubt that the ‘official’ view of the Italians underwent changes during and immediately after the war. The first carefully selected drafts arriving in the United Kingdom largely lived up to their billing as docile and willing workers. Later arrivals were less well screened and as their conditions improved and the possibilities for punishment receded, so they became more truculent and less cooperative. In spite of this, the needs of the domestic labour market remained the overriding imperative and even when replacements arrived in the form of newly captured Germans, the Italians in the United Kingdom were held well after the war in Europe was over. Changes can also be seen in the public perception of these enemy soldiers in their midst. After some initial disquiet, the early perceptions were essentially positive, but as the war dragged on and the Italians were given more and more freedoms, so the animosities increased. In this respect, public opinion lagged behind or even ran contrary to the official view. Whereas the government and its propagandists wanted to show the Italians in a different light after the surrender (and A.P. Herbert was on record as saying he would never call them ‘Wops’ again),68 the public was less forgiving and showed some antipathy towards the prisoners, both verbal and sometimes physical. Certain sections of the press and other interest groups made much of this, but there was clearly some genuine feeling that the concessions had gone too far. Making any objective measure of this resentment at sixty years’ distance is impossible, but research over many years has shown that virtually every community in the mainland United Kingdom has its stories about the prisoners and that, in general, they are remembered with affection rather than resentment. As this discussion also makes clear, attempts to re-educate the Italian prisoners in Britain and to imbue them with liberal democratic ideals were overridden by the pragmatic need to use them as a labour force. Newspapers, classes and lectures were offered to some of those in camps, but any real political benefits that these might have had were undermined by the prisoners’ feelings of resentment about their treatment and the broken promises of their captors. Creating a friendly social and political environment in post-war Italy came a long way down the list of British priorities, even in 1945. The first Italians sent home were not the cooperators who had worked on behalf of the Allied war effort in exchange for promises of better treatment and early repatriation, but carabinieri personnel, the most Fascist-oriented elements among the prisoners who had been resolutely noncooperative throughout their captivity. They, and a number of generals who had been held in India, were the first captives returned to their homeland. Thus it was the stick (in the form of the carabinieri) that became the main British weapon to counter the communist threat in Italy rather than the carrot of a comprehensive programme of political re-education.

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–4– Hatred within Limits: German Prisoners of War and Polish Society, 1945–50 Jerzy Kochanowski

In comparison with the USSR, the United Kingdom, France or Yugoslavia, relatively few German POWs remained in post-war Poland.1 In the second half of 1945 there were about 50,000. A year later, when the system of captivity stabilized, the initially high mortality rate fell, and once the identification and rehabilitation of certain prisoners – Volksdeutsch and the so-called autochtons (German citizens who felt themselves to be Poles) – had taken place, around 40,000 former soldiers remained in Polish captivity. Approximately 25,000 were in sixty camps located in the vicinity of the Silesian mines, the rest were in a number of, often small, camps scattered across the whole country.2 This number of prisoners remained constant until the first releases in October 1948.

Different Attitudes Immediately after World War II, relations between Poles and Germans, both civil and military, were conditioned by two basic factors. Despite losing the war, the Germans still had a stereotypical picture of Poles and of Poland that had been strongly developed through National Socialist propaganda during the Nazi era.3 On the Polish side, relations were determined by the nightmare of the past war and occupation. There was a common feeling that the Germans should also suffer fear, pain, debasement, humiliation, hunger, cold and exhausting work.4 However, just as the Poles had met displays of assistance and sympathy from the enemy during the war,5 post-war relations were no longer in black and white. On the one hand, passing columns of prisoners were frequently welcomed in Polish towns and villages with abuse, stones and beatings that sometimes resulted in bloody lynchings.6 On the other hand, even in 1944 there were incidents of sympathy and assistance, and even fraternization, especially with those Polish soldiers who had survived the war outside occupied territory.7

41

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42 • Prisoners and their Captors There is no doubt, however, that executions of captured soldiers were more frequent than examples of fraternization.8 The phenomenon grew to such proportions that even Red Army and NKVD officers underlined in their reports the brutal treatment of the prisoners by Polish soldiers. For the majority of German soldiers remaining in Polish captivity, contact with Poles away from the battlefield was crucial, as it was for those in the Russian POW camps in Lower Silesia transferred to the Poles in September 1945. In accordance with a decision of the Soviet State Defence Committee of 18 August 1945, Poland was given 50,000 German POWs. This decision coincided with the signing of the so-called ‘coal agreement’ between Poland and the Soviet Union two days earlier and under the provision of which Poland was obliged to supply the Soviet Union with coal on extremely favourable terms for the Russians. The German POWs, working as miners, were to help the Polish side to fulfil this obligation.9 The change of ‘nannies’ was a surprise for the German prisoners from the Soviet POW camps in Sagan, Lauban or Neuhammer. Quite simply, one September morning they woke up to see Polish uniforms instead of Soviet uniforms. Until the beginning of November 1945, prisoners were transferred to other places and it was a matter of chance whether they were sent to Gliwice, Zabrze, Sosnowiec, Jaworzno, Warsaw, Gdynia, Poznan or Lublin. Their living and working conditions, and their relations with Polish society, depended heavily on the location of their placement, and had significant influence on their chances of survival. Those who had indisputably the greatest good fortune were those prisoners who ended up in camps in the part of Silesia that had belonged to Germany before 1939. Those who carried away the worst memories went through camps in central Poland.

In Silesian Mines The atmosphere in historical Upper Silesia should not come as a surprise. Local links with the Germans, their history and culture, had existed for a long time. Around 200,000 men from the former Polish Silesia had served in the German Army and many of them remained in captivity. Naturally, their family members had a more positive attitude to their colleagues in Polish camps. Incidents of organized ‘taxation’ of civilians for the needs of prisoners are known and POWs were helped not only by regular workers, but also by camp employees, the mining administration, and even by the guards. This kind of assistance was widespread, from the delivery of food, the posting of mail outside to avoid the censor and the easing of work to assistance in escaping. In addition, the number of escaped prisoners (around 2,000) would not have been so great without considerable assistance of townspeople in gathering information, civilian clothes, money, food and providing accommodation. As the new Polish authorities revealed their true colours, and the so-called deGermanization of Silesia became more and more brutal,10 support given by the

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German POWs and Polish Society, 1945–50 • 43 Silesians to the prisoners became one of the forms of protest. Repression – even to the point of placing Silesian civilians in a special penal camp in Gliwice/ Gleiwitz – failed to deter this phenomenon right up to the end of the prisoners’ stay in the mines in April 1950.

Beyond Silesia In the mines and camps lying outside historical Upper Silesia, manifestations of sympathy for the prisoners were rare. Beatings were part of the daily routine in the so-called Dabrowa Basin (Sosnowiec, Milowice, Czeladz´), which had belonged to Russia until 1915 and in the inter-war period not to Voivodship Silesia, but to Voivodship Kielce. The doggedness of the Polish miners who worked alongside the prisoners was translated into vengeance for the terror of occupation. Moreover, the majority of the SS were placed in those camps and they were treated incomparably worse than the soldiers of the Wehrmacht. Beatings were not only a manifestation of personal vengeance, but also a common, overzealous method of stimulating efficiency or a penalty for offences at work or in the camps. Prisoners were not only abused in the mines. Such behaviour was also common, although certainly not so well documented, in the majority of camps spread across the whole of Poland. However, there were also incidents of positive relations with POWs, who were not only seen as bloody and brutal beasts but also sometimes, quite simply, as ordinary people embroiled in history. In the small camp at Chelm in eastern Poland (1945–7), the prisoners were treated like workers11 and, in the camp at Lublin, despite incidents of beating, mutual hostility was not shown on a daily basis. For example, the Germans were driven to work without an escort (although they had to be in uniform). Nevertheless, outside Silesia, German POWs certainly frequently met with attitudes of indifference or open hostility from the local population.

Attempts at Regulating the Problem ‘from Above’ From the beginning of 1948, the prisoners began to demand not only better food, clothes and working conditions, but also better treatment. In April 1948, the mood of prisoners working in mines was even described as rebellious; strikes took place and there were instances of Polish supervisors being beaten.12 It became necessary to fully regulate the prisoners’ situation, not only because good relations with the East German communists depended on it, but also because international institutions, mainly the Red Cross, demanded that action be taken. On 9 June 1948, the Deputy Minister for Public Security (MPS), General M. Mietkowski signed the socalled ‘Order No. 37’ detailing not only the prisoners’ living and working conditions, but also the conditions of their treatment. In cases where the regulations

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44 • Prisoners and their Captors were violated, the camp governors had to begin an investigation, and severely punish those found guilty.13 Inspectors sent out by the MPS drew attention not only to the prisoners’ working hours, the quality of their accommodation and food, but also to their relations with camp administrators and the Polish people. However, in the camps of central Poland or the so-called Dabrowa Basin, prisoners were still commonly badly treated until the beginning of 1949. Thus in July 1948, a writer from the camp in Grodziec could still comment that, ‘there are even incidents where the prisoners are not beaten’.14 In the case of a reported beating, the management of the mines instituted an investigation, in accordance with the advice of the Warsaw Ministry of Public Security. The appointed commission examined the witnesses, after which the matter was written off.15 There were several reasons for such sustained brutal treatment of prisoners inside the borders of pre-war Poland. On the one hand, many of the long-term prisoners were former members of the SS or the Nazi Party who were considered fair game for the most ruthless treatment. On the other hand, it is not unreasonable to speculate that, as release grew closer it was the last chance for the Poles to take personal revenge against their former tormentors.16 The tolerance of such behaviour by the Polish administration was conditioned to a large extent by the recognition that beatings were an important means of stimulating efficient work and at the same time, to the non-believers, an efficient substitute for political persuasion. Conversely, the poor treatment meted out to the prisoners made it difficult and sometimes impossible to carry out political work. The prisoners refused to participate in political work, insisting first of all on the proper regulation of relations in the camps.17 It is possible that this led to the notable improvements in the camps at the end of 1948 and the beginning of 1949. In any case, the reporting of brutal treatment of prisoners certainly became less common at the beginning of 1949. At the end of the period of the prisoners’ stay in Poland, the guards approached the question of discipline much more mildly than earlier on. At the end of November 1949, the prisoners of the Shuz·ewiec camp in Warsaw had practically full liberty. Thus, for example, a report stated: ‘on 19 November, a group of prisoners left with the agreement of the commander of the sentry with the successful aim of an evening’s fun, from which they returned drunk on Sunday morning. Two prisoners left the camp the same day and have still not returned.’18 Examples of coexistence or even fraternization frequently had a pragmatic background. Polish camp functionaries made use of the prisoners’ skills as doctors, tailors, shoemakers, hairdressers and electricians or, as in the case of the Warsaw camp governor, artists.19 The inspection carried out in October and November 1948 in the camp ‘Boleslaw Bierut’ in Jaworzno reported that, prisoner of war Dr Richard . . . often went out of the camp under escort to the town, where, making use of friendly relations with a former camp governor and director of the

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German POWs and Polish Society, 1945–50 • 45 ‘Piast’ mine in Ledziny, he privately treated mine staff as well as their families, col‘ lecting money for this as well as various gifts which he later shared with the camp guards. The above-mentioned also met a woman in the town, who later tried to visit him. He also came to the camp in a state of intoxification. Civilian Polish workers came to the camp beside the ‘Piast’ mine with cameras, taking photographs with the prisoners.20

Official Contacts (Mutual Representatives) Article 43 of the Geneva Convention of 1929 guarantees prisoners the appointment of their own representatives for contact with the authorities. Although, in most respects, the management of the Polish camps was not concerned with international law before 1948,21 in this one respect they were particularly proactive. Camp society was a closed group, to which access from the outside was difficult, especially for representatives of a power that had so recently been an enemy. It is therefore not surprising that the camp governors, wanting to have calm, agreed to entrust some power to the representatives of the prisoners. This produced a specific agreement of mutual contacts and dependence between the Polish administration and the former soldiers. The first Red Cross inspections from autumn 1946 mention the so-called ‘men’s trust’ in the majority of camps. This so-called ‘men’s trust’ usually represented the camp governors instead of the prisoners. Some of the German functionaries belonged to the group called in Soviet POW camps Kaschisten, those who cooperated with the camp authorities for better living conditions, lighter work or the promise of swifter release – often at the expense of their comrades. There were numerous experiences of this in camps across all of Poland. Red Cross inspectors noted at the end of 1947 that: in the majority of cases ‘men’s trust’ was fixed with the administration by the camp governors without sufficient attention paid to the general living standards of prisoners in a given camp . . . in some camps young soldiers and NCOs . . . were exchanged by the ‘men’s trust’ administration and as a consequence relieved of heavier work, whilst officers from that same camp were obliged to work underground in the mines.22

That does not mean, however, that German officers – even those suspected of reactionary or Fascist attitudes – were commonly discriminated against. Rather the opposite as, in a significant number of the camps, they benefited from the greatest trust of the Polish governors. Simply, the officers had the soldiers’ ear (for example in Warsaw, Poznan´ and Stalowa Wola). When the graduates of the anti-fascist courses conducted in the camp on Anielewicz Street in Warsaw began to emerge in the middle of 1948 as Obmänner to take over power in the camps, they often ran into opposition from camp governors. After a few years of cooperation, the governors knew exactly what to expect from the officers, but the POWs self-government

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46 • Prisoners and their Captors was an unknown quantity. The camp administration, therefore, often provided for double-rule of the prisoners: beside the self-government they also kept a ‘senior’ officer. From the second half of 1948, the ‘prisoners’ self government’ (or ‘Antifa’) monopolized contact between the prisoners and the Polish administration. Even though this made life more comfortable for the Polish administration in that it provided order, control over hygiene and sanitation and a calm atmosphere, the taking over of the internal administration of the camps by the prisoners was felt by the Polish governors to be a threat to their positions.23 Their concerns were to a great extent justified, given that the Obmänner (apart from their political work) were naturally trying to represent the prisoners’ interests and struggling to protect their rights. They attempted to control the Polish camp administration, pointing out examples of waste or maltreatment of the soldiers. It was not exceptional for the representatives of the camp’s administration to take advantage of cases of insubordination of the prisoners by exaggerating such cases as potential rebellions and then laying the blame at the door of self-government. Mutual contacts were not made any simpler by the fact that the Obmänner had to decide on the order of who would be freed, when the Polish authority wanted to free its ‘personal favourites’ even if they were not ‘without political reservations’.24 There were, however, some cases of good cooperation. For example in the Lagiewniki mine in Upper Silesia where, once a week, the representatives of the Polish United Workers Party, the Works’ Council, the mine managers, the camp managers as well as the prisoners’ self government all met to consider ‘political and economic problems’.25

Conclusions The incidences of help or assistance for prisoners (which were quite common in some regions) are not sufficient to disguise the fact that Poland, as a ‘strong captor’, did not respect international law for a long time. However, unambiguous words of criticism, without taking account of the political, economic or social context would also be unjustified. One cannot forget the post-occupation nightmare attitude of Polish society to the Germans, characterized by hatred and the desire for revenge. A similar potential for hatred existed directly after the war in every formerly German-occupied state. One also cannot ignore the objective economic difficulties, typical for a transition period. It was not only prisoners who went around hungry and in tatters; in the first post-war years, the great majority of Poles did not live or dress much better. Prisoners lived in similar conditions after the war in the majority of European states, even those that had suffered markedly less destruction than Poland, for example France or Czechoslovakia. Conditions in Polish camps for prisoners of war did not differ from, and were sometimes better than, those prevailing in camps

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German POWs and Polish Society, 1945–50 • 47 or prisons for civilian Germans, Poles or Ukrainians. In some camps, for example in the so-called Central Camps of Jaworzno or Potulice, they were all imprisoned together. It is, however, possible to consider which factors played the greatest role in determining the fate of the prisoners. The wider context of the limitless post-war chaos, violence and hatred towards the enemy needs to be measured against the uncivilized and low moral and ethical level of those who had the power to make decisions about the prisoners. If Poland had been a democratic country after the war, or the process of Polish incapacitation had been longer (as in Czechoslovakia), would the fate of the prisoners have been significantly different? Or, if the prisoners had been dependent not on the Ministry of Public Security but on the Ministry of Defence (like in western countries), would their lives have been made more bearable? The fact is, however, that the Geneva Convention of 1929 was not observed in Poland until outside pressure, resulting from the unavoidable release of prisoners, compelled it to be so. Polish authorities began to respect it when a significant number of western countries did not have to apply it at all any longer. In this way, Poland became closer to the East than the West.

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–5– Japanese Deserters and Prisoners of War in the Battle of Okinawa Hirofumi Hayashi

Introduction Since World War II, there have been a considerable number of studies on the attitude of Japanese soldiers to being captured as POWs. Many scholars believe that Japanese soldiers would always resist capture and instead fight to the death and, although the author does not disagree with this view, it is important to realize that the matter was not quite so simple. During the Battle of Okinawa in 1945, numerous Japanese officers and soldiers deserted, and often surrendered voluntarily to the US army. In the case of Okinawan conscripts, they either surrendered or in many cases disappeared into the local population. It was not uncommon for even those from the mainland to surrender. The question of why significant numbers of Japanese, not just Okinawans but also those from the mainland, deserted and surrendered is an interesting one and it forms the first point to be considered in this chapter. This also leads into a second point. How has the experience of those who surrendered been dealt with since the war ended? It is clear that they were ignored until the 1980s, while stories about soldiers and volunteers who fought to the death were repeated over and over again. But the 1980s were a turning point in Okinawan history. Following a long occupation by the US military, Okinawa was finally returned to Japan in 1972. The Okinawans at first tried to identify themselves as Japanese, but gradually began to feel a sense of betrayal that the burden of US bases had not been mitigated by mainland Japan while at the same time rediscovering their own history and culture. They recalled old memories of ill-treatment and massacres at the hands of the Japanese military during the Battle of Okinawa. The stories of those who deserted the Japanese military and saved their own lives began to attract people’s attention. Thus the focus here is to look at the history of Japanese deserters and POWs in the Battle of Okinawa from these two points of view.

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50 • Prisoners and their Captors

The Battle of Okinawa The first step is to look at the characteristics of the Battle of Okinawa.1 Okinawa is the largest island in the Ryukyu Archipelago. It is located 350 miles south of Kyushu, one of the main Japanese islands. Okinawa was considered a vital air and supply base for the US invasion of mainland Japan. Although the Japanese military accepted that Okinawa would eventually be lost, they assigned the Thirtysecond Army, Okinawa Defence Forces, to delay the US advance for as long as possible, thereby gaining time to prepare for the defence of the mainland. Thus the Japanese forces on Okinawa were destined from the outset to fight to the death. The Battle of Okinawa began with air and sea bombardments on 23 March 1945 and US forces landed on the island on 1 April. After a fierce battle lasting three months, the commander of the Thirty-second Army, Lieutenant General Ushijima, committed suicide on 22 June. With the final US mopping-up operations completed on 30 June, the Ryukyu campaign was declared over on 2 July. US forces suffered 12,500 dead, including both ground and sea forces. This number was the highest of any Pacific operation. The Japanese forces lost 94,000, including civilian employees. Among these, Okinawans accounted for 28,000 and in addition, about 120,000 Okinawan civilians perished. The total human cost of the Battle was more than 200,000. Although the large number of civilian victims can be attributed mainly to the US bombardment, which came to be known as the ‘Typhoon of Steel’, the Japanese themselves also massacred many civilians. Furthermore, many of the civilians who took refuge in caves or other shelters were driven out by the Japanese military, leaving them vulnerable to the US bombardment. There were numerous cases of people being robbed of food by Japanese soldiers and starving to death. There was a variety of reasons for the killing of civilians by the Japanese military. Since even civilians were not supposed to surrender, they were commonly shot from behind if they attempted to do so. Civilians who fell into the custody of US forces, or who were given food by them, were killed because they were regarded as spies or traitors. Babies and children hiding in caves were choked to death if they cried, because they might draw the attention of US soldiers. As a whole, the Japanese military did not provide protection to Okinawan civilians, and in many cases even victimized them in order to defend themselves. It is common knowledge in Okinawa that these types of event took place during the battle: the victimization of the islands as a whole in order to protect the mainland; the ill-treatment of Okinawan civilians; and the killing of civilians by the Japanese military. These factors were all important to the arguments that follow in this chapter.

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Japanese Deserters and POWs in Battle of Okinawa • 51

Japanese POWs and Civilian Internees According to the G2 Report of the US Tenth Army, estimated enemy casualties including prisoners as of 30 June 1945 were as follows:2 Killed in action (counted) Killed in action (estimated) POWs (military) POWs (unarmed labourers) POWs (combat civilians)

107,539 23,764 7,401 3,339 15

(7,654 as of 15 July 1945) (3,581 as of 15 July 1945)

The number killed in action is an overestimate while the number of POWs (unarmed labourers) may include Korean forced labourers. The total number of POWs is 10,755 (11,250 as of 15 July), giving a ratio of about 10 per cent (10.5 per cent as of 15 July) to the number killed in action (counted). If the number killed was actually taken to be the more realistic 94,000, it would be 11.4 per cent (12.0 per cent as of 15 July). According to a US document,3 the enemy surrender-to-dead ratio in campaigns from 1942 to May 1944 was as follows: Guadalcanal 2.5 per cent, Lae-Salamua 2.0 per cent, New Georgia 0.7 per cent, Tarawa-Makin 0.3 per cent, Kwajalein 2.8 per cent, Eniwetok 1.2 per cent, Bougainville 0.8 per cent, Hollandia 25.6 per cent, Admiralties 2.5 per cent and Wakde 0.005 per cent. The Hollandia case is significantly different, but all others are under 3 per cent. Here too, though, the number of enemy dead might have been overestimated, so the real ratios might have been higher. However, it is quite certain that the ratio of POWs taken was quite low. Another source4 estimated that from 7 December 1941 to the middle of March 1945 approximately 16,500 Japanese were taken prisoner by the Allied forces in all theatres except China. Of these, about 4,500 were estimated to be Koreans and Formosans. In Okinawa, as will be discussed later, quite a number of Okinawan soldiers deserted the military and disappeared into the local population by pretending to be civilians. Consequently, the actual number of survivors from among the Japanese forces was considerably greater than the number of POWs mentioned above. However, according to testimony by Okinawans, a significant number of male captives were shot on the spot by US soldiers.5 Testimony by US soldiers as presented by Gerald Astor, indicates that they were told to take prisoners for intelligence purposes, but that they took very few prisoners and killed civilians on occasion.6 If the US troops had been taking prisoners from the beginning of the Battle of Okinawa, we could expect many more Japanese POWs to have been taken in Okinawa and other places. It is not far from the truth to say that Japanese propaganda, which had it that US forces would brutally mutilate and kill Japanese captives, had some basis of truth. However, we must not forget that many Okinawans have described US

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52 • Prisoners and their Captors soldiers as much kinder than their Japanese counterparts. Yet in spite of these qualifications, it is clear that the number of POWs taken during the Okinawa campaign was still quite high when compared with other battlefields in the Pacific. At this point, it is important to describe the structure of the Japanese army at the time of the Battle of Okinawa in 1945. As the war progressed, the state of the Japanese military steadily deteriorated. Most notably, the military was running out of soldiers. While men in their twenties were initially drafted into the military (Active Service Conscripts), after October 1944, males between 17 and 45 years of age were called up. With a US invasion of Japanese territories expected, Boeitai units (Home Defence Units or Home Guard) were set up on the mainland as well as in Korea, Taiwan, and Okinawa.7 Almost all men between 17 and 45 years of age, except those already in the forces, were conscripted into these Boeitai units. In Okinawa, more than 22,000 had been called up by the time the US invasion began.8 As those in their twenties had already been conscripted, the Boeitai units consisted mainly of teenagers and those in their thirties and forties. Most were made second-class privates, while there were some officers and non-commissioned officers. It is worth noting that most of the Boeitai personnel were married, had children and had not undergone wartime education indoctrinating people as imperial subjects (Kominka Kyoiku). This was also the case with officers and soldiers conscripted on the mainland. At this stage, even ex-activists in trade unions and ex-communists were called up for military service. The morale and spirit of the Japanese military, as represented by the Gunjin Chokuyu (Imperial Prescript to Soldiers) and the Senjinkun (Field Service Code) were repeatedly forced upon active service conscripts, but this was not the case with Boeitai personnel. As the purpose of the Boeitai units was to supplement regular troops, they were assigned to all types of work. This included labour in the construction of airfields, roads, defence positions and shelters; transportation of supplies, rations, ammunition, water and the wounded; and guidance for night attacks. Although little or no time was given to training for combat duty, they found themselves assigned as front-line combatants as the Battle for Okinawa proceeded. They were ill-equipped for such action, often carrying only a few grenades and a satchel charge. Some were ordered to rush tanks with their satchel charge, with the aim of destroying it and themselves. Another point that is important to bear in mind is that Okinawan conscripts, both in the regular army and in Boeitai units, suffered discrimination and were often ill-treated by officers and soldiers from the mainland. Particularly dangerous duties, such as guard duty at shelter entrances, were usually assigned to Okinawans. A US report on the Boeitai units states, ‘it is significant to note that the large number of casualties among the Home Guard was due to the fact that they were utilized extensively in carrying supplies, in foraging for food, in seeking water, and other similar tasks which necessarily subjected them to enemy fire

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Japanese Deserters and POWs in Battle of Okinawa • 53 while the regular troops were conserved in the comparative safety of prepared positions’.9 Let us now look at some examples of desertion by Boeitai personnel, for example the unit formed at Ogimi village.10 On 3 March 1945, about 300 villagers were conscripted to form a Boeitai unit. They were organized into a company called the Ogimi Boeitai, which was attached to navy units in Northern Okinawa. On hearing a rumour that the US had landed on the Kerama Islands near Okinawa Island, the commander of the company and section commanders had a meeting at which they insisted on going back home because they expected the Japanese to lose the battle. They deserted in groups and returned to their homes. Similarly, the 504th Special Garrison Engineer Unit was mostly comprised of Boeitai personnel. The unit commander dissolved the unit because they were poorly equipped and had their own families. He ordered his soldiers to change into civilian clothes and attempt to find their families. One of the reasons for his actions was most likely his anger that the Boeitai was driven so hard by the regular army.11 Sergeant Matayoshi, a section commander whose Boeitai unit was attached to an infantry battalion, was certain Japan would lose the war and that the US army would not kill its POWs. At an early stage of the battle, he decided to save his subordinates in the face of Japanese ill–treatment and discrimination against Okinawan conscripts.12 There were also numerous cases in which individual Boeitai personnel deserted, and in many cases these men surrendered to the US forces.13 Interrogation reports taken by the Tenth Army and preserved in the United States National Archives document this.14 Let us now consider why Boeitai personnel tended to desert their units and surrender to US forces.15 The first important point is that they were rebelling against the Japanese military because of discrimination and ill-treatment. The second is that most Boeitai personnel were married and had families to support. Concerned about the safety of their families, they rushed back home after leaving their units and often surrendered to US forces with their families. Third, many expected Japan to lose the Battle of Okinawa. Some even thought Japan would lose the war. Some Boeitai personnel who had previously fought in China had experienced the overwhelming power of US forces. Fourth, many of them had returned home after immigrating elsewhere. Okinawa had produced many immigrants to Hawaii, the US mainland, Central and South America, and the Pacific islands. Some had returned. Considerable numbers of ex-immigrants were able to speak English or Spanish, and were knowledgeable about the USA. From the outset of the war, they expected Japan to be defeated by the USA, and they also knew that US soldiers were not the devils that the Japanese government used as portrayals in its propaganda. The Japanese army and the authorities repeatedly told people that US soldiers were devils, that they would rape young girls and that they would brutally mutilate and massacre all soldiers and civilians captured. However,

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54 • Prisoners and their Captors those who had lived outside Japan would not have believed such propaganda. According to a US document,16 G2 of the Tenth Army estimated that 20 per cent of Boeitai personnel deserted and that casualties ran as high as 50 per cent. According to a post-war Japanese document,17 over 20,000 were conscripted into Boeitai units in Okinawa, of whom 13,000 were killed in action. The US estimate of the ratio of deserters is perhaps not far from the actual number. This leads into the question of whether these factors also applied to the Japanese regular army. After September 1944, in response to large numbers of desertions, the Okinawa Defence Forces (the Thirty-second Army) repeatedly issued circulars that warned every soldier to prevent others deserting. A report in December 1944 by the legal section of the Thirty-second Army indicated that even among active service conscripts, significant numbers had deserted.18 In the Twenty-seventh Independent Antitank Battalion, seven members of a section including a group head and a sergeant deserted en masse. They were all from the mainland.19 A second-lieutenant stationed on Aka Island surrendered with twenty Korean labourers soon after the US forces landed. He had often told islanders not to die for the nation but to live.20 In many cases, officers and/or non-commissioned officers from the mainland set Okinawan conscripts free. Significant numbers of Okinawans were able to survive the Battle because of such regard for their safety by superiors. The US Seventh Infantry Division under the Twenty-fourth Corps used a POW, who was a sergeant, to persuade Japanese officers and soldiers to surrender. Due to his efforts, the division captured more than 2,000 soldiers and civilians.21 A report by the G2 Psychological Warfare Section of the Tenth Army includes an interesting analysis of POWs. It interrogated eight POWs chosen at random from the POW stockade. In summary, the report determined that the chief deterrent to surrender was fear of being killed or tortured by the Americans. The shame of surrender, though widespread and in some cases extremely strong, would not prevent Japanese military personnel in hopeless positions from surrendering if they were confident they would not be killed or tortured. Elsewhere, the report insists: ‘This much is clear; fear of death and torture is a far greater deterrent to surrender than the conventional Japanese notion that it is shameful to surrender.’22 According to testimony by Boeitai personnel who did not desert but survived, the reason they did not desert was generally that other Japanese threatened to kill their family and relatives if they deserted. Examples of this are abundant.23 As Japan’s position in the war deteriorated, people finally began to see the situation for what it really was and to see through Japanese official propaganda. The authorities were left with no option but menace to ensure that soldiers did not desert or surrender. However, as the USA was expected to win the battle, Okinawans thought Japanese threats against desertion could not be implemented because Japanese forces in Okinawa would be annihilated. Conversely, in the case of

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Japanese Deserters and POWs in Battle of Okinawa • 55 soldiers from the mainland it seems reasonable to suppose that they saw their families as, in some way, hostages of the Japanese government. This made it quite difficult for them to desert or surrender. However, in the case of Okinawans, deserting meant they were able to join their families and to do the best to help them. While mainlanders did not surrender for their families, Okinawans did. As for local residents of Okinawa, while there were some mass suicides, cases of mass surrender became more and more common. Such surrenders were against Japanese military orders. It is important to note that the number of civilians in the custody of US forces reached 12,661 in the first week and more than 100,000 by 22 April 1945. A report dated 10 May by the US military government states that, ‘experience to date has confirmed the sassiest experience of the most confirmed optimists . . . they soon quieted down and have been entirely cooperative ever since’.24 A careful look at the testimony of civilians shows that the main deterrent to surrender was fear of being raped, mutilated, tortured and massacred by US soldiers. When people came to realize that the US soldiers treated civilians kindly, gave them food and medicine, and protected them against Japanese assault, they came out of their shelters and surrendered. This caused the Japanese military to treat Okinawans with suspicion. More than ever, the Japanese suspected Okinawans of spying, and often killed them to prevent surrender. Despite all this talk of surrender, it must be kept in mind that numerous Japanese soldiers fought to the death. However, others did in fact desert or surrender. These soldiers were treated as POWs, while some of them disappeared among local civilians. Even some officers and soldiers from the mainland deserted or surrendered. According to some documents produced by the Japanese Army,25 the number of deserters and crimes against superiors in all theatres increased as the Japanese position in the war deteriorated. The rapid expansion of the army in preparation for the expected US invasion of the mainland caused deterioration in military morale and discipline. The number of Japanese ground forces totalled 930,000 in 1937, 2,290,500 in 1942, 3,760,000 in 1944 and 5,950,000 in 1945. The ratio of active service conscripts in the army was 60 per cent in 1939 but sharply fell to 15 per cent by 1945. It is in such circumstances that the Battle of Okinawa was fought. If a battle had in fact been fought for the mainland, cases such as those seen in Okinawa would also have occurred on the mainland. This partially destroys the myth that Japanese soldiers always fought to the death.

Post-war Okinawa and the Narrative of the Battle of Okinawa Soon after US troops landed on Okinawa Island on 1 April 1945, the Ryukyu Islands were placed under the jurisdiction of a US military administration. Although this military administration was abolished and the United States Civil Administration of the Ryukyu Islands (USCAR) set up in December 1950, this

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56 • Prisoners and their Captors was in reality an extension of the military government. Japan regained sovereignty over most of the country by agreeing to sever the Okinawa Islands from the rest of the nation in 1952 and the US military continued to rule Okinawa until 1972. Under US military rule, the human rights of Okinawans were severely repressed. In the 1950s, Okinawan land was forcibly taken for use by US bases. Numerous military-related incidents and crimes against local residents occurred. The island-wide struggle against US bases was expanded in the 1950s. In an effort to defend Okinawan human dignity, a movement to return the island to Japan and end the US presence gained momentum in the 1950s and 1960s. However, when Okinawa did finally revert to Japan in 1972, it did not meet all expectations because the majority of US bases remained. Of the US bases in Japan, 75 per cent are concentrated in Okinawa, which consists of just 0.6 per cent of the total land area of Japan. During the period of US rule, Okinawans made every effort to be Japanese because they wanted to return to Japan. However, they began to feel betrayed by the Japanese government once the islands were returned. While, on one hand, they hoped for help with economic and social welfare development from the Japanese government in the 1970s, on the other, people came to regret the dilution of Okinawan culture that accompanied Japanization, and developed a tendency to build their own identity and distinctiveness. In the 1980s, Okinawans began to regain pride in their own culture and history, and they re-learned the history of the Ryukyu dynasty by which they flourished through peaceful trade with other Asian countries. They again began to demand an independent future without US bases. Their struggle for identity has been repeatedly obstructed by both the US and Japanese governments, but their efforts continue. The memory and understanding of the Battle of Okinawa among Okinawans are, therefore, closely related to the post-war history of the islands. Until 1972, most literature concerning the Battle was written by mainland writers and veterans. There were few works that considered the experiences of the Okinawan people. They had no spare energy for recollecting the past because of the fight against the US military and for return to Japan. Even more important is that they unconsciously suppressed memories of the Battle of Okinawa because they tried to identify themselves as Japanese. At the end of the 1960s, when the reversion of Okinawa to Japan was agreed, the memories of the Battle of Okinawa, and the betrayal and cruel treatment of the Okinawans by the Japanese military came to the surface. Before and after 1972, several publications in Okinawa accused the Japanese military of brutality during the Battle of Okinawa. Among them, the most important was the Okinawa Prefectural History, Vol. 9, ‘Documents of the Battle of Okinawa Part 1’ (1971) and Vol. 10, ‘Documents of the Battle of Okinawa Part 2’ (1974). These two books of more than a thousand pages each contained the edited testimony of several hundred Okinawans. The editors criticized former works on the Battle of Okinawa because they concentrated on military action,

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Japanese Deserters and POWs in Battle of Okinawa • 57 while paying little attention to the suffering of the Okinawan people. These two books were the first to deal with the Okinawan war experience and became the model for later literature on the Battle of Okinawa. Many cases of Okinawans being massacred, ill-treated, robbed of food, driven out of shelters by Japanese forces, and other events were vividly described and proven to have taken place. In the 1980s, an understanding of the Battle of Okinawa became one of the most important building blocks for the construction of an Okinawan identity and distinctiveness. Each local government in Okinawa began producing its own municipal history in one or more volumes, dealing with the experiences of local people during the battle. Many residents and students participated in collecting and editing people’s testimonies. Newspapers and television broadcasts repeatedly featured the same themes. The experiences of Okinawans in the battle of Okinawa, including their suffering at the hands of the Japanese military, became common knowledge during the 1980s. To take a simple example,26 in 1982 the Ministry of Education attempted to delete a passage from a high school history textbook in which it was stated that the Japanese military killed many Okinawans during the Battle of Okinawa. The Okinawa Prefectural Assembly, including the Liberal Democratic Party members, unanimously carried a resolution of protest against the Ministry of Education and demanded the text be restored. This 1982 textbook dispute caused great anger among Okinawans against the Japanese government, and indeed it helped to promote a better understanding of the Battle of Okinawa among Okinawans. In 1983, the first book to draw attention to the importance of the Boeitai experience was published. In the book Oshiro Masayasu27 claimed that many Boeitai personnel deserted, that this fact had been ignored since the war ended, and that Okinawans should recollect their wartime experience in the affirmative. He was one of editors of the Okinawa Prefectural History, and had been collecting testimony from Okinawans. He advocated the notion that ‘Inochi koso Takara’ (life is precious), which became a popular saying in Okinawa. This phrase is directly opposed to the Japanese notion of fighting to the death and/or suicide attack; survival by being captured, even as a POW, is much better than dying in battle.28 Two years later, the first book focusing on the Boeitai was published. Fukuchi Hiroaki29 collected testimony from ex-Boeitai personnel and highlighted many cases in which they deserted and surrendered individually or collectively. Around the same time, cases of mass surrender by civilians in many places came to light. The stories of Okinawans who resisted Japanese military and/or government orders and saved the lives of other Okinawans became popular in Okinawa. Earlier, people who disobeyed the Japanese military or government were called hi-kokumin (traitor or betrayer) and were blamed for their actions. However, since the 1980s, it has been realized that it was the hi-kokumin that saved people’s lives, that such people had never been Japanized, and that their conduct and lives

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58 • Prisoners and their Captors should be treated as a valuable part of Okinawan heritage. While Japanese militarism had led to suicide attacks and the coercion of both soldiers and civilians to fight to the death rather than becoming POWs, Okinawans now rediscovered their tradition of the supremacy of life in the sufferings of the battle of Okinawa. In this context, the experiences of deserters and POWs in the Battle of Okinawa can be viewed in a positive light.

Conclusion Understanding of the issue of POWs has a close relationship to national identity. We may say that Okinawans do not think that they are merely Japanese, but both Japanese and Okinawan. The understanding that Okinawa’s suffering has generally come from the mainland of Japan is prevalent. Even now, Okinawa is burdened with US bases against its will by mainland Japan. The notion that ‘life is precious’ has been adopted by Okinawan people in creating an Okinawan identity opposed to that of the Japanese. In mainland Japan, things are different. The history of Japanese deserters and POWs has received little attention. The mainland Japanese had little chance to resist the war effort of the Japanese military and government. In concluding, we should not forget the monument, Heiwa no Ishiji (Cornerstone of Peace).30 This was erected to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of the end of the Pacific War and the Battle of Okinawa in order to convey to the people of Japan, and of the world, the ‘spirit of peace’. On it are inscribed the names of all those who lost their lives in the Battle of Okinawa, regardless of their nationality or military or civilian status. The total number of names was 238,161 as of 23 June 2001.31 These are not only the 148,341 Okinawans and 75,325 mainlanders who died, but also citizens of the USA, UK, Taiwan, and North and South Korea. Most official war memorials around the world are erected by governments for the purpose of praising the bravery of their own officers and soldiers who fought and died for the nation. Fighting for one’s nation is usually regarded in the affirmative. In the case of Okinawa, they have overcome this concept. The spirit of Okinawa is not to praise the bravery of soldiers but to offer condolence to every victim of war, regardless of nationality or whether they were in the military or civilians. The basic concept of the Okinawa Prefectural Peace Memorial Museum, which was established as an annex to Heiwa no Ishiji, is stated as follows: ‘The “Okinawan Heart” is a human response that respects personal dignity above all else, rejects any acts related to war, and truly cherishes culture, which is the supreme expression of humanity.’32 Needless to say, the concept of rejecting all acts related to war relates closely to the views of deserters and POWs.

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Part III Re-education

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–6– Re-educating the German Prisoners of War: Aims, Methods, Results and Memory in East and West Germany Andreas Hilger

Introduction In late 1941, following the unprecedented German attack on the Soviet Union and supposedly confirmed by the first successful battles on the Eastern front, the political leadership and considerable parts of the Wehrmacht alike foresaw just a new chapter of Germany’s blitzkriegs: ‘The bolshevist monster soon will be shattered, and maybe the question of holidays now will be given priority again’, reads a letter of a private in October 1941,1 while in September the commander of the 297th Infantry Division, General Pfeffer, had already found time to plan a commemorative book about his division’s eastern campaign (Ostfeldzug). Even among the first few German POWs, communist propagandists had noticed an unbroken optimism that expected liberation and victory within weeks.2 German hubris soon proved to be unfounded. In 1944 Stalin, with his sinister sense for effective propaganda, ordered several tens of thousands of German POWs to parade through Kiev and Moscow to make clear at home and abroad the real allocation of roles in this gigantic struggle.3 Concrete and absolutely reliable figures on German soldiers taken prisoner by the Red Army – and by the often neglected partisan groups as well4 – are still lacking and will probably never emerge, even from the most secret depositories of the former Soviet Union. Inherent problems of counting and book-keeping of prisoners in times of a merciless battle for survival with its specific military priorities, were increased by the nation-making and redrafting of borders during and after the Word War II. In addition, until 1943–4, local authorities showed remarkable indifference towards distinctions between, for example, Austrian, German or ‘only’ ethnic German members of captured Wehrmacht units. After 1945, local branches of the Ministry’s Administration for Prisoners of War and Internees (UPVI-GUPVI) were simply overwhelmed by the practical problems and political implications 61

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62 • Re-education which arose from the interplay of traditional differences between Reichsdeutsche and Volksdeutsche, wartime naturalizations and large-scale post-war expulsions – cloaked as resettlement – from countries such as Romania, Czechoslovakia, Poland or the new Soviet oblast’ of Kaliningrad. As late as April 1949, the deputy Minister of the Interior (MVD), Ivan Serov, was compelled to prepare detailed instructions on the destinations for repatriation transports with German citizens of non-German nationality.5 According to Soviet accounts, about 2.4 million German soldiers were taken prisoner by the Red Army.6 The same sources establish a mortality rate of just under 15 per cent (about 360,000 soldiers).7 While the records of the responsible administrations themselves reveal that, for the reasons addressed above, a great many captured Wehrmacht soldiers were neither registered nor counted by the authorities, especially in the first two or three years of the war. Therefore, the cited figures have to be seen as a minimum. German research, based on the reports of returnees and the available statistics from the former Wehrmacht command about German losses, delivers higher estimates: from about 3 million soldiers taken prisoner, they indicate that between 25 and 30 per cent died in Soviet captivity – a rate still far lower than for Soviet prisoners in German custody.8 Comparisons with the fate of other nationalities in Stalin’s hands also illuminate basic differences in Soviet and German handling of hostile POWs. Soviet materials, with the same shortcomings for all nationalities, indicate a significantly higher mortality among Italian prisoners of approximately 56 per cent (!) and among Romanians of 29 per cent, while more or less comparable data for Hungarians shows 10 per cent mortality and a similar figure for Japanese prisoners in the post-war years.9 These figures correspond with basic assessments of Soviet policy towards POWs:10 obviously, the USSR never singled out German prisoners for harsher treatment. Indeed, Moscow’s orders and directives concerned all prisoners regardless of their nationality and all POWs, irrespective of their citizenship, were forced to face the hardships of Soviet custody. The Soviet Union’s leaders never launched, and indeed never considered, a policy of retaliation or annihilation against German prisoners of war,11 not least because of the Soviet policy of condemnation of Soviet POWs in German custody. Even the decisions taken in the post-war period to detain Germans – as well as Japanese – longer in Soviet camps than, for example, Hungarians or Austrians was more a reflection of the post-war political context of the repatriation problem than a fixed or principled policy. The underlying decisions resulted from pragmatic economic and political considerations due to the newly emerging power constellation with its intrigues and spheres of influence.12 This general assessment does not deny the reality of various violations or crimes committed by individual Soviet soldiers, guards, units or local camp administrations against POWs. In the first months and years after the German

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Re-educating German POWs in E. and W. Germany • 63 attack especially, reliable sources contain rich evidence for cases of the torture and murder of captured soldiers (Hungarian or Romanian prisoners also fell victim to these crimes.). Russian archives reveal that Stalin himself, in 1941, once recommended that retreating Red Army units shoot a German prisoner.13 This criminal approach, however, did not constitute the general line. On the contrary, numerous orders, directives and papers of the Stavka, Stalin, the UPVI and the Red Army Command, as well as the Councils of People’s Commissars fundamental resolution about policy towards prisoners of war of 1 July 1941, prescribed the Soviet adoption of international standards. Nevertheless, the Soviet Supreme Command failed to enforce existing humanitarian principles as codified in Soviet military law and rules against the countervailing effects of brutally antiGerman Soviet war propaganda. The sheer number of excesses committed against the POWs underscores the almost classical tensions between general humanitarian formulations and the essentially temporary interests in times of war. In fact, such misdeeds were somehow encouraged by the fierce Soviet anti-German war propaganda and, although not sanctioned, were also never suppressed by a leadership that had to mobilize and utilize all forces to defend itself against the German aggressor. Only as late as spring 1945 were the bloodthirsty declarations of Ilya Ehrenburg finally criticized as outdated: ‘Harsh treatment of Germans causes fear among them and compels them to put up persistent resistance.’14 In general, Soviet crimes against German POWs remained isolated and, in principle, low-level occurrences. They did not indicate a sinister Moscow-driven policy of retaliation, but contravened the Soviet administration and leadership’s general adherence to international standards.

Soviet Policy towards POWs, 1941–56 The repeatedly mentioned MVD Administration for POWs and Internees was founded in September 1939, two days after the Soviet invasion of that part of Poland that was designated by the infamous German-Soviet Pact of August 1939 to become Soviet territory. As part of Soviet occupation bureaucracies, the UPVI shared direct responsibility for the Katyn massacre in 1940. At the same time, the administration had its first experiences of organizing POWs for forced labour, made its first attempts at political re-education and had to manage its first repatriations.15 Nevertheless, the real test of the administration’s efficiency and capacity started in June 1941.16 Given the evolving military situation, it could only fail. A majority of camps soon fell under German control and the remainder lacked personnel, material, food and medical facilities, and had no convincing ideas about the most effective distribution of prisoners as a labour force nor about the contents of political reeducation.17 As a result, the relatively small number of German POWs in Soviet

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64 • Re-education custody in 1941–2 had to face the most severe consequences of this disorganization and undersupply.18 At the same time, the Soviet leadership paid little, if any, attention to its human spoils and the local party and state apparatuses were left with, at best, incomplete instructions and without central, material or political support to fulfil them. Thus it was that the disparities between Moscow’s prescriptions on the one hand and the lack of central as well as local material resources on the other hand that continued to be the most important reasons for the hardships suffered in Soviet POW camps. Monthly examinations of the prisoners’ capacity to work show tremendous fluctuations in the general state of health with sharp declines in 1944, 1945 and 1947 and general living conditions were only stabilized as late as winter 1947–8, in contrast to the situation for Soviet civilians,19 where organized and comprehensive endeavours began as early as 1943. Although the Battle of Stalingrad was not the decisive turning point of the Word War II, it definitely lent new impetus and momentum to Soviet policy towards POWs. The death of huge numbers prisoners taken in battle had underlined the inability of both the NKVD’s administration and the Red Army to ensure appropriate treatment of their prisoners. This time, more resolute consequences followed. First, Moscow dismissed Captain of State Security Soprunenko as chief administrator and replaced him with General Ivan Petrov. His new task was not an easy one as, within thirty days, Moscow demanded that he had to provide for ‘the guarantee of necessary conditions of life’.20 More decisive, however, were qualitative changes in Moscow’s attitudes to POWs: in view of the large number of prisoners and in expectation of future victories, the leadership now showed serious interest in this new potential and noticeably intensified their engagement. The whole camp system, with its vast distances between front and stationary camps and its insufficient number of hospitals, was reorganized; additional foodstuffs and medicine reached the camps, and the daily routine was temporarily adjusted to the real health status of captured (German) soldiers. Besides this, central authorities – presumably, the People’s Commissar of the Interior, Lavrenty Beria, himself – threatened the administration with the abolition of its organizational independence in favour of the better established Gulag system.21 This latter argument provides a clear indication of the ruling circle’s deeper motivations: POWs were regarded primarily as an additional workforce for the devastated country’s economy. In Moscow’s eyes, the combination of carrot and stick worked and, by April 1943, the UPVI had drafted elaborate instructions laid the foundation for the next fifteen years of forced labour by POWs. Once again, the Soviet sources make it difficult to establish a clear picture of the corresponding financial input and output but, undoubtedly, in compliance with Soviet–Stalinist traditions and convictions, the sheer number of labourers and so-called ‘men-days’ always took precedence over quality of work, economic cost-profit calculations and humanitarian considerations.22 Likewise, it seems to be beyond doubt that the total state expenditure

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Re-educating German POWs in E. and W. Germany • 65 in supporting, guarding and transporting its captured labourers far exceeded the direct income from hiring out POWs to industrial and agricultural enterprises.23 GUPVI’s accounts and figures reveal a deficit for the years from 1941 to 1955–6 of about 4.3 billion roubles for all POWs, and 2.14 billion for the Germans alone. The data for the most intensive period of POW labour (1943–9) provides no better picture as the total deficit and the German share remain proportionally more or less unchanged.24 In this way, the prisoners’ share in the Soviet national income over the same period may be estimated between 6 and 8 per cent. This corresponds to about 6 per cent of the official Soviet accounts of material war damages,25 although the basic data, prices and calculations are hardly comparable. Nevertheless, in pursuing his desperate and at the same time ambitious reconstruction and development programmes during and after the war, Stalin did not really care about capitalist management-standards. He used POWs, such as Gulag inmates, deported Soviet minorities, and the so-called mobilized civilians from south-east Europe and Germany to compensate for shortages of machines and volunteers throughout the Soviet Union including the most remote and inaccessible areas, while the inherent shortcomings of coercive solutions for economic problems were never really appraised in Stalin’s USSR.26 Given the specific weight of economic considerations in Soviet policy towards prisoners of war, the quantitative developments after the Spring of 1943 and the identifiable re-organizations in the fields of political education that will be discussed in the following sections, it can be argued that the early months of 1943 can be regarded as the starting point of real Soviet policy towards POWs. It was only then that fundamental aims and considerations took on concrete and more coherent forms and appeared to be more practicable as, only from 1943 on, were they supported by real concepts and, albeit scarce, personnel and material resources. In view of the constantly increasing number of POWs and the correspondingly enlarged responsibilities this brought, the administration became one of the NKVD’s Main Administrations (the GUPVI) at the beginning of 1945, governing a total of at least 4 million POWs from countries all over the world.

Political Education: Soviet Aims Apart from 2.4 million Germans, the incomplete registration files of the GUPVI contain data on about 513,000 Hungarians, 187,000 Romanians and 640,000 soldiers from Japan.27 Seen from a broader perspective, these figures mirror the Soviet Union’s ascent to world power status during World War II. In this foreignpolicy context, future returnees were regarded as a possible means of influencing post-war societies. Endeavours in the wake of the World War I had provided a specific experience for the Soviet establishment,28 and the general Soviet conception during and after the Word War II partly corresponded to Western beliefs.29

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66 • Re-education However, the central place of political re-education in Moscow’s general policy concerning POWs, Stalin’s fundamental domestic and foreign-policy ideas and preoccupations, and the Stalinist way of translating political guidelines into reality led to sharp differences between Western and Soviet re-education programmes and methods. To a certain degree, these considerations help explain the failure of Soviet re-education. However, re-education also depended to a high degree on a German willingness to learn Soviet lessons. In this way, the process and results of Soviet re-education serve as an additional interpretative indicator for the complexity of Soviet foreign politics after 1941. At the same time, they shed new light on continuing German attitudes towards the ‘deadly bolshevist enemy’ during and after the Word War II, and created fundamental obstacles for Soviet and German communist policy aims in West and East Germany respectively.

Political Education: Organizations In conjunction with other factors, Soviet political re-education of German POWs had a considerable influence on both the reminiscences and memoirs of former captives and public post-war perceptions, albeit with different emphases in East and West Germany. Phrases like ‘war beyond the wire’ and ‘activists of reparation’ illuminate the opposing positions. However, the activities and motives of the Soviet authorities and their German helpers show numerous nuances. While a detailed analysis of changing instruments, varying responsibilities and shifting focuses of attention is beyond the scope of this chapter, a short overview of the numerous aspects and participating institutions will provide the basis for a concentration on the still somewhat neglected interactions of re-education, pre-war dispositions, and post-war careers. This includes questions of the practical implementation of political guidelines in the camps as well as short and long-term effects of re-education in both of the German states. On 24 May 1950, the Minister of the Interior, Sergei Kruglov, sent a report about the activity of the Ministry’s Main Administration for Prisoners of War and Internees to the highest Soviet authorities (among them Stalin, Molotov and Beria).30 The letter covered organizational questions, the prisoner’s work in Soviet industry and the economy, and information about the so-called operative measures against war criminals. In addition, two of the eight pages were devoted to the political re-education of prisoners of all nations and countries. The report showed several peculiarities that reflected Moscow’s focus of interest as well as the pragmatic limitations. For example, the political leadership seemed to be interested only in the post-war careers of German and Japanese pupils, while the fate of repatriated Italian, Austrian or Romanian students was not mentioned at all. The predominance of the German and Japanese question notwithstanding, it was considered useless to invest time and work in the political re-education of about

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Re-educating German POWs in E. and W. Germany • 67 25,000 POWs who still were held captive in the USSR. Finally, the Free Germany movement with the famous ‘National Committee’ and its soldier counterpart, the German Officer’s Association (BDO), did not appear in Kruglov’s paper.31 In neglecting their impact and experiences, Kruglov strictly followed institutional guidelines, which had assigned both organizations to other apparatuses than the MVD. During the 1940s, three separate institutions were primarily involved in the reeducation of German prisoners. The UPVI/GUPVI itself, the Comintern and the Political (Main) Administration of the Red Army ((Glav)PURKKA) fought rather than cooperated for the Germans’ minds and souls. Initially it was the Comintern that assumed leadership: ‘We have to organize the political work among German prisoners of war’, summarized Georgi Dmitrov on 6 July 1941, in a meeting with Molotov and Dmitrii Manuil’skii; the latter being a leading cadre of the Comintern and at the same time a special representative of the PURKKA. Aleksandr Shcherbakov, the Red Army’s chief propagandist,32 quickly took advantage of Manuil’skii’s double role and fed his own ideas into the educational undertaking. As a typical Soviet organizational solution of complex problems, the varying institutional approaches and different focuses should have been synchronized by a few interconnected functionaries in key positions – in this case, Shcherbakov and Manuil’skii – and the basic political guidelines of the Soviet leadership. In fact, within the bounds of the broad decisions of the Soviet Politbureau and Central Committee, the participating institutions invariably formulated their own, sometimes incompatible, strategies. Independent of the motivations of the prisoners involved, the Soviet Union’s leadership regarded the Free Germany organizations of 1943 – after its fruitless attempts to win over proletarian enemies – as a potential, additional opportunity to end the war.33 Nevertheless, the USSR was eager to avoid any early, detailed commitments concerning the future of Germany and still preferred to focus on cooperation with the Western Allies,34 although the celebrated launching of the Committee and the Officer’s Union was used by Stalin as a warning signal to the somewhat alienated brothers-in-arms.35 Prominent and active non-political members of the National Committee (NKFD) and the BDO obviously failed to appreciate the basically instrumental character of both organizations. General von Seydlitz especially developed far-reaching plans for military and political cooperation with the USSR.36 However, Soviet mistrust of representatives of the German Wehrmacht as well as the Allied reconciliation finally buried even theoretical perspectives. Moreover, the Red Army’s politicians kept using so-called ‘front plenipotentiaries’ (Frontbevollmächtigter) exclusively for subversion of German troops (razlozhenie gitlerovskikh voisk) by sowing fear and doubts among hostile soldiers. At the same time, direct loudspeaker and leaflet propaganda by German prisoners undermined Goebbels’ efforts to exclude captivity in the USSR as a

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68 • Re-education possible alternative to death on the battlefield from the German soldiers’ minds. It is interesting to note that these limited Soviet approaches to the POWs did not stop US intelligence services from speculating with unflagging enthusiasm about a hidden Seydlitz- or Paulus-Army in the USSR for a number of years.37 However, after 1944–5, von Seydlitz and like-minded officers became more and more aware of the deep rift between the Soviet and their own visions and, while plans concerning German volunteers had been considered as inappropriate and had definitely been shelved, other nations were allowed to join the Red Army in her advance towards Germany.38 In the following months, the westward shift of the Polish frontiers and the alarming misbehaviour of Soviet troops in occupied Germany, as well as the imposed dissolution of the NKFD on 2 November 1945,39 intensified the estrangement of the would-be allies. The NKVD officers, this time in their capacity as a security service, registered more and more negative sentiments and testimonies among high-ranking prisoners. In the case of von Seydlitz, political surveillance eventually led to direct persecution.40 While several comembers of the Free Germany movement had been released as early as 1948, von Seydlitz was put on trial as a war criminal and sentenced to twenty-five years’ imprisonment. The underlying considerations for this procedure were revealed in the corresponding decision of the Politbureau of 18 March 1950: In Moscow’s opinion, von Seydlitz had proved to be a ‘revanchist’ and ‘reactionary’ and therefore had to be detained in Soviet camps. Compromising materials regarding alleged war crimes, which were collected immediately after von Seydlitz’ capture in 1943, played no role in his conviction.41 Incidentally, former NKFD members with similar records, but less political aversion to the USSR escaped persecution.42 In this way, the former activist had to share the fate of about 20,000 German prisoners who stood trial as war or ‘counter-revolutionary’ criminals in 1949 and 1950. This last and biggest wave of Soviet trials against German POWs marked the highest stage of political instrumentalization of Soviet justice with regard to POWs when especially high-ranking officers or generals were to be sentenced and detained in prison camps to exclude their participation in the rebuilding of German forces or the newly evolving German military intelligence services.43 Von Seydlitz’ trial, as well as indicating a further step in the field of Soviet persecution of German POWs, also underlined the inability of Stalin’s justice system to cope with the criminal legacy of Hitler’s war against the USSR. Investigations and trials did not correspond to the basic principles of the rule of law and criminal persecutions and sentences always had to serve political purposes.44 As already mentioned, Soviet authorities lost their interest in the further political education of these ‘hopeless’ cases after 1950.

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Re-educating German POWs in E. and W. Germany • 69

Political Education: Methods Independent of these particular developments, propaganda for reparation by work (the so-called Wiedergutmachungsarbeit) established the main focus of Soviet political work among ordinary prisoners. During the war this theme had already been dominant in camps for ordinary soldiers who took no active role in the NKFD’s machinations and discussions. Here, agitators and propagandists were supposed to support the exploitation of the prisoners as a work force under the slogans of anti-fascism and reparation. After 1945, corresponding propaganda intensified and, for the first time, included officers (up to the rank of a captain) who from early 1946 were compelled to participate in the Soviet Union’s reconstruction. Alongside this, propagandistic introductions to Soviet history, its system and society continued and were supposed to ensure that prisoners almost automatically had positive attitudes towards the USSR. Finally, the Soviet security apparatus’s specific understanding of, and interest in, political work was illuminated by the Seydlitz case. First, they tended to denounce opposition as fascist and to silence protest by operative means through arrests, surveillance and persecution. At the same time, they interpreted the denunciation of fascists and war criminals by the prisoners as ultimate proof of anti-fascist and pro-Soviet convictions respectively, thus triggering a huge number of often groundless and poorly investigated charges. The same apparatus also recruited future agents from among POWs who had promising pre-war connections to military, economic or political circles.45 Apart from Soviet institutions, German communists in Moscow and later in Berlin, including Walter Ulbricht, Anton Ackermann and Wilhelm Pieck, saw political work with German prisoners as a chance to train new cadres of their own for post-war work in the newly evolving ‘new democracy’ in East Germany. As a rule, the goals of political work were to be realized in labour camps, where the overwhelming majority of prisoners stayed throughout their captivity. Between 1947 and 1949, 161,915 meetings and rallies, 73,667 seminars and 252,160 lectures took place in camps on – to quote Kruglov’s final report – ‘the advantages of the Soviet order’, ‘the political, economic and cultural “successes” of the Soviet Union’ and ‘the positive role of the USSR in the struggle for peace and the interests of the world-wide proletariat’.46 Later, about 500,000 literacy and, above all, political books were placed in 985 camp libraries – in some one might find several hundred copies of Stalin’s Kratkii Kurs. Of course, the figures prove nothing except the Soviet authorities’ preference for statistics and a peculiar tendency to judge results and successes by mere numbers. According to memoirs of former POWs, the vast majority let the agitation wash over them. According to the testimonies of returnees, it did not achieve anything in changing the political views of the prisoners. The sources blame incompetent,

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70 • Re-education sometimes criminal, and often simply too few teachers, activists and instructors for the failure or refer to the simplistic and primitive content of the lectures, wall newspapers or plays. Complete, flagrant contradictions between noisy propaganda and the objective reality experienced by the prisoners made the re-education implausible and untrustworthy.47 In 1949, during the propaganda war evolving around the belated repatriation of prisoners, Russian agitation reached cynical dimensions by the publication of eyewitness reports giving a positive impression of conditions of life and the ‘humanity of the Soviet Union’.48 Incidentally, as late as 1979, the Soviet author Alexander Blank prepared a semi-official continuation of the same material.49 While the Soviet publishers in 1949 were primarily aiming at the East German public, Blank’s work was intended to fight a propaganda war against the critical findings of a West German historical commission about conditions in Soviet POW camps.50 Logically, both publications completely glossed over the negative aspects of life in Soviet custody. Among these, returnees pointed out the latent surveillance by the security services. As mentioned before, the so-called ‘organs’ were in close cooperation with political officers ready to prosecute protests or deviant political views as counter-revolutionary subversion.51 So, in April 1949, one prisoner who dared to criticize the SED’s policy during a meeting in Stalingrad, was identified and, ‘the material for further investigation was transferred to the operative administration’.52 Besides such oversensitivity, the organs also extended their investigations to worldwide developments.53 Thus, alleged ‘agents of the Western powers’ constituted a growing sector in the organs’ surveillance lists.54 In addition, the use of informers, who were also recruited from among the anti-fascist activists, sharpened the general aversion to all Soviet-style political work. These objective shortcomings were linked by two additional reproaches levelled by former prisoners, ones which are more or less supported by Soviet sources: the returnees criticized the considerable improvements granted to activists (in terms of living conditions), which often attracted opportunists and referred to the actual reduction of re-education to sheer slave-driving and propaganda to get more and more economic benefits from supposedly idealistic measures. Even the responsible GUPVI admitted that the concentration on exploitation of POWs impeded the political work among them.55

Recuritment of Post-war Cadres In addition to the so-called mass re-education in ordinary labour camps, approximately 48,000 Germans – or 2.5 per cent of the repatriated German prisoners – were given more intensive re-education in three central schools. Courses here focused on the principles of Marxism-Leninsm in its Stalinist interpretation and on the conditions – in Soviet terms the successes – in the USSR. There was no special course with regard to future work in Germany.56 Several questions are also raised

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Re-educating German POWs in E. and W. Germany • 71 about the achievements of the alleged cadres-training by Soviet and German communist parties in the prison camps including quantitative results, actual fields of work and the long-term commitments of individuals. We know that about 139 German POWs were sent to East Germany in 1945 together with 110 communist émigrés in 1945.57 This group included mainly Free Germany activists, who received political re-education only some weeks before leaving and an additional 150 prisoners who were recruited by the Red Army’s political administration in front schools.58 Neither group was devoted to the Sovietization of Germany, but they were employed as official helpers of the Red Army in – in the words of contemporary sources – ‘coping with the local supply situation’ and first steps in rebuilding local administrations.59 Although Soviet occupation forces and German communists kept pressing for re-education and repatriation of more ‘cadres for Germany’ – in the spring of 1946, the Soviet Propaganda Administration in East Germany asked for 2,000 additional cadres – the ‘only immediate beneficiary’ remained the East German security apparatus.60 For example, in 1946 approximately 250 returnees joined its undercover organizations and, in the late summer of 1948, 5,000 prisoners, including five generals and 100 officers, were recruited to assist the newly created police units in East Germany. Nevertheless, the German recipients discovered that almost 10 per cent did not even meet the necessary physical requirements. Moreover, a German police officer noted that ‘approximately two-thirds of the transport had not actually received any antifa-training’ and their ‘ideological level was very weak’. Only the Soviet prescription with regard to the social composition of the new police forces was fulfilled by this measure. Besides, having entered Germany, several hundred returnees expressed their unwillingness to join the police forces and, as a deterrent, 100 of them were returned to the USSR, although 4,774 of the 4,934 prematurely repatriated POWs did finally join the East German police. From March 1949 onwards, the remaining newcomers had to be replaced, because they kept complaining about their new life in barracks instead of living at home with their families. Many of them neither waited for nor were satisfied by these new orders, but turned their back on both the police and East Germany.61 One of the five recruited generals, Walter Schreiber, waited only ten days before moving on to the American sector.62 Since reparation work was given absolute priority, the re-education programmes of the Antifa-schools paid little attention to real conditions or potential tasks in occupied Germany. Furthermore, the basic problems of coordination and cooperation between Moscow and Berlin remained the same throughout the occupation era as the Socialist Unity Party of Germany, the SED, not only had no real influence on the contents of re-education, but also hardly received any information about the arrival and composition of anti-fascist transports from the USSR. Local and regional SED organizations themselves behaved ‘passively’, as the Soviet

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72 • Re-education occupation power put it, and anti-fascist returnees were ‘rarely’ brought into action and then often ‘aimlessly’.63 As the political adviser of the Soviet Control Commission in the GDR, Semenov, summed up in 1950, trained anti-fascists ‘were used very poorly in the political and social work’.64 In March of that year, out of approximately 18,000 trained returnees, only 8,100 were registered by the East German authorities,65 generally engaged in cultural mass agitation work, particularly in the Society for German-Soviet Friendship,66 in administration and the education system and, as already mentioned, in the police forces. Finally, in discussing the plans and actions of trained anti-fascist ‘cadres’ in Germany we have to bear in mind the problematic range of the term itself. In spite of Stalinist conceptions and current connotations,67 trained prisoners were seldom appointed to really key positions. On the contrary, the meteoric careers of outstanding anti-fascists in the army and police did not only depend on political convictions but also on expert knowledge.68 All the same, even in this field the merits of the anti-fascist soon lost their significance. The East German Ministry of State Security always considered former Wehrmacht officers as possible targets for Western spies and, from 1957 on, nearly all were dismissed from the army and the police.69 In general, the post-war careers of the anti-fascist cadres were shaped more and more by specific East German requests.70 Although the rapid rearmament helped former activists to achieve high positions temporarily, in the long term, descent from the right social ‘class’ and a readiness to adapt to the ‘SEDline’ were more important in determining their subsequent careers. Examples of proletarian careers indicate a second peculiarity of Soviet reeducation: namely that communist prisoners seemed to be predestined for re-education. Their careers in East Germany are less a proof of Soviet successes in re-education than a symbol of the East-German preference for old, controlled party members.71 Finally, as a third restriction of the term one has to take into account the obvious, that the fascination of a newly learned ideology could fade away, especially taking into account developments in East Germany. To be more precise, Soviet anti-fascist re-education had only a limited initial power on the cadres, which dissolved or even vanished completely in the reality of day-to-day East German politics.72 Some short biographical data may illustrate these deliberations: Max Heim, born 1925, became an activist in Soviet custody. After his release in the late 1940s he worked from 1954 until 1959 for the East German Staatssicherheit but, in 1959, Heim flew to the Federal Republic of Germany and handed over more than a dozen East German agents and spies to the Federal intelligence.73  Ernst Hadermann, captain, taken captive in autumn 1941, became one of the first higher-ranking members of the anti-fascist movement and remained well 

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Re-educating German POWs in E. and W. Germany • 73 known for his ‘word as a gentleman’ (Manneswort eines deutschen Hauptmanns). As early as 1945, he arrived in the Soviet zone of occupation and took over the school department of the East German Administration for People’s Education. In 1948, he joined the SED, only to leave the party as a result of its deepening Stalinization in 1950. In 1961 Hadermann was even dismissed as professor from Halle University.74  Rudolf Bamler, born in 1886 and a general and member of the National Committee ‘Free Germany’ was appointed headmaster of a police school in 1952. Several months later, in the wake of the uprising of 17 June 1953, the SED accused him of having been ‘passive’ during the open challenges to the communist leadership and compelled him to retire.75  Max Emendörfer was a member of the German Communist Party until its suppression in 1933. He deserted from his Wehrmacht unit in 1941 and became one of the founding members of the National Comittee. Like Hadermann, he was repatriated in 1945, but was soon arrested by the Soviet security services. In February 1947, Emendörfer was deported to the USSR and sentenced to ten years’ imprisonment by the so-called Special Board of the Soviet Ministry for State Security (OSO pri MGB). This judicial construction indicates that the MGB could not substantiate Emendörfer’s alleged service as a Gestapo agent. Until January 1956, he remained imprisoned in the Gulag and returned to Germany only after Adenauer’s much celebrated journey to Moscow in September 1955.76  Heinz Keßler, born 1920, a pre-war member of the leftist Jung-Spartakusbund, defected during the first days of ‘Barbarossa’ in July 1941 and became a member of the NKFD. In 1946, he joined the SED-guided youth movement FDJ, the police and the army. This high-ranking officer became the GDR’s last minister of defence.

Memories in East and West Germany The comments on problems connected with terms and the policy of cadres have, more or less inevitably, been limited to East Germany. It is nearly impossible to trace back the West German cadres. Their activities in West Germany were impeded by measures taken by the Western occupation forces, who quickly implemented repeated interrogations and surveillance at the beginning of the anticommunist struggle.77 In addition, the atmosphere in West Germany did not allow communist activists any scope to operate within the democratic arena.78 Over 100 so-called Kameradenschinder trials (for alleged ill-treatment of comrades in captivity) carried on until 1955 and were primarily aimed against former activists. These were followed by trials against West German members of the Society for German-Soviet Friendship, widely regarded as a front organization for communist

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74 • Re-education subversion.79 Apart from these circumstances, West German returnees could afford to give full expression to personal and political motivations for leaving Antifa positions. In fact, the process whereby activists and rank-and-file prisoners came to terms with and explained their conduct generally followed similar patterns. To explain these mechanisms, we have to return to the re-education process itself. Objective problems have already been described above. However, re-education faced an audience that would have challenged even more elaborate lessons with serious difficulties. German military letters and memoirs as well as Soviet contemporary sources testify to a deeply rooted feeling of superiority among German prisoners and to a strict anti-bolshevism, attitudes which were not caused, but merely increased and accentuated, by National Socialism. The stay in the USSR could not shake the foundations of these convictions.80 Political re-education was considered by the German returnees as just one of the rigours which they had to suffer in the USSR. A vast majority refused to reflect on the individual and general prehistory of their captivity and reduced their experiences to the disastrous consequences of war for them personally, which were then used as a measure for identifying their former enemies.81 Being unreceptive to political indoctrination was mixed up with obstinacy, and both attitudes – at least with hindsight – were interpreted as resistance against a totalitarian USSR. In integrating the traditional anti-communism and racial undertones into the newly evolving fronts of the Cold War, the prisoners could legitimate the war against Stalin as Germany’s and their own first fight for the defence of the West. The small group of West German activists who left Soviet schools with real anti-fascist convictions and who were won over to an understanding with the USSR, had no chance to put their point across with this almost militant backstage choir.82 In the end, they did not voice their point of view until today. The development in the GDR was the opposite. Here, the trained returnees had to deliver an idealized picture of their captivity.83 In return, they could hope for a not necessarily brilliant, career in the first workers’ and peasants’ state in Germany. However, the high number of cadres who remained unregistered indicates that a significant part of East German returnees had not given up their pre-war convictions and, with the help of these deeply rooted dispositions, they had drawn their own conclusions from captivity. ‘One million anti-bolshevists are approaching’, commented one high-ranking communist functionary on the first repatriations from the USSR in 1945.84 In 1948, in the eyes of an official observer, ‘a whole lot’ of the designated policemen ‘showed a more or less very distinctive arrogance against the Russian people’.85 These contemporary observations are easily to complement with later memoirs and testimonies as East German texts, most of them written or published after 1989, do not differ either in tone or in bias from the reports of their Western counterparts.

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Re-educating German POWs in E. and W. Germany • 75 From this, it appears that the real results of Soviet re-education were relatively minimal. It was only according to official propaganda that the East German–Soviet friendship was founded in the prison camps. Consequently, it collapsed as soon as the state straitjacket was gone. On the other hand, the West German anti-Sovietism was reconciled only by Gorbachev and, finally, by the breakdown of the USSR itself. The most important credo of returnees, the disapproval of war as a means of politics,86 was not a result of political re-education in the USSR. Ironically, the former soldiers and POWs owe it to those subjective experiences that made them so unsusceptible to re-education in the first place.

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–7– Anti-fascist Propaganda among Italian Prisoners of War in the USSR, 1941–6 Maria Teresa Giusti

Anti-fascist propaganda directed at Italian POWs in the USSR forms part of a wider research project being undertaken on the general conditions of Italian POWs in Soviet camps during World War II.1 This covers their treatment immediately after capture and during their transfer to the camps, but also includes a survey of Soviet leadership attitudes towards POWs. Many of these attitudes can be identified from the anti-fascist propaganda organized in the Soviet camps. The focus here is on the political education and propaganda directed at Italian POWs in the Soviet camps and its short-term and long-term effects. Particular emphasis is given to analysing Soviet techniques of political education and indoctrination of Italian prisoners. In addition, it is essential to examine the role of the Italian Communist Party leadership in exile, and especially its leader, Palmiro Togliatti, in the problems connected with the treatment of Italian POWs in Soviet camps and to their role in facilitating or hindering the return of prisoners of war to Italy. The question of prisoners of war during World War II has remained a very important issue for both Italian foreign and internal policy since 1945–6, when the repatriation of only 10,032 Italian POWs from the Soviet Union gave rise to animated quarrels and controversies in public and also among Italian political parties in the post-war period. On 25 August 1945, the Soviets suddenly announced the repatriation of their Italian POWs, and in November 1946 the Soviet government declared that the process of repatriation was completed. By that time 10,032 soldiers and officers had returned to Italy from Soviet camps. The Soviet government, trying to hide the high mortality in the prison camps, never explained what happened to the overwhelming majority of the Italian POWs, who numbered around 70,000 men.2 The enormous discrepancy between the number of prisoners returned and the number of ARMIR (the Italian Army in Russia) troops captured by Soviet forces turned the problem of POWs into an acute issue for post-war Italian politics. Tens of thousands of families whose sons were sent to the Russian front and never returned suspected that their loved ones had been kept in Soviet 77

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78 • Re-education camps, and therefore tried to put pressure on the Italian government to raise the problem with Soviet authorities. Although a major political issue in the post-war period, the question of Italian POWs in the Soviet Union has been woefully neglected by Italian historiography: Italian scholars have essentially ignored the sufferings of Italian officers and soldiers in Soviet prison camps, as well as the attempted de-fascistization of Italy’s armed forces organized by the Red Army between 1942 and the repatriation of 1946. The reasons for this neglect are primarily connected to political questions. For many years officially sanctioned historiography did not dwell on the defeat of the fascist army and this inevitably meant that the hard conditions of life in Soviet camps and their consequences for thousands of Italian POWs were also ignored. A second reason for the lack of attention given to Italian POWs in Russia has been the unavailability of any documentation from Soviet archives. This only changed in the 1990s but now that newly released material has become available to scholars, it has helped to answer some of the important questions on the history of the Italians in Soviet hands. This research is based on documents drawn from three Russian archives in Moscow: the Russian State Archive of Socio-political History (hereafter named RGASPI), the Russian State Archive (GARF) and the Russian State Military Archive (RGVA). The Russian documentation, especially the material found in RGASPI, consists of letters sent to members of Komintern or written by them, Komintern resolutions, reports written by the political commissars, lesson plans for anti-fascist schools and courses. Other material consists of official reports about the living condition in the Soviet camps, the number of POWs and the percentage of their mortality. A case history concerning an Italian prisoner of war found among the Russian documents provides a useful insight into the prisoners’ state of health in the camps.3 With regards to Italian archives, the relevant documentation has been found in the archive of the General Staff of the Italian Army, where important documents about the repatriation are preserved, and in the archive of the Foundation Institute Gramsci in Rome. In addition, the memoirs and recorded testimonies of surviving former Italian POWs provided a wealth of important information. During the war, the Italian government never discovered how many of their soldiers and officers had been captured by the Red Army since, as it is well known, Stalin refused to sign the Geneva Convention. However, even after 1943, it was impossible to get any information through diplomatic sources about the real number of Italians captured in Russia during the conflict. In the post-war period, the coalition of political parties that ruled Italy until the 1948 general elections, chose not to pursue the Soviet Union on the question of how few soldiers had been repatriated from Russia. As a former Axis country defeated during the war, and because its coalition included the representatives of the Communist Party until May 1947, the government could neither exercise sufficient pressure on the victorious Soviet

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Anti-fascist Propaganda among Italian POWs • 79 Union nor make direct requests to Moscow about the real number of missing soldiers and POWs kept in the Soviet camps. Essentially, it accepted the official version that attributed the high mortality to the Battle of the River Don and to the subsequent Axis retreat. The international situation also was not conducive to raising the issue of the fate of the Italian prisoners. At a time when the Italian government was concentrating all its efforts on securing a more favourable peace treaty, it could ill afford to alienate the Soviets by raising the prisoner of war problem. At the same time, according to some documentation drawn from American archives, it does seems that the Italian government did try to involve the United States, as a victorious power, in an attempt to get information about Italian POWs from the Soviets.4 Domestically, Italian governments did not do much to provide official explanations about the real results of the Russian campaign; but many newspapers did highlight the problem of POWs in the Soviet Union, and blamed the leadership of the Italian Communist Party that had been exiled in the USSR during the war for not doing more to press for information about and, repatriation of, POWs. As a result, during the first post-war years, the issue of Italian POWs was kept alive mainly by such grass-roots organizations as the ‘Alliance of Families of Soldiers Missing in Russia’ and the ‘National Union of Former POWs in Russia’ (UNIRR)5 that tried to gather information on the whereabouts of missing military personnel and to mobilize public opinion and pressure the government to continue investigating their fate. Italy started its Russian campaign by organizing an expeditionary army corps, the CSIR, in 1941; a year later in July 1942 the ARMIR, consisting of 230,000 men, left Italy for the Russian front. The ARMIR was not properly equipped for warfare on the Eastern Front and, perhaps more importantly, the Italian soldiers were not sufficiently motivated to fight against Russians. Many of the soldiers were sent to the Eastern Front after having fought in the Greek and Albanian campaigns but, according to some evidence, the soldiers’ departures from Italian stations were marked by clashes and brawls, and many of them returned late to their units after periods of leave.6 Conversely, loyalty to the country and the oath taken to the king were very strong among the officers, and this helped to justify the new campaign in Russia. The ARMIR took part in a major battle at the River Don, fought between midNovember 1942 and January 1943, in which it suffered major losses amounting to about 95,000 men. Thanks to Russian documentation, it has now become clear that the number of Italian captives was very high and that the majority of them died in Soviet camps rather than on the battlefield. Changes in the political situation in the early 1990s led to an agreement in 1992 between Italy and Russia that committed the Russian government to providing all the lists of deceased Italian POWs in Soviet lagers. The Italian Ministry of Defence now has in its possession 2,600

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80 • Re-education pages of documents containing the names of 64,500 Italian officers and soldiers, of whom 38,000 died in Soviet camps. Also included in these numbers were the names of 21,800 repatriated soldiers, including Italians who had been taken prisoner by the Germans after 8 September 1943 for refusing to continue fighting with Germany. When their camps were overrun by the Red Army, (from 1944 onwards) large numbers of Italians were transferred to Soviet territory, where they received the same treatment as other Italian POWs. After the initial interrogations of those repatriated, it became clear that only 10,032 had actually been soldiers with the ARMIR.7 A high percentage of POWs, perhaps as many as 22,000 indviduals, died in Soviet hands as a consequence of exhaustion, disease and hunger during the socalled ‘davaj’8 marches and during their transfer on goods trains.9 Even the majority of the POWs who succeeded in reaching the camps did not survive. The Russian documents sent from Moscow show that the mortality among Italian POWs in Soviet camps was particularly high, if compared with the percentage of mortality of other POWs as reported in the official documents.10 A document from NKVD (Narodnyj Komissariat Vnutrennych Del, the People Commissariat for Internal Affairs), referring to the period until 1956 (the year of repatriation of German POWs) shows that the mortality among Italian captives was the highest: from their capture until 1956 it reached 56.5 per cent while in the same period the percentage of mortality among German POWs was 14per cent, Hungarians 10.6 per cent, and Rumanians 29 per cent.11 This may seem strange as it is well known that many Germans were shot right after being captured, and that the living conditions for German POWs in the camps were much harder in comparison with those of other nationalities. The explanation for the high mortality among Italians can be attributed to the following reasons. Most Italian POWs were captured at the end of 1942 and beginning of 1943, the period when the Red Army took most prisoners on Soviet territory. This represented the moment when the Soviets’ resources were stretched to the limit and they found it hard to keep so many prisoners. As a result, general living conditions in the camps were harder then than at any other time. Moreover, the official data was based on the totals of prisoners after their arrival at the camps: thus the German prisoners and also many Italian officers who were shot soon after capture were obviously never registered. As a result of this, the percentage of Italians repatriated from the Soviet Union was only 14 per cent, while over 90 per cent of Italian prisoners were repatriated from imprisonment in the Allies’ camps.12 Examination of the lists sent by the Russian government shows that 85 per cent of deaths among Italian prisoners took place in the first months of 1943; their mortality accounted for 90 per cent of deaths in all the camps in March 1943.13 Prisoners’ living conditions were so hard that most Italian captives died because

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Anti-fascist Propaganda among Italian POWs • 81 they could not adapt to their situation and to the Russian climate. Furthermore, the Italian soldiers’ clothing and equipment was not suitable to deal with the rigours of a Russian winter. Even the soldiers of the Alpine Corps, who had been trained to withstand fighting in low temperatures, did not survive as a result of the harsh conditions, poor equipment and hunger. Most deaths occurred as a result of hunger, typhus and other diseases connected to malnutrition. The initial disorganization with which the Soviets received so many POWs was also due to the general situation in Russia and to the fact that the Soviet Army, still involved in a great battle, had to sustain a great degree of mobilization to drive back the enemy. Among the Soviet organizations entrusted with POWs was the Ministry’s Main Administration for Prisoners of War and Internees (GUPVI), a structure created inside the NKVD. These institutions were concerned with the prisoners’ treatment. The Political Department for POWs of the Red Army and the Political Directorate for Prisoners of War, created by the Executive Committee of Komintern (IKKI), dealt with the propaganda. Inside the Komintern, a party member for each nationality organized the political work among the prisoners, supervised by Georgi Dimitrov and Palmiro Togliatti, respectively First Secretary and Secretary of the Komintern, and Dmitrii Zacharovic˘ Manuil’skii, a leading member of the communist organization. The Italian branch of the Political Directorate for Prisoners of War was staffed by members of the Italian Communist Party in exile who worked as political instructors, supervised by Togliatti and other leading communists, including Vincenzo Bianco, Edoardo D’Onofrio and Paolo Robotti, Togliatti’s brother-in-law. The Soviet organization for dealing with POWs involved a great many agencies and this inevitably meant that different approaches were often developed to solve the many problems that arose in dealing with prisoners. Individual agencies often adopted different attitudes to the prisoners, and consequently they sometimes pursued mutually incompatible strategies towards their charges.14 The exiled Communist leadership were very well informed of the prisoners’ treatment after capture, since Italian Communist Party members often visited the camps as political instructors. Moreover, Vincenzo Bianco, the representative of the Italian Communist Party inside the Komintern who was responsible for anti-fascist propaganda among Italian prisoners, wrote the well-known letter to Togliatti on 31 January 1943 asking the communist leader to protest to the Soviets that ‘as many [elite] soldiers and officers of the Alpine Corps had died as [ordinary] members of Italian infantry divisions’.15 Togliatti replied to Bianco by writing a long letter that reveals the difficult political situation of the exiled Communist leadership, as well as the Italian Communist leader’s complete submission to Stalin’s decisions and the total devotion to the rules of the international communist movement. Togliatti accused Bianco of ‘abstract humanism’ and with placing national interests above class interests.16 Togliatti considered the death of so many soldiers of an invasion

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82 • Re-education army as the ‘the most effective among the antidotes’ against Mussolini and Fascism in general: it was the best way to show the Italian people what errors had been committed by the regime. Anyway, he argued, all the prisoners who remained alive could be useful to the communist cause, if they were re-educated in democratic principles before their repatriation.17 On 20 March 1943, Bianco sent another letter to Togliatti related to this topic, in which he returned to the question of the fate of so many Italian soldiers, claiming that the death of so many Italian prisoners had done great damage to the political work. He wrote: I perfectly realise that, fighting against the Soviet Union, they [Italian soldiers] committed a serious political crime against Soviet people . . . But you know better than me what it means to forget about them, about the workers of the fascist block, and, besides, I know very well that this isn’t your real opinion.18

In spite of the inflexible hierarchical communist system, on 24 March 1943, Bianco sent a letter directly to General Petrov, who was responsible for the administration of camps for POWs (GUPVI). Referring to his visit to Camp 58 (Tiomnikov), Bianco openly accused the organization responsible for the treatment of POWs (the NKVD) of neglecting them and overseeing the deaths of hundreds every day. Bianco claimed that the bad organization was due to the different attitudes held by the NKVD on the one hand, and the Political Section of the Red Army (PURKKA) on the other. According to Bianco, GUPVI considered POWs as ‘conscious enemies of the socialist country’, who, for this reason, could also die. Conversely, PURKKA considered them a great resource: there were hundreds of men from whom a great deal of information could be acquired. Moreover, its priority was to expedite the re-education of these men in democratic principles so that they would become ‘the best propagandists’ for the ‘socialist country’. According to Bianco, such terrible conditions in the camps ‘made re-education work among POWs impossible’ and ‘made the activity of all those comrades who had undertaken the work as political instructors more difficult’. In sum, Bianco went over Togliatti’s head to appeal directly to GUPVI and used political reasons and the aims of the International Communist Movement in order to plead for better living conditions for Italian captives. Turning to the propaganda campaigns themselves, many of those prisoners who succeeded in surviving the hard living conditions accepted political indoctrination and attended the anti-fascist schools since, in general, it was well known that living conditions at the schools were better than in ordinary camps.19 Other captives were attracted by genuine political interests or just by curiosity towards a new political creed that represented an alternative to Fascism. Moreover, the evidence20 shows that there were also many ex-fascist officers, particularly nationalists, who in captivity rejected their former ideological allegiances. This can be explained as a reaction to the military defeat in Russia, which represented the failure of the Italian

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Anti-fascist Propaganda among Italian POWs • 83 Army, but also to Mussolini’s choice in undertaking a war and bringing about the collapse of the country. However, there was also a great number of prisoners who refused to accept the reasoning of communist propaganda. All the promises of constructing a better world in Italy, based on the socialist principles, seemed to be in total contradiction to what they had seen in Russian territory and to treatment meted out to most of their fellow soldiers who had died during captivity. The political propaganda carried out among Italian POWs aimed at re-educating officers and soldiers obfuscated by fascist ideology, and persuading captives of the merits and values of Marxist-Leninist doctrine. The principal aim of the PURRKA was to create ‘an anti-fascist mass movement’21 which could achieve both short and long-term objectives. In examining the political education and propaganda among Italian POWs it is possible to distinguish two major periods with their own goals and methods: the first that lasted until the Armistice between Italy and the Allies (8 September 1943), and the second one that began after the Armistice. In the first period the propaganda activities organized among Italian POWs were aimed at reaching military objectives: the desertion of fighting troops using prisoners’ appeals sent to the Italian Army through leaflet; the collapse of Mussolini’s regime; the end of the alliance between Germany and Italy.22 The contents of such leaflets suggested to the prisoners, during conversations or meetings with them, related to the necessity of putting an end to the Fascist regime and to the war for the good of Italy. It was also underlined that all responsibility for the military disaster of the ARMIR in Russia should been assigned exclusively to Mussolini and not to the Italian people. This last item was strongly emphasized in order to free the fighting forces, the Italian people and the POWs from any guilt, and also to draw the POWs closer to communist political reasoning. Another important item in this campaign was to stress the absurdity of the alliance between Italy and her ‘old’ German enemy.23 After 8 September 1943, the political objectives were concerned exclusively with political matters. The long-term objectives of the political education and propaganda among prisoners were stated by the Komintern Secretariat resolution of 5 February 1943 and they aimed at ‘forming conscious and convinced antifascists and preparing new national military units as well as new cadres for the communist movement’.24 Another goal of propaganda was that of offering a positive image of the Soviet system as the best political order possible. This was formulated by Vincenzo Bianco in a letter sent to the Italian political instructors on 27 April 1943. Apart from showing the false and reactionary attitude of Fascism, you should explain ‘what [the] Soviet Union is’, for instance, since the democratic-bourgeois revolution up to World War II. . . . To explain what [the] Soviet Union is, you can show as an example the fact that the working class can and should fight for building a regime that could not only destroy the reasons of the war, but permit all the workers to lead the State and

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84 • Re-education build their own existence, like in the Soviet Union, without either capitalists or black shirts.25

Nikolaj Teres˘c˘enko, the Soviet political commissar responsible for propaganda among the Italian prisoners of war, describes a conversation between Palmiro Togliatti and Manuilskij, during which the former had declared that the Communist Party considered political re-education of the POWs, its duty and a national task. ‘As soon as we were informed of a great many Italian prisoners of war arriving in the camps, the party leadership and I decided to send the best communist instructors to carry out the political work among them’.26 The purpose of the Communist leadership was to create armed military groups among former POWs as well as to educate ‘agitators’ who would work for the Communist Party after their repatriation. The anti-fascist education was organized therefore on two levels: the level of mass political education, directed at POWs in general and carried out in all the camps among the prisoners gathered according to nationality; and the second level, reserved only for deeply motivated prisoners, who would be sent to specially organized anti-fascist schools. Interrogations of POWs by the political instructors were considered to be the first step in the re-education work. They were seen as a reliable source of information about the prisoner’s state of mind and political attitudes. This information was also utilized to single out both presumed war criminals and the POWs who had possessed positive attitudes towards the Communist Party even before being mobilized into the Italian army, and who were, therefore, ready to join the antifascist movement.27 The information distilled from the interrogations shows that a large part of Italian prisoners did not have anti-fascist attitudes: many of them expressed approval of Mussolini’s domestic policies, especially the measures against unemployment, and limited their criticisms to Fascist foreign policy, especially Mussolini’s decision to join the war. Regarding the attitude of Italian soldiers towards politics, the interrogations and discussions with political instructors revealed that most of the prisoners did not care about political questions and did not know anything about Italian politics before Fascism.28 Many of the Italian officers, on the other hand, proved to be convinced supporters of the Fascist regime and the overwhelming majority of them expressed a continuing loyalty to the monarchy. For this reason, the officers’ acceptance of anti-fascist ideology was rather rare. Therefore both Bianco and D’Onofrio suggested that the political instructors should not use any radical arguments against Fascism, but approach the question in a moderate and gradual way, as the officers were the principal targets of the propaganda. They had to be re-educated to accept new political ideas for two main reasons. First, so that they could be instrumental in disseminating communist ideology among their soldiers; and second because of their future role as ‘opinion

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Anti-fascist Propaganda among Italian POWs • 85 leaders’ in post-war Italian society. As an example of mass political work, in a report of June 1942, referring to the work carried out at Camp 99, Bianco described the contents of his lecture on ‘The economic situation in Italy’: What did Italian people gain from all the wars started by Fascism? What does the military and political alliance with Hitlerian Germany give to Italians? What does Soviet power consist of and who rules the Soviet Union? What did the Soviet power give to the working people? How was fascism in Italy born and what was its first political programme? Against whom does Fascism fight inside the country and abroad? Who is Mussolini? On Italian-Soviet relations (to underline further on the lies of fascist ideology). I also gave the following lectures: ‘Why Italy and Germany attacked the Soviet Union’ (the only State in the world in which there are neither plutocrats nor black shirts, neither capitalists nor landowners). ‘The war against the Soviet Union is an unfair, criminal and capitalist one.’ ‘Stalin is the guide of all the overwhelmed people.’ ‘The kolchoz system.’29

Besides the lectures, the mass political work was complemented by other activities such as the reading of texts about the Marxist-Leninist doctrine and the writing of articles for the POW journal30 or for the news-sheets displayed on camp walls. Many camps had a library, whose material was supplied by the Political Directorate. Significant political education and propaganda was carried out in two antifascist schools: at Camp 165 (Taliza) and Camp 27/B (Krasnogorsk), initially located in Oranki. The former began its work in August 1943 with basic courses limited to ‘easy and essential knowledge about the history of the Soviet Union and about Italian history and Fascism’.31 The Krasnogorsk school was designed as a kind of high school aimed at recruiting ‘qualified propagandist prisoners’,32 so that they could become educators and could ‘spread the anti-fascist truth among the mass of POWs’. Its courses dealt with Marxist political economy, historical materialism, the history of political parties and the principles of atheism. According to a document drawn from the Russian State Military Archive, ‘in total, 359 Italian POWs had attended Krasnogorsk school . . . while 548 had attended anti-fascist courses organized in the Taliza school’.33 In a letter sent to Stalin on 7 March 1944, Beria affirmed that ‘2,700 Italian POWs had become anti-fascist’.34 A critical analysis of the reports written by the Soviet political commissars who visited the schools, and those submitted by the Italian political instructors, can provide a more realistic evaluation of the Soviet and Italian Communist Party’s efforts to re-educate the prisoners. Particularly helpful in this regard are the reports written by the anti-fascist groups organized in the camps and consisting of

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86 • Re-education anti-fascist prisoners of different political tendencies. One of the most important documents is ‘The chronicle of anti-fascist movement among Italian officers in prison-camp number 160’, preserved among secret documents of the Italian Communist Party sent to the Soviet Union for security reasons in the 1950s. The chronicle represents a sort of evaluation of the effects of the mass political re-education carried out among Italian officers gathered in Camp 160 (Suzdal’) after May 1943, carried out by the ‘activist officers’, just before the officers’ repatriation.35 According to the document, Italian officers’ attitudes towards anti-fascism were characterized by a sort of ‘political indifference’, so that the results of mass political education and propaganda had to be considered unsatisfactory as far as the efforts and the expectations were concerned. In the words of the anti-fascist officers: Three groups of officers with different attitudes towards Marxist-Leninist propaganda can be singled out in the camp: a group of officers interested in the problems of democracy and in the eradication of fascist mentality and ideology in Italy; another small but dynamic group, formed by antidemocratic and antinational elements; and finally the third group, consisting of a significant number of indifferent officers, who are mere spectators of the clash between the other two groups.36

As is shown in the chronicle, the aim of recruiting the officers to the anti-fascist cause, or even convincing the doubters was never achieved. The Soviet political commissars were far more positive about the political work carried out in the anti-fascist schools, especially the results achieved at Taliza with ordinary workers and peasants who had been conscripted as soldiers. The effects of the anti-fascist work carried out in the school of Krasnogorsk were considered more contradictory. According to reports, most Italian prisoners still remained fascist and many students, particularly the officers, had openly declared that they did not agree with the Marxist doctrine. They were adamant that they had agreed to attend the school to learn about anti-fascism rather than about Marxist materialism. The expulsion of prisoners who raised objections and compromised discipline in the classes produced a salutary change in the political and moral atmosphere of the class and, as a result, the remaining students began demonstrating a new and positive attitude towards Marxism-Leninism. According to the report, By the end of the courses, all the students had strengthened their anti-fascist attitudes. There is no doubt that after their repatriation many of them would join the communist movement. Most of them have fully embraced the fighting spirit of Marxism and are firmly determined to take up arms and fight for it.37

As a matter of fact, many Italian officers asked political instructors if they could join the Communist Party right there in Russia. The political activity among Italian

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Anti-fascist Propaganda among Italian POWs • 87 POWs continued until their very last days in the Soviet Union, even when those from Suzdal’ were transferred to Odessa.38 Repatriation of Italian POWs was announced on 25 August 1945 by the Soviet government without any consultation with the Italian communist leadership. Togliatti, who had returned to Italy in March 1944, was fully aware of a negative public reaction to the repatriation of only 10,032 prisoners. He also took into account the fact that the repatriated soldiers would have inevitably revealed the extremely hard living conditions endured by the Italians in the Soviet prison camps and the deaths of many prisoners. For this reason, in discussion with the Soviet ambassador Kostylev on the same day, Togliatti tried to suggest a different way of organizing the repatriation of the remaining soldiers and officers.39 As he had feared, the accounts of the first groups of former prisoners about their imprisonment produced strongly negative consequences for the image of the Soviet Union and the Italian Communist Party. As a result, the Soviet Union decided to delay the repatriation of Italian officers until April 1946. After a long trip, the officers reached Italy on 7 July, almost a month after the institutional referendum and the elections for the Constituent Assembly had been held on 2 June 1946. As soon as the Italian POWs left the zone under Soviet control on the way back to Italy in July 1946, clashes and brawls broke out among Italian officers when some of them assaulted fellow-officers, accusing them of collaborating with their Soviet captors. For the same reason, after repatriation, former POWs formally accused eighteen officers of betrayal and of spying on their fellow-officers during captivity. These charges led to military trials, in which the accused officers were in the end exculpated and declared ‘anti-fascist soldiers abroad’.40 After the war, the return of such a relatively small number of prisoners, combined with the Soviet refusal to provide sufficient information on the fate of others, provoked strong suspicions that many thousands were still being kept in the Soviet camps. After 1947, the problem of the prisoners gave rise to acrimonious disputes between the government and the Italian Communist Party, and had some influence on the outcome of the April 1948 general elections, which resulted in a defeat of the Popular Front coalition organized by the Communist Party. On the eve of the April 1948 elections the UNIRR had published a booklet in which five officers, former POWs held in the Soviet camps, accused one of the exiled Italian Communist Party leaders in the USSR, Edoardo D’Onofrio, of ‘psychological torture during the exhausting interrogations of POWs he conducted in the Soviet prison-camps’. Considering it a good device for propaganda, Edoardo D’Onofrio, then a Communist deputy in the Italian Parliament, accused the authors of the booklet of slander. While preparing for the court hearings, D’Onofrio invited at least forty-one former POWs to give evidence in his favour by sending a number of letters addressed to Communist Party local and provincial organizations, in which the forty-one former prisoners had been working, inviting them to testify in

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88 • Re-education his defence. During the trial held in 1949 the former prisoners did testify that, ‘Edoardo D’Onofrio did his best to help us, both physically and morally . . .; thanks to the political work carried out by D’Onofrio, we were able to understand that our new task as Italian citizens consisted in restoring democratic order in our country.’41 The authors of the publication, however, managed to provide a number of testimonies to the contrary, and referred to a number of Italian POWs still languishing in Soviet camps. As a result, they were acquitted of the charge of slander. On 13 August 1948 L’Unità, the Communist Party newspaper, published a booklet signed by Paolo Robotti who accused General Messe, commander-in-chief of the CSIR and later of the General Staff of the Italian Army, of being responsible for the defeat in Russia.42 Robotti also asked the Ministry of Defence to start an inquiry into the deaths of such large numbers of Italian soldiers in the Russian campaign. Giovanni Messe answered in defence of the General Staff, asserting that all the responsibilities for the deaths of so many captured Italian soldiers had to be attributed to the Soviet government.43 As we can see, both the attitude of the Communist Party and the general Staff of the Army lacked impartiality and objectivity. On the one hand, the Communist Party refused to acknowledge any Soviet responsibility for the deaths of many thousands of the Italian prisoners in captivity. On the other hand, the official version of the General Staff failed to inform the public about the real causes of the defeat in Russia and its consequences for the fate of members of the ARMIR. In conclusion, as we can see, in the post-war period the question of POWs was exploited both by the Communist Party and by its opponents for their own political purposes. After 1948, only families of the missing members of the ARMIR and the associations of former POWs continued pressing the Italian government for further information about the fate of missing soldiers and officers of ARMIR. On the long-term effects of propaganda, some evidence is available from testimonies and documents left by former Soviet instructors and Italian communists in exile who worked as political instructors. One of the organizers of the Krasnogorsk anti-fascist school, Nikolaj Teres˘c˘enko, was delighted that many of his former students, after repatriation in Italy, ‘occupied prominent positions inside various state, social and educational organizations of Italy’.44 In the reports, which he regularly sent to Soviet political functionaries after his repatriation, Paolo Robotti always described the effects of the education and propaganda among Italian POWs as positive. Thus, in a letter, sent to Dmitrij S˘c˘evljagin45 on 7 May 1947, Robotti wrote about the activities carried out by his former anti-fascist school students. In all the places I visited, I encountered our former students: they are to be found in prominent positions. Many of them have become members of organizing committees of big Party cells, sections and federations (like, for instance, Gonelli). One of our students is an outstanding leader of the insurance brokers association who organized and guided the national strike of this category. Another student of yours has become

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Anti-fascist Propaganda among Italian POWs • 89 secretary of a Communist Party section which numbers 1,200 members. Before coming to Russia he was a sacristan in his village! . . . In conclusion, our work has proved to be useful and it will continue to be useful in the future.46

Many former POWs who had attended anti-fascist courses and schools did join the Communist Party after their repatriation. Substantial numbers became effective members of Party federations and of the Syndicate. A former Italian POW war from Abruzzo, my own region, became elected to the national Parliament as a deputy for the Italian Communist Party. Among the former prisoners there have also been examples of convinced Fascists who, after attending the school, changed their views and decided to work for the Communist Party such as a former officer of the Fascist Militia from Bologna who started working as a teacher in a Communist Party school after his return to Italy. Thus it is possible to claim that, as regards Italian POWs, the re-education programme carried out by the Political Department of the Red Army and by the Komintern did have some successes, but not on a large scale. Propaganda itself could not really modify most prisoners’ attitudes toward Fascism or toward Communism: the successes came in relation to individuals who were already anti-fascists, a few former committed Fascists and among those who saw in collaboration with the USSR and the Communist Party the chance of a political career or of finding a job in Italy. In addition, there were also many prisoners who, after accepting the anti-fascist rhetoric, sincerely hoped to change Italy on the basis of democratic principles and to contribute in rebuilding the country exhausted after a twenty year regime of Fascism and war.

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–8– The Nucleus of a New German Ideology? The Re-education of German Prisoners of War in the United States during World War II Matthias Reiss

After the unconditional surrender of Germany, the German prisoners of war (or POWs) at Fort Benning (Georgia) were asked to sign a statement that started with the following sentence: ‘I, on my word of honour as a German, believe in democracy as the best form of government.’1 Most German prisoners signed and thereby qualified for the camp’s ‘American Government and Democracy School Programme’.2 Almost fifty years later, one of them admitted in his autobiography that he had thrown his word of honour away by signing ‘for psychological reasons and out of habit’.3 The fact that this former POW still felt uncomfortable when looking at the statement signed by him a long time ago raises the question as to why he, and most of his fellow prisoners in North America, did actually participate in the re-education programme during and shortly after World War II. According to him, there were a number of reasons, including not only genuine good will and the desire to make a fresh start, but also sheer opportunism triggered by the expectation that participation might pay off.4 It is fair to assume that these were indeed the reasons why the German POWs responded to the re-education effort. However, the question of whether the programme had any success remains a separate and far more controversial issue. The first study on the programme was commissioned by the US Army in 1945 when a sizeable number of German prisoners were still within the continental United States5 and, at the same time, a number of American Army and civilian personnel directly involved in the programme also published their experiences.6 Not surprisingly, all of these works review the re-education effort in a positive light. Although it was often conceded that the exact impact of re-education was difficult to measure, the programme was regarded as an overall success, and many American historians tended to agree when interest in the history of the re-education programme revived in the 1970s.7

91

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92 • Re-education But there were also critical assessments, some of which even preceded the start of the programme in November 1944. Provost Marshal General Allen Gullion, the man in charge of all enemy prisoners in the United States, dismissed the suggestion for a re-education programme in June 1943 arguing that, apart from the legal and administrative problems involved, ‘the great majority of enlisted prisoners were intellectually unfit for such a programme’.8 What the Germans could observe during their work outside the compound would, according to Gullion, do much more to impress them than ‘a teacher in a classroom or a lecturer from a platform’.9 A re-education programme was eventually launched five months after Gullion left office in June 1944. However, it was only after Germany’s unconditional surrender that the programme shifted into a higher gear and began to affect the lives of all German prisoners in the United States. The representatives of the International Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA), who visited American prisoner of war camps on a regular basis, were especially critical of this new, more forceful approach. One of their most experienced delegates warned, in June 1945: As to their political convictions at the time of their return to their homeland, they will depend, not on what they have been taught or forbidden while here, but upon conditions then prevailing in Germany and upon the general opinion they have formed in their own minds about this country.10

The YMCA’s rather critical view was obviously shared by many of the Germans. Relying heavily on the testimony of former prisoners, Hermann Jung concluded in 1972 that re-education had hardly any effect on the overwhelming majority of German POWs in America.11 In 1995, Ron Robin even questioned whether the reeducation effort was based on morally pure intentions, suggesting instead that reeducation had in fact been a ‘form for waging battle against rival divisions with the academic community in preparation for impending turf disputes of the postwar [sic] years.’12 Several decades after the end of the programme, it is of course impossible to be certain if, and to what extent, re-education in the United States had changed POWs’ minds or political convictions. But much of the ongoing debate regarding the programme’s ultimate success or failure results from a certain confusion as to what the programme was all about, how it was conducted and what it wanted to achieve. Any meaningful reassessment of re-education and its impact on the homecoming POWs therefore has to start with these questions. The re-education programme was officially created by an exchange of letters between the US Secretary of War Henry L. Stimson and the US Secretary of State Cordell Hull in March and April 1944.13 The idea of such a programme had been floating around for a full year by then, but only public pressure and the notion that the Soviets were doing something similar with their German prisoners finally led the American government to act. In addition, the fortunes of war had begun to change in favour of the Allied powers, forcing them to focus increasingly on what

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Re-education of German POWs in the USA • 93 would happen after the defeat of Germany. POW attitudes towards the United States were now, as Hull put it in his letter to Stimson, ‘a most important part of our problem of post-war security. In a sense, the German prisoners in our hands . . . have become, even during the continuation of the war, a factor in our post-war problem.’14 To administer the programme, a Special Projects Branch, raised to division status in December 1944, was set up in the Office of The Provost Marshal General. The programme’s basic objective was to create among the prisoners ‘an attitude of respect . . . for American institutions, traditions, and ways of life and thought.’15 Both propaganda and the idea of ‘Americanizing’ German POWs were explicitly rejected in favour of ‘self-indoctrination’.16 Under the re-education programme, the prisoners would simply be offered information about the United States and the American way of life, which would presumably speak for itself.17 An Army study later suggested that: If a large variety of facts could be presented convincingly, perhaps the German prisoners of war might understand and believe historical and ethical truth as generally conceived by Western civilization, might come to respect the American people and their ideological values, and upon repatriation to Germany might form the nucleus of a new German ideology which will reject militarism and totalitarian controls and will advocate a democratic system of government.18

In a speech made in May 1945, Assistant Provost Marshal General Blackshear M. Bryan struck a more confident tone when explaining this approach to his subordinates. The object was to ‘teach America to prisoners of war. . . . If he knows what kind of country we’ve got, he can’t help but respect it; so it is our job to tell him the facts about America and not to beg him or coddle him into liking us.’19 After the war, the prisoners would return to Germany and spread the word of American achievements and power. They would become post-war ambassadors, exercising a positive influence upon German-American relations.20 Censorship was employed to make sure that this strategy worked.21 Publications and movies that did not shed a positive light on American society were banned from the camps, sometimes in a very clumsy manner.22 Instead, the German prisoners were offered lectures, movies, books, newspapers and magazines that created a positive image of the United States. Newly created and trained ‘Assistant Executive Officers’ were to promote these efforts in each main camp. In addition, a small group of cooperative German POWs was assembled in a special camp called the ‘Factory’ at Camp Van Etten (New York). The ‘Factory’ started its work on 1 November 1944 and was moved to Fort Kearney (Rhode Island) on 1 March 1945. These men reviewed and produced re-education material, most notably the nationwide POW magazine Der Ruf.23 The first issue of this magazine was sent to the prisoner of war camps at the beginning of March 1945, where it was sold for

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94 • Re-education 5 cents. Despite the hostile reaction it encountered in many camps, circulation quickly increased rising from 11,000 to 75,000 copies within fifteen issues.24 The second pillar of re-education was supposed to be the already firmly established work programme. By taking the prisoners outside their compounds, the work programme gave them first-hand knowledge about the American way of life. It was expected that an efficiently conducted work programme would further impress the Germans, as the excellent living conditions in the camps had already done. When re-education started, it was assumed that these factors had already prepared the ground on which a successful re-education programme could be built. The programme targeted all German POWs ‘susceptible to its influence’.25 Initially, secrecy was regarded as essential to maximize these numbers, for it was expected that publicity of any kind would create resistance among the POWs and endanger American prisoners of war in German custody. For similar reasons, participation was to be voluntary.26 However, the programme was declassified only eight months after it had started and ever-increasing pressure was put on the prisoners to participate.27 When re-education started, American camp commanders already enjoyed broad authority to remove not only ‘Nazis’, but also ‘troublemakers’ of any kind to specially designated camps in different service commands. German POWs who openly opposed re-education, for example by destroying copies of Der Ruf, also became subject to transfer.28 After the Wehrmacht had surrendered, pressure on the German prisoners increased even more and the whole character of the programme changed for good. Almost immediately, food rations were severely reduced, officers were intimidated into ‘volunteering’ for paid work and work quotas were increased. The once broad curriculum of the camp schools was reduced to classes considered important for the programme, mainly American history, civics, geography and English.29 As far as necessary, POW camp newspapers were brought into line with the re-education effort, as editors resigned or were replaced by the authorities. In addition, the title of the papers was often changed to mark the fresh start.30 Until then, the denazification of the prisoners had only been an implicit objective of re-education. As the United States conceived itself as the antithesis of Nazism, every pro-American campaign was by implication also directed against the latter.31 After Germany’s unconditional surrender, however, the Americans took specific measures to denazify German prisoners. Der Ruf started to attack the leading figures of the Third Reich and all German POWs in America were forced to see pictures of the Nazi death camps – generally without any preparation and under heavy guard. Whatever individual prisoners thought about the atrocity pictures, most of them realized that they were all held responsible for the crimes of the concentration camps.32 This notion of collective guilt and punishment was further reinforced by the reduced food rations that were introduced at roughly the

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Re-education of German POWs in the USA • 95 same time. However, the German POWs were simultaneously also given the impression that individual redemption could be achieved by participating in the reeducation effort. The prize was, to continue the religious metaphor, entry not into Heaven, but into something quite similar: the German Heimat. As most POWs after May 1945 were occupied with the question of when they would return home, this greatly increased the allure of re-education. Planning for repatriation began just a week after Germany’s unconditional surrender. However, America was still at war with Japan and in need of labourers. As a result, the first POWs scheduled to go home were 50,000 so-called ‘useless’ German prisoners, who had often refused to work for the enemy for political reasons.33 Rewarding these un-cooperative prisoners by repatriating them first created an outcry both inside and outside the POW camps. At least among the POWs, the expectation had been that it would work the other way around. In May 1945, for example, the camp newspaper of Fort Lewis (Washington) had told its readers that the date of repatriation depended on their individual behaviour, i.e. their degree of cooperation with the Americans.34 To calm the waters, Provost Marshal General Archer L. Lerch addressed the German prisoners directly in Der Ruf on 1 July 1945. Not mincing his words, Lerch told them: You must show that you are ready to re-educate yourself. . . . The American government might send back to Europe those who do not deserve our confidence and who show they are unwilling to learn from disaster . . . But these men will not go back to Europe as free citizens. They will have no privileges. They will be prisoners still, prisoners in their own land, eating less, earning less, and working harder. Now is your time to think. . . . Your situation is hopeful. But your future lies mainly in your hands.35

After this statement, the paper of Fort Lewis stressed again that ‘correct behaviour will bring us home faster’.36 Two months later, it once again quoted a statement made by General Lerch at a press conference according to which ‘cooperative’ prisoners would go home first.37 The message was not lost on the prisoners and, for some, the hope was fulfilled. The United States had agreed to transfer thousands of its German prisoners mainly to Great Britain and France, where they would have to work for another unspecified period of time before they were finally returned to Germany. There was no doubt within Special Projects that such an experience would completely nullify any positive effect the re-education programme had had so far, and when the prisoners read in the newspapers about their upcoming transfer, interest in reeducation classes indeed dropped sharply. In a frantic effort to save at least some of their pupils from cynicism and despair, Special Projects managed to set up a special camp at Fort Eustis (Virginia), where 23,142 POWs repeated in six-day cycles the ‘essence and summary of re-education’38 before they were returned to Germany and discharged.39

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96 • Re-education In addition to Fort Eustis, two other special schools were set up in Rhode Island. At Fort Getty, some 700 German POWs were trained as administrators to assist the American Military Government in Germany, while some 500 future policemen were trained at Fort Wetherill for the same purpose. Although not all graduated, these trainees, together with POWs from the ‘Factory’ at Camp Van Etten, formed a nucleus of some 24,200 men intended to promote a new democratic Germany.40 In reality however, after returning to Germany, they were often ignored by the American Military Government. In October 1945, General Clay had refused to give special treatment to these prisoners once they were repatriated. He argued that this would make them look like collaborators to their fellow countrymen and therefore destroy their usefulness. Clay suggested that their special training would quickly find them a place in the administration of post-war Germany, even without American assistance.41 When the Special Projects’ prisoners arrived in Europe, only very few people knew who they were. Some veterans had their certificates and personal possessions confiscated by American troops, and a few of them even ended up in French custody. Others had more luck and found a position with the US Army or within the German administration, often due to their language skills. In the United States, Special Projects quickly became aware of these problems and tried to protect their returning pupils, for example by providing an American officer as escort and by creating a special office to assist them in Germany.42 In general, however, the experience of the returning special prisoners was a negative one. They quickly had to focus their attention on personal survival in the harsh conditions of an occupied and largely destroyed Germany and, despite the fact that they had already been screened in the United States before being admitted to one of the re-education schools, many had to go through the stricter and more mechanical process of denazification initiated by the American Military Government.43 What they encountered in occupied Germany bore little relation to what they had learned in the re-education classes back in North America and many became thoroughly disillusioned. This, at least, was the experience encountered by William G. Moulton, when he visited 106 former special prisoners two years after the war. Moulton had been an English teacher at Rhode Island’s reeducation schools and was sent by the War Department on a mission to Germany in April 1947 ‘to study the present activities of German nationals who were trained in democracy while POWs in [the] US.’ Nearly all of his interview partners criticised the American Military Government and complained that no progress had been made in turning Germany into a democracy.44 The programme had been, as Alfred Andersch phrased it in the same year, a ‘re-education in a testtube’, which had found an ‘unhappy ending in the far from germ-free air of postwar Germany’.45 In conclusion, there are good reasons to doubt whether the re-education programme successfully altered the attitudes of many German prisoners of war. Such

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Re-education of German POWs in the USA • 97 a sceptical appraisal of the programme is supported, for example, by the results of two polls independently administered to German POWs before their return to Europe. The first, the so-called ‘Liberty Project’, was a study initiated by the US Department of State in the autumn of 1945 to find a way of differentiating between ‘safe’ and ‘unsafe’ German prisoners before their repatriation. Apart from the Cornell Selectee Index and the group Rorschach test, a questionnaire called German Attitude Scale (GAS) was handed out to 500 POWs at Halloran Hospital Camp (New York), with the already highly screened German prisoners at Fort Getty (Rhode Island) serving as the control group.46 The results of the very sophisticated questionnaire, which tested for attitude, truthfulness and consistency, must have been disappointing for the re-educators. Only 8 per cent of the Halloran group were classified as ‘safe’, while 16 per cent were ‘untrustworthy’ and 76 per cent ‘unsafe’.47 ‘If the conclusions reached in this study hold for other groups,’ the project’s chairman concluded rather gloomily, ‘then there is very little hope that Germany will emerge as a nation that will not turn to Fascistic, authoritarian leadership, and a nation that will not attempt to conquer the world as soon as she is able to make war again.’48 The second poll was conducted on a much larger scale in 1946. At Camp Shanks (New York), the US Army asked 22,153 German POWs awaiting embarkation to complete a two-page questionnaire. In contrast to the GAS administered earlier, no systematic attempt was made to measure the truthfulness of the answers and this second questionnaire was much shorter and much less sophisticated. One of the thirteen questions, for example, was ‘Hitler taught that Germans are a superior master race destined to rule the world. Do you believe this to be true? Yes / No’.49 In addition, as a study carried out in 1951 shows, POWs were quite self-conscious when filling out American questionnaires, so the results of this poll need to be taken with a pinch of salt.50 According to Camp Shanks’ poll, 74 per cent of the POWs questioned left the United States with ‘an appreciation of the value of democracy and a friendly attitude towards their captors’, with 33 per cent of the group being considered ‘definitely anti-Nazi and pro-democratic’. About 10 per cent of all prisoners were still classified as ‘militantly Nazi’, while 15 per cent were judged as ‘not strictly Nazi’, but neither ‘favourably disposed towards America or democracy’. Although no poll had been taken when the prisoners arrived in the United States, it was estimated that prior to re-education 13 per cent of the German prisoners were ‘Nazi’, an equal percentage ‘anti-Nazi’, and 74 per cent ‘neutral’.51 While the result of this poll was not as devastating as the one taken at Halloran Hospital, it still must have been a disappointment. This is reflected by the remark that the prisoners at Camp Shanks ‘were probably at the nadir of their morale’, as they had not been selected to attend one of the special re-education schools at Fort Eustis or Fort Getty and so believed that they would all be transferred to French custody after their arrival in Europe.52

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98 • Re-education About 178,000 German prisoners were indeed transferred to Britain, France or Belgium after leaving the United States in 1946.53 But even those who escaped this fate by virtue of their age, ethnic background, ill health or plain luck had suffered the agony of expecting additional months or even years of forced labour before they were repatriated. The expected transfer was widely discussed in every POW camp in the United States and had a disastrous effect on the prisoners’ view of America. So while the re-education programme had initially targeted all German prisoners of war in the United States, the hopes of Special Projects ultimately rested on those German POWs who had passed through Fort Eustis and the other Special Camps in the knowledge that they would be spared transfer to America’s European allies. In fact, many of them had probably participated simply because re-education was considered the fastest way home. One veteran of Fort Eustis who was questioned nineteen years later about his experience recalled that: As far as I see the situation back then, most prisoners hoped that by participating in this course they would return home sooner. Interest in politics was not very widespread back then. Everybody wanted to return home as fast as possible, and we thought that this would be a way to achieve this.54

Indeed, when the Liberty Project tested the already highly screened prisoners at Fort Wetherill’s police school, a surprising 23.5 per cent were classified as ‘unsafe’, suggesting that these men too might have participated in the programme for reasons other than a love of democracy.55 In reality, the small number of German prisoners re-educated in the United States could hardly have made a difference anyway, and the Provost Marshal General knew it. In June 1945, his office had warned that, unless all of the more than 3 million German soldiers in American hands received reorientation, ‘the prisoners who are returned from the United States would constitute an ineffective minority in postwar Germany.’56 Such a programme, of course, never came about, although a small re-education school was established at Chateau Tocqueville near Querqueville.57 In addition to affecting only a fraction of the POWs, the re-education effort did not last long. The outline of the programme was submitted in August 1944, approved in September, and officially started on 9 November of the same year.58 After the war in Europe came to an end, so did the good material treatment of the German POWs. The mandatory showing of atrocity films ended the principle of voluntary participation and the programme was declassified with effect from 12 June 1945.59 Two days later, the War Department officially announced the existence of a re-education programme.60 The segregation programme was officially terminated in October 1945, and the last regular transport with German POWs left the United States on 22 July 1946. The good living conditions in the camps, tight secrecy, voluntary participation and removal of ‘troublemakers’, once regarded as

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Re-education of German POWs in the USA • 99 absolutely essential for the programme’s success, became unimportant after the war in Europe had ended and show that the basic character of the re-education effort had changed. In particular, the drastic and sudden reduction of food rations after Germany’s unconditional surrender lost the United States much prestige among the German POWs. In addition, it was more than just hinted to them that successful re-education was the precondition for returning home. When tens of thousand of prisoners discovered that this was not the case, the re-education effort was robbed of almost all credibility. But the programme was not a total failure. The prisoners received information about the United States and its way of life and many were, indeed, impressed. However, rather than spreading their knowledge in Germany, many men expressed an interest in staying in or returning to America.61 An informal poll conducted among approximately 3,000 German POWs in Minnesota in September 1945 revealed that ‘about 125 were still fanatical Nazis, and about 500 of the 3,000 were still undecided as to their political leanings’. Of the remaining prisoners, ‘about 10 per cent would like to stay in this country without going back to Germany and about 50 per cent would like to return to this country with their families’.62 Even the re-education’s elite often thought of going back. When the American Military Government’s Information Control Division interviewed 150 randomly selected former POWs in Württemberg-Baden after the war, it found that ‘the group had returned from the USA very impressed with “America,” . . . This impression seemed to stem largely from the USA’s industrial development, standard of living and the “urbanism” of its culture’. On the ideological side, however, the Information Control Division judged that the principles of democracy were only superficially absorbed and ‘could easily be forgotten’.63 They also found that ‘several [of the Germans] wished to return to the USA as soon as possible . . .’64 Many of these 150 men interviewed by the Information Control Division had attended the centre at Fort Eustis before their repatriation.65 However, when the Americans polled 78 former Getty prisoners in the spring of 1947, who were an even more elitist group within the re-education programme, the picture was similar. Even in this group, three-quarters ‘had already thought about emigrating’ and 60 per cent of them had still not given up this idea.66 It is fair to assume that many of these Germans were drawn back to the United States by the country’s high standard of living – an essential part of the ‘American way of life’ that the re-education taught to the prisoners. From their first encounter with American troops, German soldiers had been surprised by the vast amount of material wealth the Americans had at their disposal and the way they used or wasted it. The work and re-education programmes further introduced the German POWs to the similar consumption habits of American civilians and feature films were shown in the camps also to impress the prisoners with the high American standard of living.67 Special Projects supplied the prisoners with

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100 • Re-education American newspapers and magazines, which endlessly repeated the promise of ‘better things to more people’ on their advertising pages.68 Although many POWs objected to the widespread advertising and especially to commercial breaks on the radio, they nevertheless paid attention to the message of what was a new feature for most of them.69 On work detail, they saw that white Americans at least enjoyed a very high standard of living and for the duration of the European war, the German POWs had a share in this good life. In fact, they quickly adopted the ‘American mentality of abundance and throw-away’ during their captivity, as one of them recalled in his autobiography.70 Judging from the 19,000 questionnaires answered by POWs from Fort Eustis before their repatriation, it is obvious that this group at least had a utilitarian approach to the new ideology the Americans tried to teach them. The survey concluded that ‘many comments showed that what had been most convincing to some of the new converts to democracy was that democracy can be a successful and practical way of life’, and one POW put it even more pointedly in his reply: ‘Democracy means good living’.71 Good living, defined as a wide range and abundant supply of consumer goods and especially food, was what West Germans came to aspire to after the currency reform in June 1948. It became, as Michael Wildt has pointed out, an important way for Germans to express their desire for ‘normality’.72 The POWs in the United States were among the first Germans to experience a modern, American-style consumer culture at first-hand and, like the vast majority of their countrymen several years later, they quickly came to value its material benefits, despite a strong ambivalence about the ‘Americanization’ that came along with it.73 Combined with the segregation programme, re-education also taught German POWs the limits of acceptable behaviour and language. Special Projects introduced a discourse of democracy and rights that was especially new for those educated under the Nazi regime. Whatever their personal views were, the prisoners learned what could still be said and done without being punished, and what could not. As only 15 per cent of all German prisoners had a fluent command of the English language, the German language camp newspapers and Der Ruf were among the most important tools for conveying this information.74 Special Projects had monitored the papers from the beginning and encouraged the founding of new ones after May 1945.75 Although freedom of the press naturally had its limits in a prisoner of war camp, the papers nevertheless offer some contemporary insight into the prisoners’ attitudes. The camp newspapers show that many German POWs were indeed impressed by America’s economic and military potential. Readers were informed about the harsh conditions in post-war Germany and the rich United States was presented as the only country that could offer help. One camp newspaper reminded its readers that ‘it is America, only America, which can keep millions of our people back home from imminent death by starvation . . .’76 But economic aid was only one

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Re-education of German POWs in the USA • 101 message. Many prisoners firmly expected a conflict between the United States and the Soviet Union in the near future, in which they would have to choose sides. At Fort Eustis, the American teaching staff even felt the need specifically to discourage this assertion in Lecture 11 ‘The World of Today and Germany’. This, in turn, displeased many of the German POWs who argued that compromising with the Soviet Union would violate the democratic principles they had been taught in the very first lecture.77 When the prisoners filled out the final questionnaire before leaving Fort Eustis for Europe, quite a number of them wrote that ‘Bolshevism will take over’ if democracy fails ‘to deliver’.78 In camps all over the United States, and even in one American POW camp in France, a number of German POWs even tried to blackmail the Americans into early repatriation with the threat that they would otherwise become communists.79 While there was hardly any doubt that the vast majority of German prisoners would side with the United States in a confrontation with the USSR, there was, at least in theory, an alternative ideology that gave them a limited degree of leverage vis-à-vis their captors. And here the German POWs caught Special Projects at its weakest point. Although anti-communism can be regarded as a constant theme of mainstream American society, hostility against those on the left of the political spectrum increased in the mid-1940s. The creation of the re-education programme for German POWs after a long delay was in part a reaction to the success the USSR seemed to have in this field with its German captives.80 In April 1945, however, Special Projects had to defend itself before Congress against the charge that ‘the prisoners were being furnished or permitted to read Communist books.’81 As one officer put it a month later: ‘No aspect of the handling of German POWs is more sensitive than this with the Congress.’82 In June 1945, Provost Marshal General Lerch initiated loyalty investigations within the Special Projects Division resulting in military personnel being reassigned and one key civilian figure resigning in protest the next month.83 At around the same time, between June and August 1945, Germans with ‘definite communistic backgrounds or tendencies’ were explicitly excluded when Special Projects selected the candidates for Fort Getty and Fort Wetherill.84 Perhaps to further dispel the impression that re-education had a communist touch, the German camp newspapers became free to express hostility towards the Soviet Union and its ideology and often did so by quoting from American or foreign newspapers. In October 1945, for example, Camp Grant’s (Illinois) paper referred to reports in Swiss and American newspapers when it stated that in Eastern Germany ‘an Asian wave has indeed swept over a European country’ and that Russian occupation had brought ‘need, terror, and serfdom’ to Eastern Europe.85 Only the United States was capable of checking the USSR, and the camp newspapers showed great interest in America’s latest weapon – the atomic bomb. In the end, the core of the new German ideology was not that new at all. The widespread anti-communism among the German prisoners made the re-education

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102 • Re-education effort at least partly successful, as it provided a basis for close post-war relations. Most POWs accepted that Germany had to become a democracy to get American protection and support, although when Moulton visited former pupils of the reeducation schools in 1947, he was annoyed by their persistent and unquestioning demands for American aid. Rather than regarding Germany as the defeated aggressor state, last on the list for any form of American assistance, Moulton’s interviewees obviously perceived their Fatherland as America’s latest ally in the common cause for democracy. They, however, argued that only massive American economic and cultural assistance would turn their fellow countrymen towards democracy and keep them away from communism.86 Moulton’s visit also reveals the extent to which even many of the re-education’s elite were still struggling with the harsh living conditions in post-war Germany. Some of his interviewees were still wearing the same black-dyed US army uniform that was given to them in the POW camps, and many apologized that they had lacked time and energy to promote the democratic cause after their repatriation.87 Foremost on the mind of every returning prisoner of war was personal survival and the effort to rebuild their lives. Re-education had introduced the German prisoners to the superior standard of living enjoyed by white Americans. It is fair to assume that they came to aspire to a similar standard of living and measured their own economic progress against what they had seen in America. Many of them actually considered immigrating to the United States to achieve this goal. Such plans were the logical result of what re-education had taught the POWs, but somehow contrary to the long-term plan of using the prisoners as post-war ambassadors in Germany. According to Henry W. Ehrmann, the staff of the re-education schools were indeed concerned that ‘especially the prisoners in the United States, impressed by the resources of Amerika, would tend to concentrate their energies on plans for shifting their sole loyalty to the victor’ and emigrate to the country that had held them as POWs.88 One might well question Ehrmann’s optimism that this was avoided by boosting the special prisoners’ moral and lifting them ‘from despair and dejection’,89 as many POWs did, indeed, toy with the idea of staying or returning. And this aspect is worth noting for many German prisoners had, when they first arrived, looked down on the United States as a materialistic country. After the war, materialism was no longer regarded as such a bad thing and many POWs left the country of their confinement loaded with American consumer goods. By being anti-communists and by becoming part of a new consumer culture, the prisoners were not that different from Americans any more. In that sense, re-education had succeeded.

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Part IV Homecoming

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–9– Belated Homecomings: Japanese Prisoners of War in Siberia and their Return to Post-war Japan Yoshikuni Igarashi

If I have to keep having dreams about the Soviet detention, I am not sure when the ‘I’ in the dreams can finally come home. The ‘I’ in the dreams still wants to come home as early as possible. Ôtsuka Shigeru,1 a former Japanese POW in Siberia, 1995

650,000 Prisoners and 90,000 Deaths After Japan accepted the terms of surrender specified in the Potsdam Declaration, as many as 540,000 Japanese soldiers and non-combatants were transported out of Manchuria and detained for prolonged periods in 1,200 Soviet labour camps scattered mostly in the vast territories of Siberia. Of the additional 110,000 prisoners, 23,000 either died or were sent home, and 87,000 were detained in labour camps located within North Korea and the Liaodong peninsula, which the Soviet Union temporarily controlled in the immediate post-war.2 Contrary to their initial belief that they would be immediately sent back home, the majority of the detainees remained in the camps for several years with some 3,000 men who were convicted of alleged war crimes ultimately remaining in the Soviet Union for as long as eleven years.3 In addition, most Japanese POWs were forced to work under the extremely treacherous conditions of severe Siberian winters with limited provisions, which often led to malnutrition and frostbite.4 The hazardous work also caused numerous accidents, and medical treatment was at best primitive. Although conditions improved as the Soviet Union gradually recovered from the devastating effects of the war, they resulted in the death of some 90,000 Japanese POWs.5 For many of those who later returned to Japan, their experiences were sufficiently severe for them to reject anything associated with the Soviet Union and their experiences indeed became a basis for widely shared anti-Russian feelings in post-war Japan. 105

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106 • Homecoming Yet, as they struggled to articulate the meaning of their experiences after their return, a number of former POWs refused to reduce their Soviet experiences to mere hatred. Literally thousands of accounts of POW experiences in Siberia have appeared in the past five and half decades and, in recent years, even more returnees have attempted to bequeath the legacy of their memories to a younger generation. However, the returnees’ attempts to tell their stories have not been easy in a postwar society eager to leave its wartime past behind and concentrate on national reconstruction. Many other returnees have chosen not to speak about their experiences even to their closest kin. Consequently, as this generation dies out, so does the hope that their stories will become part of the public memory of the war. Postwar Japanese society was eager to sentimentalize, but not to sympathize with, the plight of the returned captives. However, images of Japanese POWs have not been completely absent in Japanese popular consciousness. In the early post-war period, when the issue of the Japanese POWs in Siberia received wide political and media attention, a few popular expressions reminded the public of the Japanese who were yet to be repatriated. In 1948, a popular song, ‘Ikoku no oka’ (A hill of foreign land), told the ‘friends’ who still remained in a ‘foreign land’ that they would soon be able to return home and, in the following year, Shin Tôhô produced two films based on the success of this song.6 However, as the majority of the POWs had returned by the early 1950s, the attention paid to the remaining Japanese in Soviet captivity quickly waned. In 1956, after the last group of detainees returned home, the figure of the POW disappeared from popular culture as the two countries re-established official diplomatic relations. Almost five decades have passed since then, and in this time the disappearance of the prisoners of war from popular consciousness has been thorough. For example, in his ambitious 2002 work on post-war popular Japanese songs, Murase Manabu reads the lyric of ‘Ikoku no oka’ as a generic battle scene, completely devoid of its specific historical context. The first part of the song reads: On a hill of foreign land where the dusk approaches again Friend(s), it must be hard and desolate Endure, wait, once the storm is gone the day to come home will come, spring will come.7

Murase simply generalizes this part of the song claiming that it signifies a scene where ‘a soldier is talking to his injured friend on the battlefield at dusk.’ Even in the mind of a commentator who attempts to situate Japanese popular songs within post-war history, the image of Japanese captives in Siberia is noticeably absent.8 Since the late 1940s, the most popular images associated with the POWs in Siberia have been those of mothers and wives who waited years in vain at the

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Japanese POWs in Siberia and their Return • 107 wharves of Maizuru Port for their sons and husbands to return. In the 1950s, the Japanese media ‘discovered’ the regulars who kept returning there and portrayed them as heroic figures, silently enduring their sufferings.9 For example, the popular 1954 song, ‘Ganpeki no haha’ (A mother on the wharf), depicted a woman who had waited ten years for her son’s return. The tragic end to much of this waiting only enhanced its appeal in the popular imagination; the image of women suffering in silent anguish displaced the actuality of the mainly male experiences of the POWs in Siberia. The POWs figured in the post-war popular imagination only as an absence, highlighting the hardship within the boundaries of post-war Japan. As the ships that carried the final group of repatriates arrived in the late 1950s, these women quietly disappeared from media coverage. Although they made a brief reappearance in the Japanese popular imagination in the 1970s through the revival of the song and a film of the same title, produced in an effort to capitalize on the song’s renewed popularity, both enterprises merely demonstrated the fundamental lack of interest in the returned prisoners of war. This lack of interest marks a stark contrast with post-war Germany’s preoccupation with their POWs who returned from Siberian camps. As Frank Biess argues, West Germany embraced the figure of the German POW as an ideological icon of nationhood and their images were gradually transformed as they became cast as both victims and survivors of totalitarianism in the post-war years.10 Here images of POWs proliferated both in the popular media and as symbolic figures where their rehabilitation became a metaphor for the reconstruction of West German society. In East Germany in the immediate post-war years, the SED (Sozialistische Einheitspartei Deutschlands) was eager to reintegrate returning POWs both ideologically and economically, in order to support national rebuilding and maintain strong political ties with the Soviet Union.11 Unlike their Japanese counterparts, the return of German POWs from Soviet camps was laden with symbolic meanings in the ideological space of their post-war societies. In post-war Japan, however, the vast majority of the returnees’ personal accounts were forgotten as soon as they were published except for the brief period of the late 1940s and early 1950s when the issue of Siberian POWs gained much political attention. In 1949, there were numerous incidents on the repatriation vessels and at the wharves of Maizuru and the transfer station of Kyoto, involving Japanese returnees who had become avid communists as a result of the Soviet ‘democratization’ movement. Although many soon realized the lies in their Soviet education and abandoned their communist beliefs within several weeks of their return, the Japanese media covered the militant attitude of the returning POWs in detail. At the same time, however, the stories of their experiences remained at the periphery of post-war social consciousness and, if noticed at all, only served to reinforce Japan’s negative impressions of the Soviet Union. Even the end of the Cold War and Japan’s improved communications with Russia did not drastically

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108 • Homecoming change the situation for the former POWs in Japan. The 1991 release of some 40,000 names by the Russian government of those who had perished in Siberia aroused only modest interest in the plight of former Japanese POWs in Siberia. Although the media reported widely on the visits of former POWs and bereaved families to the gravesites of deceased POWs, this temporary rise in interest brought no major paradigmatic change in terms of how the post-war media represented the Japanese POWs in Siberia: they continued to be accorded the lukewarm sympathy reserved for the unfortunate.12 Various social forces encouraged silence about the POWs’ experiences and prevented their personal accounts from gaining a wider audience. This essay represents an effort to articulate the difficulty that they experienced in getting their stories heard in post-war society. Generally, their homecomings were not as welcoming as they had anticipated while in the Siberian labour camps. The Freudian concept of ‘the Uncanny’ (unheimlich) best describes their belated returns to their homeland as their experiences were both a familiar and unfamiliar reminder of a past that post-war Japan preferred to keep at bay. Their stories were perhaps too familiar as they embodied a wartime fear of what would happen to Japan once defeated. As such, they had to be repressed in the post-war. At the same time, to a Japan that had disowned its colonial past, the stories were also unfamiliar. The belated return of the POWs threatened to undermine the comfortable distance from war memories Japan managed to attain within just a few years after defeat. By exploring the specific post-war conditions that surrounded the returnees from Siberia, this essay demonstrates the tangled relations between the returnees’ efforts to articulate their experiences and the popular memories of war in post-war Japanese society. The former POWs first confronted psychological conditions in enunciating their traumatic experiences. Only a limited number of them were willing to relive their painful past in the act of speaking of their experiences. Even when they spoke, their voices were caught in the political terrains of post-war Japan and did not necessarily reach very far. The essay first describes the extreme conditions that the detainees suffered in Siberian camps, and, in the second part, examines the psychological and ontological difficulties that they faced in attempting to speak about their experiences. The final part turns its attention to the political conditions that belittled the actuality of the former POWs’ experiences.

The Struggle for Survival By the time the Soviet Union declared war against the Empire of Japan on 9 August 1945, the Guandong Army that had once boasted of its military might had been reduced to a sorry state. Japan’s desperate fight and its efforts to relocate the units from north-east China to south-east Asia and the Pacific thoroughly

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Japanese POWs in Siberia and their Return • 109 undermined the Guandong Army’s organization. Although forces of 750,000 were stationed in Manchuria and North Korea at the beginning of the two countries’ conflict, there were no original units of the Guandong Army. In order to maintain the façade of a functional military organization against the threat of the Soviet forces, the Guandong Army absorbed new units from mainland Japan, where men under the age of forty were subject to military conscription. Also all the local Japanese males in north-east China below the age of forty-five were called to duty. When the new recruits joined the Guandong Army, it did not even have enough supplies and equipment. They wore worn-out uniforms covered with all kinds of patches, and there were not enough firearms to go around among them. Some of them even carried nineteenth-century rifles.13 There were only fake aircraft made out of plywood at the airports. What little training they received mostly consisted of learning how to throw themselves underneath Soviet tanks with explosives on their backs. Once the Red Army crossed the Soviet-Manchurian and the Soviet-Korean borders on 9 August 1945, the Guandong Army was no threat to its opponent’s superior firepower and armoured units. With a few isolated exceptions, the Japanese forces were not able to hold their defensive lines during the few days of conflict. On 15 August, the Japanese emperor announced on the radio Japan’s acceptance of the conditions specified in the Potsdam Declaration, and, on 19 August, the local Japanese commander surrendered to the Soviet authority and ordered a ceasefire. However, sporadic fighting continued for the next two weeks. At the end of the two countries’ conflict in September, it is estimated that 650,000 Japanese officers and soldiers were in Soviet custody; and 540,000 of them were eventually organized into work battalions and transported to the Soviet territories according to the Soviet Central Committee’s plan to utilize their labour for the reconstruction of its war-devastated country. There were also Japanese civilian males among the captives: the Soviet authorities rounded them up in the occupied areas in order to fill the discrepancy between the lists of personnel that they obtained from the Japanese forces and the actual numbers of soldiers. (Some officers discharged their local recruits from their units of their own volition, and a number of soldiers went absent without leave in the post-conflict confusion.) Their passages to the labour camps, where they spent the next several years, were treacherous and shrouded by deception. The Soviet authorities intentionally led the Japanese captives to believe that they were being transported back to their native land. Battalions were forced to march hundreds of miles to railway stations, from which they boarded the trains to Siberian camp locations. Numerous survivors have testified that the Soviet guards kept nudging them to keep walking while telling them, ‘Tokio Domoi’ ([You are] go[ing] home, Tokyo). The POWs wished to return home desperately enough to believe what they heard. Fukui Hideo reports that, around the end of August 1945, a rumour spread through his battalion,

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110 • Homecoming which was in Soviet custody in northern Manchuria. The rumour claimed that the Soviet authorities would first transport them to Siberia and then to Vladivostok in order to avoid local conflicts between the Nationalists and the Communists in southern Manchuria.14 Numerous other detainees found their last hope in similar rumours.15 Even after realizing that they were heading in the wrong direction on the train – north and then west – many still clung to false hope.16 Betraying their passengers’ desperate hope, the freight trains kept running away from Japan. Even when seeing Lake Baikal, some detainees believed it was the Sea of Japan.17 Although there were of course great variations in what the POWs experienced in Siberia (the conditions varied from camp to camp), it is still possible to draw a composite picture of their experiences from their accounts. Arriving at their labour camps, the soldiers immediately found themselves in a challenging environment. They were housed in crowded buildings equipped with the most primitive facilities. Some battalions were immediately housed in the existing structure, while others were ordered to build their own labour camps (lageri prinuditel’nykh rabot). Coal-burning stoves marginally heated the living quarters against the frigid Siberian winter, while the burning pine tree sap produced as much black soot as light. These buildings were surrounded by tall fences and Soviet guards stood with their machine guns at the top of watchtowers. They regarded anybody who came within a certain distance of the fence as deserters and shot them automatically. The Soviet soldiers that accompanied the Japanese POWs marching between their camps and worksites also had discretion to shoot any ‘deserters’. The returnees reported a number of tragedies caused by trigger-happy Soviet soldiers. The first winter that the POWs experienced in Siberia was the worst. World War II had devastating effects on Soviet agricultural production and distribution systems. There was not enough food for the local people let alone the detainees. The detainees were normally given a slice of dark bread and water, thin kasha for breakfast, and another slice of bread and a small amount of cooked meat and potatoes for dinner. Although extra bread was provided for their lunch in the morning before departing for their work detail, most of them ate it immediately to ease temporarily their perpetual hunger.18 Also there was always a danger that the bread saved for later consumption might be stolen. At a number of camps, the Soviet supervisor embezzled food provisions, and the food distribution was differentiated in order to better motivate the prisoners.19 Watanbe Chiguto, a doctor who was detained in a camp near Elabuga, a city about 550 miles east of Moscow, claims that the individuals in his battalion received only about 50 per cent of the officially announced 2,650 calorie ration until the autumn of 1947.20 The POWs were reduced to hunting for food whenever and wherever possible. Seki Kiyoto, who was detained at Sverdlovsk, the largest city in the Ural Mountains region, reported that he and his fellow detainees hunted for potato peels in a garbage heap, while eating snakes, rats, frogs, cats and dogs.21 Kariyuki Seiji confesses that he even ate

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Japanese POWs in Siberia and their Return • 111 human flesh at his camp in Primorsky Kray, the region across the water from Sakhalin.22 Without adequate bathing facilities, the detainees’ malnourished and fatigued bodies were often infested with lice that spread typhoid fever. Malnutrition and inferior living conditions directly contributed to the large number of deaths that occurred during the first winter (the death rates in some camps reached 30 to 50 per cent).23 Despite a grossly inadequate calorie intake, the POWs were forced to engage in hard and often dangerous labour. Many of the prisoners had had no prior experience of the wide varieties of work (construction in general, railway construction, mining, manufacturing, agriculture, etc) to which they were assigned. A strict work quota (norma) was set for each individual according to his health condition.24 Those who did not meet their quotas were met with punitive reductions of daily rations. Even in the middle of winter, unless the outside temperature plunged below –40° C, prisoners were not excused from their work outside. The external conditions sometimes defined their work schedule: a number of former detainees recollect that, whenever a freight train arrived at the nearby station, they had to rush to unload it regardless of the time of day.25 At the initial stage of detention, the prisoners typically worked as long as ten to fourteen hours a day without any holidays.26 Furthermore, the Japanese Army’s command system remained intact in most of the camps, reflecting the Soviet policy of governing the POWs indirectly through the pre-existing Japanese military organization. Consequently the soldiers with lower ranks continued to suffer in their camps the mental and physical abuse that had been rampant in the Japanese military. Without clear prospects of attaining freedom in the near future, the mental conditions of the POWs deteriorated as well. Many shared the fear that they might die in Siberia: their fear was powerful enough to drive some into desperate acts. Kawamura Katsumi, who was detained in Eastern Siberia, writes about a prisoner who escaped from a coal mine in the middle of winter only to be discovered and shot to death. Kawamura himself also harboured the idea of escape and gradually saved his bread from what little he received. Although he managed to come up with a plausible plan, he completely abandoned it when he discovered one day that all the bread he had saved had been stolen.27 Hiranuma Gyokutarô’s act was another extreme case of desperation. He admits, in a short account of his elevenyear Siberian experience, that he killed two Soviet foremen and seriously wounded another. In recollecting these bloody incidents, he detects his own desperate feelings that ‘since I cannot go home alive, I’ve gotta kill even one or two.’28 Many of those who completely lost their hope for the future succumbed to their wretched conditions in Siberia and never returned to Japan. As their detention was prolonged and the Soviet Union gradually recovered from the devastating effects of the war, the detainees’ living conditions improved. They received more food and even found time and energy for some entertainment

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112 • Homecoming in their camps. Systematic repatriations of the POWs began in 1946 and the majority of the survivors eventually returned to their homeland by 1950. However, their arrival at Japanese shores did not necessarily conclude the detainees’ struggle. The traumatic experiences in their camp had long-lasting effects on their lives in post-war Japan. After returning to Japan in 1956, Hiranuyma Gyokutarô suffered from an acute sense of paranoia that he was under constant surveillance for about a year.29 Ôtsuka Shigeru, who returned to Japan in 1947, kept having nightmares about his experiences in Siberia even into the 1980s.30 Although many tried to make sense of what they had experienced as Soviet POWs, the extremity of their experiences defied easy expression, and the stigma attached to the former POWs in post-war society made their task doubly difficult.

The Psychological and Ontological Conditions of Former POWs It has not been an easy task for the former POWs to discuss their experiences in Siberian camps. For many, the first hurdle to enunciating their traumatic experiences was psychological. Only a limited number of them were willing to relive their painful memories in speaking of the past and, on returning to Japan, many of them chose not to speak about their painful memories at all. When Ishimori Takeo returned from four and half years of detention, his mother could not help but cry every time she heard about his experiences in Siberia. As a result, Ishimori decided never to bring up the topic again.31 On the other hand, Iwamoto Masumi only managed to tell a friend’s bereaved family what had happened to their son after some forty years, readily admitting that he would not have been able to speak of his experiences immediately after his return to Japan.32 For Ishimori, Iwamoto and many others, silence was the only way to reintegrate themselves back into everyday life in post-war Japan. Those who did decide to articulate their past in Siberia were forced to confront the sense of humiliation that they had experienced as POWs, something that came in different shapes and intensities. The writings by Takasugi Ichirô and the poet, Ishihara Yoshirô, provide rare and valuable insights into the nature of the humiliation that they grappled with, though what they describe as their humiliation does not necessarily look the same. Takasugi distances himself from his own experiences, while Ishihara’s humiliation resembles an ontological crisis. Even after Japan’s defeat in the Asia-Pacific War, the sense that becoming a POW was shameful persisted among both the former combatants and non-combatants. In his 1950 account of his Siberian experiences, Takasugi Ichirô writes about his feelings of becoming a POW and recalls a passage from Instructions for the Battlefield, issued to imperial soldiers in January 1941 in the name of Tôjô Hideki, stating ‘One should not accept the disgraceful fate of POWs as long as one is alive.’ This passage was brought to life for him on witnessing a violent incident

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Japanese POWs in Siberia and their Return • 113 where a Russian Communist Youth member beat a Japanese POW with a stick. Through his fellow POW’s pain, the passage acquired a reality for the first time in his mind. Japanese soldiers had been taught to fear the consequence of becoming prisoners of war and their fear was realized in the Soviet camps. Takasugi expresses the vague sense of humiliation that he had for what he suffered in his camps and, although he does not share the strong sense of shame that one of his fellow camp members expressed about becoming a POW, he anticipates the desolate feelings that he would have in seeing his family back in Japan.33 The POWs’ sense of shame was not unfounded in post-war society as the experience of those in other theatres of war demonstrates. Yokota Shôhei survived the Battle of Guam by surrendering to the American forces in 1944, returning from an American POW camp in 1947. Although he then pursued a successful career as a newspaper reporter, everybody in the newspaper office knew Yokota had been a former American POW but none, including Yokota himself, talked openly about his experiences. According to his close colleagues, even in the late 1950s, there were those who whispered behind his back that Yokota had learned his English, which he took full advantage of in his subsequent career, in a POW camp. Despite the fact that the command in Instructions for the Battlefield to choose death over being taken captive had long been deemed ridiculous, discussion of former POW experiences was next to impossible in a society where memories of the fallen heroes of the Asia-Pacific War still lingered.34 Some tried to lessen the stigma attached to their former POW status by pointing to the ‘lesser’ POWs who had surrendered to enemy forces before the end of the war while they, themselves, had fought until the end, but this psychological defence was not necessarily successful.35 In Siberia, some prisoners found consolation in witnessing the plight of Japanese POWs who had been captured by the Soviets in the Nomonhan Incident, the large-scale conflict between the Soviet Army and the Guandong Army in Outer Mongolia in 1939. As these soldiers had been taken captive while the myth of the Guandong Army’s invincibility was still intact, they suffered a far greater self-inflicted stigma, believing that they would be court-marshalled if they returned to Japan and that their families would certainly be disgraced and lose social standing in their communities. As a result of such fears, some gave up the idea of returning home and stayed in the Soviet Union permanently. POWs who were detained after the conclusion of the war took comfort in witnessing the less fortunate who had completely lost ties with Japan. However, the hierarchy of disgrace did not erase the fact that the majority of them faced daily humiliation by the power structure within the Soviet labour camps. Indeed, the price of survival in the camps was too high for some whose experiences can only be characterized as abject. Often POWs survived the treacherous conditions in Siberia by numbing their sensibility to either their own or their fellow inmates’ suffering. Their plight destroyed them in two ways: first by physical

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114 • Homecoming humiliation and then by the fact that they passively accepted their situation. In a series of essays in the late 1960s and early 1970s, the poet Ishihara Yoshirô contemplated the effects that Siberia had on him. Ishihara spent a total of eight years in internment: five years as a prisoner of war and the final three years as a ‘convicted’ criminal for his ‘alleged anti-Soviet activities’ during the war years. Once he had been convicted for his alleged anti-Soviet crimes, he was transported in a train equipped for convicts. At the beginning of their journey, each convict was provided with a salted sardine and bread to last for the next three days, while drinking water was provided in one barrel for each car. A second barrel was to be used for urination. The convicts had long lost the self-control needed for saving their food for the journey and they immediately consumed what they had received. Then, suffering from thirst, they gulped water from the barrel and urinated copiously. The second barrel was not large enough to hold their urine, which inevitably overflowed onto the car’s floor. So, as the journey progressed, they became covered in their own urine and were forced to eat urine-soaked bread. After a while, they ceased to think about the unsanitary conditions of the car. For the sake of survival, they completely desensitized themselves to their own plight. The instinct of selfpreservation became the only guide to their behaviour.36 In such communities, filled with mutual distrust and betrayal, a sense of decency was completely absent. In the POW camps many inmates, seeking reward in the form of food, informed the camp authorities of their fellow captives’ minor illicit activities – most often the possession of items such as handmade sewing needles that were prohibited by camp rules. In exchange for extra provisions, detainees readily sold their personal integrity and dragged down those who tried to maintain a semblance of humanity within the camp.37 Kamei Tsutomu, a survivor of the Mongolian camps, describes this mode of self-preservation at any cost saying that survivors immediately undressed dead POWs and took their clothes either to keep themselves warm or to exchange with local residents in return for much prized salt. After a while, they began to sense who was going to die next, anticipate the event, and monitor each other so as not to miss the opportunity.38 In his post-war efforts to grapple with his eight years of Siberian experiences, Ishihara describes his psychological state as being similar to that of Auschwitz survivors. In reading the psychological exposition of the survivor Viktor E. Frankl, Ishihara found the language through which to articulate his own state of mind at the time. Frankl expressed the cost of surviving the dehumanising effects of Nazi concentration camps by claiming that ‘the best of us did not return’. Similarly, the poet that had remained in Soviet camps for eight years insisted that ‘the best of myself did not return’ either.39 Only by destroying ‘the best of myself’ – his own integrity – did Ishihara manage to survive Siberia. But his survival cost him any meaningful relations with the external world. Upon returning to Japan, he found himself unable to communicate meaningfully with the people surrounding him.

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Japanese POWs in Siberia and their Return • 115 Having destroyed the best of himself in order to survive in the camps, he was unable to articulate his brutal experience upon returning to Japan.40 The so-called democratization movement that began in 1947 and swept through the camps in the following two years was also built on a sense of mutual distrust. At the height of the democratization movement, POWs went along with the antifascist rhetoric lest they became the target of frenzied denunciations. Those who were identified as an anti-Soviet element were collectively denounced and forced to make public apologies. Although many thought the whole thing was a farce, they refrained from voicing their opinion because of their fear. Any hint of criticism would certainly mark the holder of such opinions as a reactionary who deserved to be denounced. Thus, they pretended to be serious about the collective action.41 However, self-preservation and mutual suspicion were often the real hallmarks of the democratization movement that, in effect, taught the POWs to praise the political system that oppressed them. The Japanese leaders of the democratization movement eventually organized a mass expression of the detainees’ gratitude to Stalin through a ‘letter’ that, after several months of elaborate preparation, was delivered to the Kremlin in an ornamental casing.42 The ‘spontaneous’ nature of such a farce was perhaps more humiliating than coercion by force. By adopting the will of their captors’ political system as their own, prisoners of war may have lessened the burden of being in a camp, but they lost the object of their resentment, a resentment that signified their hardship and maintained their integrity. Post-war Japanese society was not a welcoming place for any returning POWs. Wherever they returned from, they were reminders of the painful loss that the nation had suffered, and their personal survival was never widely celebrated. It was indeed extremely difficult to signify POW experience under such circumstances and those who returned from Siberian camps had the added burden of privately grappling with what they had been forced to sacrifice for their survival.43 Their stories could have complemented the narrative of victimhood where Japan was merely a victim of the war – the narrative that the post-war nation eagerly embraced. For many returned POWs, however, what they had experienced in Siberia was too traumatic to recall, and the highly charged political condition of post-war society did not allow them to identify themselves merely as victims.

Utopia or Dystopia In reality, when the soldiers finally returned home and struggled to speak about what they had experienced in the Siberian camps, their efforts were caught up in the fiercely politicized atmosphere of post-war Japan. Socialism offered an attractive political alternative for those Japanese intellectuals who detested the American hegemony in post-war Japan and East Asia. As a result, Japanese communists and other leftist intellectuals jealously guarded images of the Soviet Union

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116 • Homecoming as the embodiment of socialist ideology. They regarded honest revelations of the returnees’ experiences as damaging to the socialist cause and tried to discredit them. For example, through its official daily editorials, the Japan Communist Party (JCP) expressed its official stance toward the issue of Japanese POWs in Siberia. The party categorically denied the validity of many returnees’ accounts by praising the Soviet treatment of the detainees as the following extract demonstrates The last three years’ persistent, groundless anti-Soviet rumours have been crushed by [the report of] the returnees one by one. 1) At Nakhodka, ten to twenty thousand Japanese POWs are always waiting because no [Japanese] ships [are coming to repatriate them]. 2) The returnees are not suffering from malnutrition. They received provisions of 3,000 to 3,500 calories. 3) They did not engage in forced slavery work. It was an eight-hour workday and they enjoyed their work. 4) They were even better treated than the Soviet Union’s own people. 5) The Soviet Union was not responsible for the initial hardship – difficult living conditions and prevalent malnutrition. They were the products of the reactionary officers that maintained and enforced the Imperial Army structure. 6) The Soviet authority did not force the democratization movement [in the camps]. It was a spontaneous struggle against reactionary elements. The returnees told [post-war society] the truth about the camp life and the great advancement that the Soviet Union made. The reality came to frighten the reactionary camps.44

According to this editorial, the detainees had wonderful lives while in the Soviet Union with any hardships stemming not from Soviet policies but from the Japanese government’s lack of effort to repatriate them and from ‘the reactionary [Imperial Army] officers’ in the camps. Through numerous such editorials and articles, the paper tried to discredit the returnees’ reports, summarily dismissing them as reactionary anti-Soviet propaganda simply because they did not fit into the JCP’s vision of the Soviet Union. The party’s ideological pronouncements overrode the actuality of imprisonment that hundreds of thousands of POWs experienced. Numerous Japanese intellectuals who were sympathetic to leftist causes embraced the communist orthodoxy of the Soviet POW issue during the early postwar decades. In the mid-1950s, the Soviet Union invited some 200 Japanese intellectuals to observe Soviet society as part of its propaganda effort. These invited guests participated in tours staged by the Soviet authorities and, on their return, the majority raved about the economic development that the country had achieved, with only a few mentioning the Japanese POWs who still remained in Soviet camps.

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Japanese POWs in Siberia and their Return • 117 One of the invitees, Professor Kuwabara Takeo of the University of Kyoto, made a condescending comment about the reports of returned Japanese POWs published in the January 1954 issue of Chûôkôron, a year before he was invited to the Soviet Union. After expressing his perfunctory congratulations to the returnees, Kuwabara urged that Japan should thank the Soviet Union for the repatriation of Japanese POWs. However, he regretted the fact that the incarceration of so many Japanese had had negative effects on international peace, not because the practice was against international law but because it provided a good excuse for Soviet bashing.45 Kuwabara attempted to guard the image of the Soviet Union by shifting the blame to the returnees themselves. The reports are, in a word, quite boring. At the foundation of the reports is the simple theory that, since one has eyes, one should be able to see everything in front of his eyes. That is not true. We often encounter such examples as how little of the United States somebody sees after staying there for eight years. Moreover, regardless of the appropriateness or the inappropriateness of the reasons [of their writings], those who returned this time were incarcerated for crimes of some kind. Do you seek criticisms of the Yoshida cabinet from somebody who is just released from a Japanese prison after seven years?46

Kuwabara was right in claiming the fallibility of human observations, but his words should also be applied to the intellectuals, including himself, who parroted Soviet apologies without any actual experience of the system. What the POWs provided were mostly first-hand recollections of their experiences in Siberia as political prisoners and some general observations, both positive and negative, on Soviet society and its system. However, Kuwabara was eager to discredit the writers of the reports for their ‘crimes of some kind’. He demonstrated no concern about the fact that the returnees had been imprisoned for ‘political crimes’, many of which were creations of the paranoid Stalinist bureaucratic system. By shifting his discussion to the hypothetical prisoner in Japan, Kuwabara deprives such crimes of their political dimension, writing as if political crimes were equal to other offences as both led to incarceration. If indeed political prisoners had been released in 1953 after seven years of imprisonment in Japan, their criticism of the Japanese political system at the time would have been highly sought after, both inside and outside of Japan. In contrast to Kuwabara’s skewed logic, the repatriated POWs seem to maintain a more self-reflective attitude. One of the contributors of the report, Nakai Yoshiharu, cautions the reader about the possible partiality of his accounts: Since we were imprisoned for war crimes, it was natural that we were treated as prisoners. When pressed into such a position, can I correctly judge the powerful that stood in front of me? If my account contains ‘reactionary words,’ my position in the Soviet

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118 • Homecoming Union may have lead to such judgements. At least, I now believe I am impartial . . . Fair judgement may come after I have had more time, after living a while in the country called Japan.47

Despite his cautionary notes, Nakai’s accounts are hardly reactionary: he reports what he learned in the sphere of everyday life, while refraining from making sweeping remarks. As in the case of many returned POWs, Nakai reports on ordinary Soviet citizens’ lives and the effects Soviet economic policy had on them, information that he gathered through conversations with Soviet citizens. While completely disregarding the actual content of Nakai’s report, Kuwabara takes his self-reflective statement as a sign of the partiality of all POW reports, seeing only what he wanted to see in the reports in Chûôkôron: ‘everybody’s observation is in agreement on the points that the Soviet Union’s productive power has rapidly been growing and its living standard has been improving.’48 His comments demonstrate the desire of Japanese intellectuals to see an alternative to the existing political conditions of post-war Japan – the semi-colonial condition under United States hegemony – as powerful enough to make them blind to the detainees’ plight. Such categorical denials by the JCP and Japanese intellectuals defined the terms of discussion in the early years of post-war Japan. Another prominent Japanese intellectual, Shimizu Ikutarô, offers a fascinating observation on the psychological make-up of the Japanese left. Reflecting on his own feelings in the early post-war years as a prominent leftist intellectual, who later recanted his earlier political belief and assumed a strongly nationalistic position, Shimizu speculated that a deep-seated fear toward the Soviet Union defined Japanese intellectuals’ proSoviet attitude. In an often-quoted passage, Shimizu explains that the liberals’ preference for including the Soviet Union in the impending peace treaty actually stemmed from a political anxiety that they shared with the conservatives: Many of those [liberals] who supported an overall peace [including the Socialist regimes] – including myself – might have been fearful of Russia. Judging from the Soviet Union’s behaviour at the end of the Second World War, we were living right near a country that was completely unpredictable in its behaviour. Who knew when the United States would retreat back to the other side of the Pacific once it reawakens to its isolationist instinct. . . . Many of those who wished an overall peace [with both the capitalist and the socialist regimes] shared a fear toward Russia with those [conservatives] who supported a separate peace [with capitalist regimes].49

Many intellectuals feared that a separate peace with the United States and its allies would make Japan an enemy in the Soviet Union’s eyes and this fear forced them to see the Soviet Union as a desirable partner and a socialist utopia. If Shimizu’s observation is accepted, then it is possible to see that the Japanese POWs in Siberia embodied the unpredictable and outrageous behaviour of the

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Japanese POWs in Siberia and their Return • 119 Soviet Union at the end of World War II.50 The honest accounts of their experiences brought out the fear that the USSR would invade Japan some day, a fear shared by both the left and the right. And, while the political left repressed their fear by discrediting anything that contradicted their utopian vision of the USSR, including the returnees’ soul-searching accounts of their experiences, the right did not do any better in accepting the returnees. The conservatives were inclined to circulate only images that categorically denied the Soviet system: there was no room for a sympathetic description of the Soviet Union. In business establishments and rural communities, a deep distrust toward the Soviet Union and its ideology meant that many returned POWs were refused employment simply because they had come back from the Soviet Union. The media attention on the radicalized returnees did not help their efforts. In 1950, two years after Fukui Hideo returned from Siberia, he submitted an application to the National Police Reserve, the predecessor of the National Defence Forces, which was inaugurated in the same year. His application was rejected because he had returned from Siberia.51 Ishihara Yoshirô encountered similar prejudices while seeking employment. After a long search, he finally managed to find employment as a translator in the business of another former Soviet POW. The returnees’ association with the ‘reds’ made them a potential threat to post-war society. Takasugi Ichirô relates a story that exemplifies how the former POWs were caught in the political schism of the left and the right. Upon returning to Japan in 1949, he gave a talk about the Soviet Union, which he later regretted. Although he tried to be honest in his account and avoid generalized descriptions, his talk merely confirmed the preconceived notions of his audience about the Soviet Union and he was astounded by the way his talk was actually understood. ‘Two diametrically opposite conclusions, both allegedly my own, bounced back to me after a few days. Both of them were transformed into something political and partisan, in narrow definitions of the words, and surprised me.’52 Takasugi’s efforts to present a nuanced discussion of both his experiences in the Siberian camps and the Soviet political system were caught in the political atmosphere of post-war Japan. Both conservatives and liberals found confirmation of their own images of Soviet society in Takasugi’s presentation: a totalitarian regime or a socialist utopia. Finally, it is necessary to consider the perception of the Japanese military that was swiftly produced and embraced in the immediate post-war years: that of a group of warmongers who dragged the rest of Japan into a military conflict nobody else wanted. Self-serving as it was, this fiction functioned well within the larger narrative that transformed Japan into a desirable partner of the United States. The image of Japan rehabilitated as a potentially democratic country that had been victimized by its own military was widely accepted in post-war society.53 With such a narrative in place, the sufferings of military personnel, with the notable exception of kamikaze pilots, never received the degree of attention that was given to the

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120 • Homecoming loss of the women and children, who have generally been regarded as the victims of Japan’s militarism. As an integral part of imperial Japan’s dark past, soldiers were generally excluded from the newly formulated national narrative that posited the majority of Japanese as victims of the Japanese militarists. As a result, POWs in Siberia were never seen as ‘pure victims’, in the way that victims of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were, and their stories remain largely missing from Japan’s popular consciousness. In the 1950s, as Japan regained its independence and began rebuilding its national confidence, heroic war tales multiplied in the media and found an audience. It became possible to produce heroic images of soldiers who had enjoyed initial military success in the Pacific, and even the suicide attacks and the miserable deaths that Japanese soldiers experienced in the later phase of the war became admissible in post-war popular imagination. By their desperate acts and determination to die, Japanese soldiers managed to maintain a sense of agency: they controlled their destiny in sacrificing themselves for the nation. Their ‘sacrifice’ was also construed as a necessary step toward the construction of post-war democratic society. The sense of guilt over surviving the war motivated many in their post-war reconstructions: war deaths would go totally wasted if those who survived the war could not produce a positive outcome. Furthermore, the hardship suffered by soldiers conferred on them the status of victims in Japan’s war efforts. The fact that they suffered unnecessarily and that their deaths were a complete waste because of the incompetent leadership of Japan’s military, allowed them to join the category of ‘victim’ in the Asia-Pacific War. However, there was nothing heroic about the Japanese POWs in Siberia. They were demilitarized after Japan’s defeat at the hands of the Red Army and Japan’s military leaders were not held responsible for what happened afterwards. Although there have been efforts to highlight the annihilation of the border defence units by the Soviet forces and the hasty retreat of the Guandong army’s leaders and their families, it remains true that Japanese POWs were devoid of agency in determining their own destiny and true that the majority of Japanese detainees’ deaths and suffering occurred in the Soviet labour camps. Thus, they were the victims of the Soviet system, not of Japan’s militarism and, as such, did not have a proper place in the narratives of Japan’s post-war national identity, which embraced the death and destruction of the war as a selfless sacrifice for the future generation.

The Continuing Struggles of the Former POWs The two conditions discussed in this essay – the stigma of being taken captive and the fear of the Soviet Union – have gradually weakened their hold on post-war Japanese society. In the peace and prosperity of post-war Japan, the impulse to choose death over capture became completely alien to its new generations and, in

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Japanese POWs in Siberia and their Return • 121 the 1990s, North Korea displaced the Soviet Union as an object of fear in the popular imagination.54 The changes in popular consciousness and the political climate, combined with the awareness that their time is limited, have encouraged more former detainees to publish personal accounts of their experiences. Hundreds of new titles have been recently added to internet bookstores’ lists. Typically, however, such works are printed in small numbers to be distributed to the authors’ friends and family members, and the majority of them do not make it to the shelves of ordinary bookstores.55 The accounts are narrated mostly for an audience that has personally shared in such difficult experiences, often for the survivors themselves. In stark contrast to the tales of kamikaze pilots that keep receiving renewed attention, the issue of the Japanese POWs in Siberia still only exists at the margins of popular imagination and scholarly consideration.56 A recent musical production by the theatre group, Shiki, demonstrates the marginalized status of the returnees from the Soviet Union, despite its intention to reintroduce their images into post-war Japanese popular consciousness. The musical is titled after the 1948 popular song, Ikoku no oka (A hill of foreign land), and its plot is broadly based on Nishiki Masa’aki’s historical fiction, Mugansan ni yoroshiku (Send my regards to Mr Mugan).57 Nishiki traces the turbulent life of Konoe Fumitaka, which ended in a Siberian camp in 1956. (Fumitaka was a son of Konoe Fumimaro, during whose prime ministership Imperial Japan entered into the belligerency with China.) The musical rescues Fumitaka from historical obscurity as a nationalist who dedicated his life to peace between Japan and China. The Soviet authority finally kills him by injection because he refuses to become a Soviet agent. He lives as a liberal and dies as a nationalist for his nation, much like the kamikaze in the post-war idealization. On stage, the complex experiences of the POWs are reduced to signs of general oppression and used merely to highlight the easy-to-recognize heroic narrative. Although the musical, Ikoku no oka, gave some publicity to the returnees from the Soviet camps, its sentimental treatment of the former POWs hardly affected their overall marginality in the popular consciousness. Rather, the musical’s privileging of a heroic nationalist figure in its dramaturgy testifies that post-war Japan is still in search of more inclusive narratives of the Asia-Pacific War to acknowledge the long, arduous and unheroic struggles with war memories. The post-war narrative that posited Japan solely as a victim in the international conflict has been widely criticized both inside and outside Japan. While scholars and the media successfully highlighted the selective nature of post-war Japanese remembrance by focusing on Japan’s colonial aggression against other Asian countries, the task of urging and assisting post-war Japan to devise alternative narratives that can embrace what the binary of victimizer and victim cannot fully encompass still remains. The tales of the experiences of Japanese POWs in Siberia still demand a hearing in their homeland.

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–10– The Internment of Returning Soviet Prisoners of War after 1945 Pavel Polian

During World War II more than 8.7 million Soviet citizens were deported from the Soviet Union by the Nazis, mainly into the Third Reich. Of this number 3.2 million were Soviet POWs, distributed in hundreds of camps (Stalags) and work details, but they represented only a part of the total of 5.7 million Soviet POWs captured by the Germans. The rest either died or were killed during their captivity, with those of Jewish origin being selected for immediate extermination. Under the terms of the Yalta agreement, about 1.9 million Soviet POWs liberated by the Western powers were forcibly repatriated to the USSR during and after the end of World War II, while the remainder managed to stay in the West. Of those who were returned, some were remobilized into the Red Army, or mobilized into so-called working battalions. A large number, including all the officers, were put into the so-called spetscontingent (special contingents), where they were investigated regarding the extent of their betrayal during the war. They were treated as if they were traitors who deserved to be executed but who had been forgiven by the victorious Motherland. As a rule they were sent to spetsposelenie (special settlements) for a term of six years in the most remote and climatically severe regions, such as Kolyma, and deprived of the right to leave. After discharge they were prohibited from living in Moscow, Leningrad or Kiev, in the border areas or in specific regions such as the three Baltic republics and the whole of Moldavia. Many were given a supplementary sentence under a decree issued by the Ministry for State Security on 24 December 1951,1 which sanctioned thorough checks on the files of released spetspereselentsy (those from special settlements) and, if compromising materials were found, arrest and trial. Managers of production facilities were encouraged to take advantage of the situation by having others who had supposedly been released ‘fixed’ or tied to a specific area, so that that they would remain as a permanent and stable workforce that was also free of charge. Former POWs who successfully passed through this legal screening process still had fewer rights than other Soviet citizens. They were not recognized as having participated in the war and their time of imprisonment was not counted either as 123

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124 • Homecoming military service or recorded as work. Even their reduced rights were not upheld and, perhaps most astonishing of all, was the fact that former concentration camp prisoners and participants in the anti-Nazi resistance movement faced the worst fate; distrust, tough checks and even labour camps in the North or in the Gulag system. It was assumed that they had been ‘contaminated’ by the enemy. The death of Stalin resulted in a certain alleviation of the regime and a long process of social and political rehabilitation, which began in 1955 and continued for forty years. A commission headed by Marshal Georgy Zhukov was established on 19 April 1956 to investigate the discrimination and the lack of civil rights afforded to POWs, but nothing practical was done. Only in the 1990s were most of the discriminatory provisions legally reversed. Nevertheless the actual policy of discrimination was not reversed and this can be seen most clearly in the question of compensation payments to former Soviet POWs for their forced labour in Germany. As the provisions of the various relevant international treaties did not actually apply in this case, the German foundation in charge of compensation, ‘Memory, Responsibility and Future’, was able to exclude the Soviet POWs from consideration with the consent of the relevant authorities in Russia.

Soviet POWs and Soviet Regulations about Captivity The juridical vacuum that was created by the non-assignment of the USSR to the Geneva Convention of 1929, was partly filled by ‘The Statute of POWs’, a decree approved by the TsIK (Central Executive Committee) and SNK (Council of People’s Commissars) of the USSR on 19 March 1931,2 as a convenient substitute for the lack of adherence to the Convention. Inevitably, the statute was written in the light of the Convention. At its promulgation on 27 March 1931, it was argued that there were three basic assumptions at its core.3 First, it was to create a regime for POWs in the USSR that was the equivalent, if not better, than that guaranteed by the Convention. Second, to issue a brief law (forty-five items at all) that would not reproduce details of all guarantees that were granted by the Geneva Convention so that these would form the basis for further instructions and other by-laws. Third, to establish the status of POWs in accordance with Soviet principles of law (and in particular to outlaw privileges for officers). Thus, because the Soviet Statute as a whole guaranteed the maintenance of conditions for POWs equivalent to those stipulated by the Convention, expert opinion was that both documents satisfied the principle of mutuality. It appears, however, that the presence of the only item about the concession of political rights on the basis of class affiliation (or, in other words, about discrimination) is more than enough to cast some doubt on this conclusion. It should be noted that ‘The Statute of POWs’ of 1931 was in force for just over ten years before it was replaced by a new ‘Statute of POWs’, passed on 1 July 1941

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Internment of Returning Soviet POWs • 125 in the immediate aftermath of the German attack on the Soviet Union.4 Whereas in the 1931 version the fate of POWs was to have been governed by a rather ephemeral organization named TsUPLENBEZh (Central Managing Department of Captives and Refugees), to be organized on the day of mobilization and on the basis of the state of emergency,5 in the 1941 version they were under the control of the more tangible NKVD (People’s Commissariat of Internal Affairs). Thus the NKVD became the sole arbiter of whether a POW worked or not, where he worked, how much he was paid and how much he was given to eat. It is striking that in both Soviet statutes on POWs, questions about Soviet soldiers being captured were not addressed.6 The explanation for this lies in the realm of propaganda. Soldiers of the Red Army were never to surrender or to give themselves up as prisoners. He who was killed had a minimum guarantee of honour and recognition,7 but being taken prisoner was considered as treachery and for a long time Soviet POWs were officially referred to as ‘former servicemen’.8 It should be noted that, besides Soviet prisoners taken in the field, there were also the so-called ‘okruzhentsy’ – nearly 1 million servicemen who had been surrounded but who had not been taken prisoner: either breaking through the lines back to their own forces, ‘dissolving’ among the local population or, more often, joining the partisans. If they had broken out of encirclement, they were not permitted to return to the front (at least in 1941) and were usually sent to the trade armies at the home front where the regime resembled that of the Gulags. Later they were sent to penal units. According to Stalin’s law, both POWs and ‘encircled servicemen’ fell under the action of different paragraphs of article 193 of the Criminal Code of the USSR and under the analogous article 58 of the Criminal Code of the RSFSR. Officers who had broken out of encirclement were tried under clause 193–21, ‘unwarranted disobedience of battle orders by a leader for the purpose of favouring the enemy’. Servicemen who surrendered themselves were charged with ‘unwarranted leaving of a unit or a place of service’ (193–7), ‘escape from a unit’ (193–8), ‘unwarranted leaving of a unit in a tactical situation’ (193–9), or ‘surrendering oneself when it was unjustified by the tactical situation’ (193–22). In dealing with these offences, it appears that the military lawyers did not trouble themselves by studying the ‘tactical situation’ too much and falling into captivity was, therefore, considered as a grave military crime that equated with desertion or flight to the enemy and was categorized as a form of high treason and punished accordingly. Those convicted were subject to a military execution and confiscation of their property. In fact, even being under enemy occupation was considered a crime and groundless suspicions of high treason fell on practically everybody who had to live side by side with the enemy. As occupied territories were gradually liberated, the registration of inhabitants and their conscription into the Red Army revealed many ‘encircled servicemen’ who were subjected to a prompt investigation and immediate committal

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126 • Homecoming to penal units. Those who were really suspected of anti-Soviet activity were sent to special camps.9 It seemed, however, insufficient to have only civil statutes to deter servicemen from contemplating surrender. The Resolution of the State Committee of Defence (GKO) of 16 July 1941 legitimated extrajudicial reprisals against ‘traitors’ as well. On 12 August 1941, Stalin as the Narkom (People’s Commissar) for Defence of the USSR ordered all military councils to try medium-level and senior commanders who had left positions without an order from military headquarters.10 Four days later, the General Headquarters of the Red Army issued the notorious order No. 270.11 According to this order, all commanders and political instructors who surrendered were to be considered as malicious deserters, and when they were caught, they were to be subject to summary public execution. Their families were to be arrested and families of ordinary soldiers who were taken prisoner were to be deprived of state support. These were by no means empty threats. From the beginning of the war until 10 October 1941, special departments and barrage detachments of NKVD forces responsible for the defence of the home front arrested 657,364 servicemen who were absent from their units or deserted from the front. Most (632,486) were formed into units and sent to the front, while the special departments detained the remaining 25,878. They were then categorized: deserters (8,772), propagators of provocative rumours (3,987), cowards and panicmongers (2,643), traitors (2,621), men with a self-inflicted wound (1,671), spies (1,505), saboteurs (308) and others. By orders of the special departments or through sentences handed down by military tribunals, 10,221 were executed, including 3,321 in front of their comrades.12 Since it was impossible for the state simply to gloss over the enormous losses of POWs and deserters suffered by the Red Army, it was necessary to react to this situation. On 8 September 1941, V.I. Nosov, The Chief Military Procurator of the Red Army gave an elucidation of the order for arresting deserters and servicemen returned from captivity: special departments had a right to arrest such people without having a procurator’s sanction in advance, but with official registration of the sanction being backdated if the grounds for arrest were confirmed: Persons who have surrendered without resistance are traitors and are therefore culpable to the highest degree, not to mention the fact that among those returning from captivity there are quite a number of persons who were recruited by fascists for espionage and diversionary activity. Persons returning from captivity can be acquitted from responsibility only in cases where the inquest proves that they were taken prisoner in a helpless condition and could not offer resistance and that they were not released from captivity by the enemy or were rescued by our forces (partisans).13

On 27 December 1941, GKO resolution was issued that regulated the investigation and screening of ‘former servicemen of the Red Army’ who had escaped

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Internment of Returning Soviet POWs • 127 capture by breaking out of encirclement or who had been released from captivity.14 A day later, NKVD Commissar Beria ordered the creation of ten special NKVD camps in rear areas of European Russia to receive these men from Army assembly deportation points and screen them for traitors, spies and saboteurs.15 It is significant that the NKVD’s Board of POW Affairs (the future GUPVI) controlled these special camps, the same organization that was responsible for enemy POWs. The Army assembly deportation points were under the Commander for the Rear Areas of the Army (Nachalnik Tyla Krasnoj Armii).16 Their functions included the assembly (concentration) of liberated former servicemen, their medical inspection and dispatch to the special NKVD camps by troop trains for special investigation or screening. Special departments of the NKVD carried out thorough personal investigations into all these men. Those identified as traitors, spies and deserters were put into camp prisons, and their cases were passed to Special Meetings of the NKVD, the others were passed to military registration and enlistment offices (by region).17 Later, on 4 November 1944, a GKO resolution legitimized the practice of sending all former POW officers who had been investigated in special camps to penal battalions at the front. Peculiarly, members of a prisoner’s family were also held criminally responsible for his actions. As early as 28 June 1941, two orders were issued by the NKVD, NKGB and the Procurator’s Office of the USSR concerning the families of ‘traitors’ who had been sentenced in their absence.18 On 24 June 1942 the GKO issued a further resolution,19 which stipulated the arrest and a five year exile for parents, husbands and wives, adult sisters and brothers and children of persons, sentenced in their presence or absence according to the clause 58(i.a) of the Criminal Code. (Such punishments were not imposed if the family included a soldier of the Red Army, a partisan, or someone decorated with orders and medals of the USSR.)20 The same sanctions were extended to ‘deserters, those engaged in gangsterism, armed robbery and counter-revolutionary insurgent activity’ as persons under the jurisdiction of the clause 58(i.b) (high treason).21 In accordance with these GKO decrees, the Chief of the Central Board of Military Tribunals of People’s Commissariat of Justice (Narkomyust) of the USSR issued a directive on 26 October 1942, designed to speed up actions against members of families of traitors and deserters. Thus once sentences had been approved by Military Councils, the Chairmen of Army and Navy Military Tribunals at the fronts were obliged to direct cases and copies of sentences immediately to the Central Board for onward transmission to the NKVD so that sanctions against families could be carried out.22 On 28 July 1942, Stalin issued the notorious order No. 227, ‘Not a step backwards’. It stipulated military execution for panic-mongers and cowards, the creation of penal battalions (for officers) and companies (for soldiers), barrage detachments, and other measures to prevent the Red Army from retreating.23 A

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128 • Homecoming GKO resolution of 21 January 194324 recognized the need to prioritize mobilization after screening, but at the same time introduced the notion of ‘doubtful persons’, which is indicative of the dominant extra judical approach. In April 1942 two further important decrees were issued. The first, entitled ‘About punishment measures for traitors and betrayers and about introducing penal servitude as a punishment measure for these persons’,25 and the second ‘About punishment measures for German-fascist villains, who are guilty of murders, torture of the Soviet civil population and captured Red Army men, for spies, traitors of the number of the Soviet citizens and for their accomplices’.26 The second decree, proposed for all the above, mentioned a public hanging: bodies of the hanged men must be left on gallows for several days, in order that everybody should know the punishments and retribution will overtake those who carry out violence and reprisals against the civilian population and who betrays the Motherland. Wagenlehner seems to have been correct in suggesting that the leitmotif of that decree was the words ‘vengeance and frightening’.27 This decree was deemed to have ‘worked well’, especially in the post-war years when it was used to convict Vlasov, Krasnov and other high-ranking collaborationists, and for the mass conviction of German POWs in 1949 as well.28 These decrees, of course, were not divulged. Other texts were intended for the international community, for example, circulars issued by the NKID (People’s Commissariat of Foreign Affairs) of the USSR, intended for foreign governments with whom the USSR maintained diplomatic relations. These contained information on crimes of Germans against the Soviet POWs. Thus the idea of captured Red Army soldiers as deserters and traitors persisted throughout the war and for many decades thereafter. In effect, the brutal attitude of the Soviet High Command towards these men was comparable to that inflicted on them by the Wehrmacht or the SS.

Former Soviet POWs as Repatriates, their Discrimination and the Process of Political and Social Rehabilitation The problem of checking (or screening) the population occurred in all the territories liberated by the Red Army. Such populations were often quite a heterogeneous mixture of civilians and partisans with POWs, defined as ‘former servicemen of the Red Army having been in captivity or encircled by the enemy’, also abundant among them. These POWs were collected under armed escort and screened at army muster points (one per army). In October 1944, Soviet troops crossed the pre-war border of the USSR, and then faced the problem of the ‘repatriation’ of Soviet citizens. The Yalta Agreement envisioned the transfer of all Allied citizens back to the state whose nationality they possessed: in effect a forced repatriation. Central organizations were constituted in October 1944 to deal with repatriation, army (for

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Internment of Returning Soviet POWs • 129 prisoners of war) and front (army group) muster and collecting-transit points (sborno-peresylnye punkty, SPP) were arranged for the civilian population. A special decree of the State Defence Committee29 ‘About the transit of former prisoners of war, former Red Army servicemen, liberated by the Soviet and Allied troops’,30 prescribed that they should all be sent to the USSR to special reserve regiments of military districts where they were to be screened for between one and two months by the NKVD31 and by the SMERSH counterespionage service.32 Those who passed through this check without arousing suspicion were reintegrated into the Red Army, while those who were deemed to be collaborators were sent to special camps for further investigation. All officers who had been prisoners and who were already in NKVD special camps, together with those who had arrived from Finnish captivity, were sent to assault battalions, while sergeants and ordinary soldiers were transferred to industrial work or used at NKVD construction sites. According to two directives (both dated 18 January 1945) issued by General of the Army T. Khrulev33 and the SNK SSSR Representative for Repatriation, F. Golikov,34 repatriates were to be ‘sorted’ into six categories, three of which included so-called ‘former prisoners of war’. Soldiers and sergeants were to be sent to Army SPP (Collecting Transit Points) and, after checks by SMERSH, they were to be sent to Army and Army Group reserve regiments. Officers were to be sent to NKVD special camps, as were prisoners of war (as well as civilians) who had served in Nazi formations (vlasovtsy), policemen and other suspects. By 1 March 1946, a total of 5,352,963 Soviet citizens had been repatriated, including 1,825,774 (34.1 per cent) who had been POWs. These included 1,250,758 (68.5 per cent) soldiers, 195,350 (10.7 per cent) sergeants and 379,666 (20.8 per cent) officers from junior lieutenants to colonels.35 According to a sample on the same date 57.8 per cent of repatriates were allowed to go home, 19.1 per cent were remobilized into the army, 14.5 per cent were enrolled in labour battalions of the People’s Commissariat of Defence (Narkomat Oborony), 6.5 per cent were transferred for NKVD disposal and 2.1 per cent were still working for Soviet military units and offices abroad.36 Officially, repatriates had many rights restored as early as 1945, but in real life these ‘rights’ meant nothing. A suspicious attitude, and ‘complete mistrust’ of the repatriates as a category of citizens, ran through Soviet society all the way up to Stalin himself. Later on, when the notorious campaign against cosmopolitanism and everything foreign had started, the attitude of mistrust towards repatriates became even worse, causing them in turn to shrink in their shells, hide their bitter past and be ashamed and afraid of it.37 In the case of former Soviet servicemen, their status was not clarified for a long time, even after the war ended. A decree of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of 7 July 1945 ‘about the amnesty due to the victory over Hitlerite Germany’ essentially ‘forgave’ all soldiers and sergeants who had not collaborated with

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130 • Homecoming Vlasov. Thus former prisoners of war were split into two categories based on their age: one category was demobilized on general terms, the other (whose age did not make them eligible for demobilization) was enrolled into reserve military units. There they were engaged in military training and simultaneously once again screened by counter-espionage and political bodies. Those obtaining a ‘positive’ certification (with a wording: ‘was not involved in anything’) were sent to the front line. In total, for the period from October 1944 to March 1946, 1,055,925 repatriates were returned to the Red Army, 268,794 in 1944, 779,406 in 1945 and 7,725 in 194638 and subsequently made notable contributions to military actions in both the European39 and the Pacific theatres of military operations. Other repatriates were forcibly recruited (in a manner reminiscent of the Nazis) into the so-called ‘permanent industry staff’. ‘Labour battalions’ made up of these men were employed in various fortification activities, both in the front line and in the rear of the advancing Red Army. For these men, labour service did not end at the end of the war, as there was still plenty of work. According to a GKO decree of 18 August 1945, they were to be sent to coal mining and black metallurgy enterprises or into timber cutting. Former servicemen and those subject to call-up who had been captured by the Nazis and served in the special units of the German Army under the command of General Vlasov (vlasovtsy), and policemen were sent to special settlements (spetsposeleniya) for six years under the terms of the same decree.40 On 1 January 1946, 608,095 repatriates were serving in such battalions, including 344,448 former POWs and 263,647 former civilians (including numerous women). After a long period of forced labour abroad they were now subjected to an equally long period of forced labour in their homeland. People were ultimately demobilized from labour battalions in just the same way as from the army, according to age categories. However, even when the person achieved the age of demobilization, he (she) was not released and allowed to go home, but was attached to the enterprises and construction sites where they were working. Only the disabled and the most elderly of the battalion workers had the right to leave the enterprise and then only to return to their place of permanent residence.41 There is extensive correspondence with these individuals in the files of the Office Responsible for Repatriation. They had hoped that they were subject to the Decree of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet that dealt with the demobilization of the elderly and specialists from the army. Most got only a few lines signed by Colonel Mitropolsky (Head of the Department of Employment of Returned Citizens of the USSR) essentially outlining that the law on demobilization covered only the soldiers and junior officers and not the staff of labour battalions, ‘as you work in industry’. This implied that those in the labour battalions were no longer considered as being in military service and that they would not be dismissed from the labour battalion without a further special order.42 It was not until a decree of USSR Council of Ministers on 30 September 194643 that the labour legislation, as

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Internment of Returning Soviet POWs • 131 well as the rights and benefits to which the ‘free’ workers and specialists of the same plants and construction sites were entitled, was extended to these men. As for the so-called spetscontingent created from the repatriates, it should be emphasized that these included not only POWs but also collaborators. In 1944–5, military repatriates were transferred to the NKVD spetscontingent by train.44 By 10 January 1946, the total number held in spetscontingent was 227,266, including 111,841 former servicemen, and 100,392 civilians.45 However as early as 1 March 1946, the size of the spetscontingent of repatriates had grown by 50 per cent to 339,618.46 This was due to the fact that in January 1946 the vlasovtsy held by the PFL Screening Department of the NKVD were enlisted into spetscontingent when the PFL was disbanded and transferred to the GULAG system.47 The Soviets in the vlasovtsy included not only members of Russian Liberation Army units (Russkaya Osvoboditelnaya Armia) headed by General Vlasov, but also other servicemen and policemen from Nazi units. In 1946–7, a total 148,079 vlasovtsy were sent to special settlements and, before departure, they were told something like this: All you rascals deserve only shooting with expropriation as patricides. But following the victory, the Motherland shows great leniency to you, the skunks, and instead of ‘extreme penalty’ sends you to the special settlement for six years.48 Vlasovtsy were widely dispersed and even more severely treated than other categories of the special contingents. Of the initial groups taken ‘out of the Gulag’, they were the only ones sent to Kolyma and to work in the Norilsk and Uhta combines of the NKVD, in the Pechora coal fields, and to timber cutting operations in the upper Kama river in the Molotov region. In 1951–2, when the six-year terms of the vlasovtsy were about to expire, it was secretly decided that they should be compelled to stay in the same places.49 Their status only changed two years after Stalin’s death, and ten years after the victory in the war, when on 17 September 1955, a Supreme Soviet decree, ‘About the amnesty of Soviet citizens collaborating with occupants during the Great Patriotic War of 1941-1945’ was published. Under this decree, persons sent to special settlements for collaborating with the fascist occupiers were released from both the settlements and from exile. As for the political rehabilitation of repatriates, virtually all the ‘efforts’ made in this field in the 1950s ignored the interests, and even the very existence of, citizens already repatriated to the USSR. The amnesty of 17 September 1955 had virtually no impact on these people as its objective was to deal with the nevozvrashchentsy (defectors), the vlasovtsy left in the West. Only Khrushchev’s ‘thaw’ (Ottepel), and the establishment of Zhukov’s commission finally extended the clauses of this amnesty the following year to those inside the USSR and to mitigate this injustice. On 7 December 1955, the CPSU Central Committee issued a decree implying that collaborators from among former POWs living in the West would not be tried for military crimes stipulated in the Criminal Code if they were to return. This

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132 • Homecoming prompted a flood of letters to the Central Committee from those repatriates (mostly former POWs) who had only collaborated with the Nazis through forced labour but who had, nonetheless, been convicted under the appropriate clauses of the Criminal Code. There was no mention in the decree about their rehabilitation or the possibility of an amnesty. Subsequently, on 19 April 1956, the CPSU Central Committee Presidium established a commission headed by Georgy Zhukov (at that time Minister of Defence), which was given the task of investigating the precise status of former Soviet POWs.50 In less than seven weeks, the commission had submitted a report in which, for the first time in the history of the repatriation, the illegal treatment meted out to POWs both during and after the war was acknowledged and proposals were made to correct the excesses perpetrated against them. The commission laid all the responsibility for such excesses on the NKVD, headed by Ministers Beria and Abakumov, although SMERSH, headed by the same Abakumov, was not in fact a structure within the NKVD, but was part of the army and was therefore directly subordinate to Stalin. The commission’s proposals included orders to make amendments to military statutes, but the stipulation that capital sentences for prisoners who had surrendered voluntarily could not be commuted was retained, as was the well-known clause in army field manuals: ‘The Soviet warrior does not surrender himself to captivity and should fulfil his military duty to the end on the battlefield’.51 A new joint resolution of CPSU Central Committee and of USSR Council of Ministers was issued on 29 June 1956. Signed by Secretary of CPSU Central Committee N. Khrushchev and Chairman of USSR Council of Ministers N. Bulganin, it was entitled: ‘On the removal of the last of the gross violations of the law in relation to former prisoners of war and members of their families’.52 Unlike the draft submitted by Zhukov’s commission, this decree did not include the sections condemning the personality cult associated with Stalin and the practice of exempting the POW issue from army authority. In particular the resolution stated: although the use of illegal and provocative methods of investigation during screening did uncover some persons who really have committed crimes, a great number of army servicemen, who were decently fulfilling their military duties and who have been blameless in captivity, were also subject to repression without good cause. Families of captured servicemen were incorrectly deprived of cash and other benefits for the entire period of the war, regardless of the circumstances of their breadwinner being taken captive. The practice of reducing officers to the ranks without due process and sending them to assault battalions was a gross violation of the law. Servicemen who committed heroic escapes from captivity or who displayed feats of courage and resistance in captivity were not acknowledged in any way. Since 1945, all released and repatriated prisoners of war, even if there was no compromising evidence against them, were collected in battalions and as punishment sent for permanent work to coal mining enterprises and the timber industry located in

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Internment of Returning Soviet POWs • 133 remote areas. Organs of State security continued to prosecute former prisoners of war arbitrarily, and moreover many of them were subject to repssirovany (repression). Various illegal restrictions in regard to former prisoners of war and members of their families in the field of employment, public activities, education and relocation, etc. were widespread.53

The resolution condemned ‘the practice of sweeping political mistrust against former Soviet Army servicemen, who had been in captivity or encircled by the enemy, as contradictory to the interests of the Soviet State’. The Supreme Council of USSR extended the Provisions of Amnesty Decree of 17 September 1955 to them and the Ministry of Justice, Office of Public Prosecutor, and Justice Commission of Council of Ministers were ordered to reopen cases and to rehabilitate those who had been subjected to repression without good cause. They were also empowered to issue the necessary clarifications and amendments to existing laws, so that the terms of captivity, encirclement and special screening (if captivity was involuntary and if the prisoner of war did not commit crimes against the Motherland in captivity) would be included in the individual’s term of army service and total labour service as a period of continuous service.54 A year after the Soviet amnesty for defectors, the former prisoners of war who had returned to the USSR, and who had not committed any crimes against the state, were given the same rights as the defectors. These half measures served to preserve a form of discrimination against repatriates in Soviet society that had been formally condemned but by no means eliminated. For example, until 1992 the standard employment questionnaire retained the enquiry: ‘Were you or your relatives in captivity or in occupied territory?’ In theory, denying former prisoners of war the right to be called veterans or at least participants in the war and thereby denying them the advantages of resulting benefits (cash, pension benefits and discounts on apartment rents) was actually illegal, but there was no one to protest on behalf of the POWs. Indeed, they were left as victims of an apparently merciless state terror that continued to regard them with sweeping mistrust as ‘traitors’ and ‘accomplices’. Although this occurred within the sphere of internal policy, the same policy of non-recognition and discrimination can be observed in the sphere of foreign policy. It is well known that the Nuremberg Tribunal had condemned the Nazi practice of deporting citizens of occupied countries as forced labourers as a ‘crime against humanity’, and as being in contravention of the international treaties of 1890 and 1929 that categorically banned slavery. Based on this, many Western states made claims for appropriate compensation. In the London Agreement on Debts (February 1953), the West German government managed to insist on a different definition from the one accepted at Nuremberg, namely that the practice was regarded not as ‘illegal’, but as a ‘labour measure conditioned by war’, and thus formally under the jurisdiction of reparation law. However neither the USSR, nor

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134 • Homecoming its Eastern European allies, took part in the London Agreement or the earlier Luxembourg agreements of July 1951 on restitution and compensation to the victims of Nazism. Nor did they take advantage of the ten-year term stipulated for joining these agreements (these terms expired in 1961 and in 1963). All this has deprived the Soviet side of any leverage it might have had in the compensation issue. Having refused reparations and avoided negotiations on debts and compensation for the genocide of its Jewish population, the USSR (and the other socialist countries of Eastern Europe) has displayed a unique, if not criminal, indifference to the interests of millions of their citizens, effectively excluding them from the right to make any worthwhile claim for compensation for their suffering for more than fifty-five years. In reality, only the state had the right to make claims for compensation through negotiation with the West German government or via the various intergovernmental agreements. Poland never agreed with this attitude and the USSR was seemingly the only state subjected to Nazi aggression where this issue was never officially discussed. Of course, the position of a state that did not display humanism towards its compatriots, whose interests it should protect, was inevitably vulnerable from an ethical viewpoint. It was hardly in a position to claim material or legal benefits from the countries with whom it was negotiating.

Former Soviet POWs and the Humanitarian Settlement between the Federal Republic of Germany and the Successor States of the USSR in the 1990s The ‘tradition’ of discrimination and ignoring the interests of citizens who had suffered under Nazism continued into the 1990s. Official negotiations between the USSR and the German government only began in 1993, when the major negotiations over Germany unification were ended and the most politically advantageous moment had been lost. Alas, the Soviet government only remembered justice half a century after the war, while at the same time stubbornly refusing the majority of Nazism’s victims any benefits. The issue of German compensation was finally resolved during negotiations between Helmut Kohl and Boris Yeltsin in mid-December 1992. However the President of Russia did not manage to extract more than 1 billion DM from the Germans, the final amount referred to in item 6 (‘On Humanitarian Settlement’) of the Joint Statement made by the two leaders. After further negotiations including representatives of Russia, the Ukraine and Byelorussia in Bonn on 23 January 1993, it was decided to split this amount between the three states in a ratio 40:40:20, and to establish similar foundations for ‘Mutual Understanding and Reconciliation’ in Moscow, Kiev and Minsk.55 Victims of Nazi crimes were to be the recipients of German compensation, or more precisely of voluntary

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Internment of Returning Soviet POWs • 135 humanitarian aid, and thus it was the responsibility of these foundations to define the categories of victims. However, it appears that all three foundations have shamefully ignored ‘prisoners of war’.56 Responding to the question about POWs included in the so-called ‘Stuckenbrock Appeal’ of 24 April 1994, V.A. Knyazev, then Chairman of the Russian Foundation said that ‘a position was taken to pay compensation only to the prisoners of concentration camps’.57 The author of this chapter has repeatedly heard, in conversations with V.A. Knyazev and other officials of the foundation as well as in conversations with diplomats from Russia Ministry of Foreign Affairs, that the Germans objected strongly to the eligibility of prisoners of war. This argument was then used to ‘justify’ the non-acceptance of POWs as victims of Nazism. The first objection was that prisoners of war are just prisoners of war, they cannot be categorized as ‘victims of Nazism’. This does, in fact, mirror the official viewpoint of the Federal German government under both Helmut Kohl and subsequently Gerhard Schroeder. As early as 12 August 1992, the German Ministry of Finance had informed the Chairman of the Association of Former Soviet Prisoners of War, G.A. Holny, of the official German line that international law does not allow for pursuit of individual claims against the state, that all issues and claims had to be within the framework of reparation claims to be settled at state level, and the USSR had abandoned its reparation rights in the statement of 22 August 1953. Furthermore, by stressing that it was the responsibility of the Russian Foundations to establish the basis for the distribution of aid, the German government carefully sidestepped any responsibility.58 A government response to a Bundestag question tabled by G. Erler in February 1998, made the same point stating that the ‘Mutual Understanding and Reconciliation Foundations’ were established to make payments to the persons persecuted under Nazism, and according to the intergovernmental agreement of 30 March 1953, POWs were not included in this category. (This is a truly shocking statement, if we recall the tragic fate of the millions who perished as a result of this ‘non-persecution’ or died after the war.) Obviously realizing the insecurity and ambivalence of its stated position, the German government added a wording already familiar to us: ‘According to international law, captivity is not a reason to obtain compensation’. Although this statement is true in general, it is not true in this particular case as, in 1993–4, it was not compensation that was being discussed, but a humanitarian settlement. In other words, a voluntary act by the German regime that did not require any justification in international law. A second argument put forward for ignoring the claims of Soviet POWs was that, if they were included, then the Germans would immediately make counterclaims for their servicemen in Soviet hands. This position is, in reality, difficult to sustain as there was no parity between the fate of the Soviet prisoners in Germany and of German prisoners in the USSR.59 Even setting aside the question of which side started the conflict, there was no comparison between the two cases. Though serious

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136 • Homecoming violations of the Geneva Convention did take place on the Soviet side, especially in relation to the conditions inflicted on the prisoners and the non-admission of Red Cross representatives to the camps, one cannot but admit that in general the USSR met most of the requirements stipulated by the Geneva Convention. Neither the severity of hardships encountered by the German POWs, nor their mortality rate can be compared with the hardships of Soviet prisoners and the levels of their mortality. German prisoners who survived all this and returned home were received with joy by their countrymen, in complete contrast to their Soviet counterparts, who encountered hostility and were condemned to be second-grade and permanently suspect citizens. They were forced to endure a long process of civil rehabilitation, even though they had committed no crimes against their own state.60 The third and fourth objections can be taken together. It was argued that any benefits paid to POWs within the humanitarian settlement would be additional benefit, and other participants and veterans of the war would not be included.61 Furthermore, and perhaps most importantly, it was argued that if the hundreds of thousand of surviving POWs were included, it would double the number of recipients and halve the resultant payments to all.62 That is, it was not in the best interests of the other organizations representing those who received German aid, for example the well-organized associations of ‘juvenile prisoners of nazism’, if all the funds allocated by the German government were shared among a larger number of eligible people.63 All this makes it clear that the exclusion of the POWs was not an idea born solely in Berlin. The POWs were the most afflicted, the oldest and the worst organized victims of Nazism but, unlike other categories of prisoners, they did not have an organization to lobby on their behalf with the government, or with the supervisory and managing boards of their national Foundations for Mutual Understanding and Reconciliation. The Foundations were responsible for defining the categories of eligible victims in accordance with the agreements and it is clear that the Germans had no deeprooted objection to the POWs receiving a share of the aid, as is confirmed by the Byelorussian experience. On 20 May 1999, Council of Ministers of Byelorussia approved a decree rendering financial aid to POWs who had been persecuted by the National-Socialists. The Byelorussian Foundation for Mutual Understanding and Reconciliation had found funds (the interest on fixed capital was used in this case) to provide financial aid of almost 600 DM to nearly 2,000 persons.64 The actions of the Byelorussian Foundation appear to repudiate the idea that other Foundations for Mutual Understanding and Reconciliation could not have helped former captured Red Army servicemen. The Foundation in Minsk was prepared to look for, and found, not only funds but also the courage to accept responsibility for this category of victims of Nazism. It follows from this that former Soviet POWs, one of the most persecuted categories of both Nazism and Stalinism – true ‘victims of two dictatorships’ – are still

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Internment of Returning Soviet POWs • 137 the group most discriminated against in the post-Soviet states as well. The humiliating process of the restoration of their civil rights stretched for half a century (though they were innocent of any crime). Russia officially reviewed its position essentially only in 1995. Just before the fiftieth anniversary of victory, President Boris Yeltsin used the occasion to correct the errors of Soviet and Russian officials and published a decree ‘On the restoration of the legal rights of Russian citizens, former POWs and civilians, repatriated during the Great Patriotic War and in the Post-War Period’ on 24 January 1995.65 Admitting that the actions of the CPSU and the state administration of the former USSR against repatriated citizens had been political repression – in contradiction of human rights and the rights of Soviet citizens – the decree restored historical justice albeit with an unconscionable delay. Former POWs were officially declared participants of the war fifty years after its end! Those who remained alive were now to receive appropriate certificates and legal benefits.66 However, the decree went far beyond that. It declared POWs not only participants of the war, but victims of Nazism as well. To this end, a responsibility was laid on the Government of Russia to review the issue of extension to former soviet prisoners of war, the conditions and order of compensation payment to the persons subject to Nazi persecution as defined by the decree of the Russian Federation Government of 2 August 1994, referring the incurred costs to the funds of the Foundation for Mutual Understanding and Reconciliation Foundation or to other sources of funding.

As a result of this, several scientific conferences sent in recommendations to the Russian government. For example, the conference ‘War for People’s Extermination in 1941–1945’ in Berlin-Karlshorst, between 29 May and 1 June 1997 included in its final statement: Item 3. We appeal to the Government of Russian Federation and to Foundation for Mutual Understanding and Reconciliation to include surviving prisoners of war in the number of those supported by the foundation and thereby improve their living conditions for the very last years of their lives at least.

The former POWs were not silent either. Responding to the publication of Yeltsin’s decree, G.A. Holny, president of Association of Former Prisoners of War made an immediate plea. ‘Hurry! The decree should start working as early as possible as the people affected are alive and there is some opportunity to remedy the harm [done to them]’.67 He also applied to the Russian Federation Ministry for Social Protection and got a characteristic response. It stated that, in contradiction to the law, no payments to POWs were due from Foundation funds and, in response to the substance of Yeltsin’s decree, argued that the ‘Government of Russia had so far not found a solution to the question of which funds (of the Foundation or any

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138 • Homecoming other sources of funding) should be used to compensate former Soviet prisoners of war’.68 There was no hope of finding either state or ‘other sources of funding’ (as stipulated in the decree) in the economic environment of contemporary Russia. At the same time there were no negotiations between the Russian Federation Government and Russian Foundation for Mutual Understanding and Reconciliation on this issue. Although the second payment to victims of Nazism was made in 1998, again this was not extended to include POWs. So the President’s decree did not change the situation and was simply ignored. As a result, there is little chance that the tens of thousands of former Russian POWs will be admitted into the narrow circle of officially chosen victims of Nazism. In this way, the prisoners remain the victims of deception and discrimination.69 The discrimination carried out by the Foundations was mirrored by the German Foundation ‘Memory, Responsibility and Future’, established to administer the funds given by the German state and German industry to pay compensation to former forced labourers. To bar prisoners from the compensation process, the Germans, with the tacit approval of all their partner organizations, included a special clause 3 in paragraph 11 of the Law: ‘Being in military captivity is not a reason to receive payment’. It implied that being in captivity came under the jurisdiction of international law, and that all claims of this kind were regulated by peace treaties and reparation agreements. Official justification of this draft law states that: In general, prisoners of war forced to work cannot receive compensation as according to the norms of international law, it is acceptable for the prisoners of war to be used as a labour force by the state that captured them. Persons liberated from captivity and transferred to civilian status can (provided that other preconditions are met) claim for compensation under the clause’.70

In other words, they became eligible only if they had subsequently been incarcerated in a concentration camp or within the ‘broad provision’ stipulated by the law. This paragraph effectively bars them from compensation because everything associated with it was already settled through international laws. Thus a historical somersault is made: the incredibly broad assumption that the Germans treated Soviet POWs in the same way as other POWs, such as the Americans, English, French or Poles. Although Nazi Germany did sometimes violate the Geneva Convention of 1929 with regard to POWs of other states, it consistently and deliberately ignored the Convention in relation to Soviet POWs. Thus the case of the Soviet POWs is completely outside the system of classical international law and the reasoning on general ineligibility of POWs for compensation payments cannot be mechanically transferred to the Soviet POWs. In other words, it was a great mistake to consider

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Internment of Returning Soviet POWs • 139 former Soviet POWs as just a variety of other types of POW. Essentially, they are a special category of victims of Nazism, one that has suffered enormous physical and moral damage and are second in size only to the Jewish victims of Nazism. The Germans used the vast majority of them as slave labour, and the inhuman conditions endured in the Dulags and Stalags were a direct consequence of the genocidal policy of the Reich towards them. It can therefore be argued that former Soviet POWs are entitled to receive compensation as a separate category of victims of Nazism. The total number of former Soviet POWs living in CIS states is, at most, 48,000 and, if one includes those who died after 15 February 1999 when eligibility began,71 this may take the total to 75,000. Some were already eligible for compensation as they had been in concentration camps. So, a realistic estimate of those who were covered by this new law (accounting also for the heirs of those who died after February 15, 1999), is probably around 70,000. Thus the exclusion of former Soviet POWs from the present day compensation process of 1999–2002 has its own tradition, the tradition of injustice, oppression and humiliation, founded by Hitler and Stalin. This exclusion is not a superstition based on misunderstanding, but a deliberate and consistent policy, based on their (the POWs,) complete defencelessness and voicelessness as a group and their lack of any organized support or lobby. Thus the legal basis of such policy is based on ignoring historical truth and manipulating matters with legal principles. POWs, the victims of two dictatorships, have become more than that, they have also become the victims of several democracies.

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–11– Coping in Britain and France: A Comparison of Family Issues affecting the Homecoming of Prisoners of War following World War II Barbara Hately-Broad

Since the end of World War II, the experience of women on the home front during periods of war has been recognized as an important factor affecting the successful reintegration of servicemen into family life after the cessation of hostilities. However, few systematic studies have been carried out to quantify or categorize these experiences for service families in general, let alone for prisoner of war families as a discrete group with particular problems. Apart from the work of Rueben Hill in 1949, little systematic study has been carried out into the effects of these factors on reintegration, with the small amount of work that has been carried out in this field having come largely as a result of the American experience in Vietnam.1 Although from a later period, this research nevertheless provides us with models of coping strategies employed by POW wives, which can be utilized retrospectively when looking at the experience of similar families during World War II. Generally, the strategies identified fall into six major categories: seeking resolution and expressing feelings; maintaining family integrity; establishing autonomy whilst maintaining family ties; reducing anxiety; establishing independence through self-development and maintaining the past and dependence on religion.2 Whilst it is not possible from research findings currently available to apply all these criteria to the experience of POW families during World War II, it is possible to use them as a broad framework within which to consider the wartime experiences of POW wives in the only two countries where research into their particular experience does currently exist, namely Britain and France.3 This chapter sets out to compare the circumstances of these POW wives in Britain and France in three general areas: financial concerns; public perceptions of the conduct of POW wives; and communications between husbands and wives during periods of captivity. Finally, the chapter considers the ways in which these issues influenced both coping strategies during the period of separation and later reintegration. However, before constructing this comparison, it is important to 141

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142 • Homecoming highlight two major differences in the experience of POW families in Britain and France that inform and underlie all subsequent comments. First, in 1940, 1.58 million French servicemen were taken captive by Germany, of whom 940,000 remained in captivity until 1944. In Britain, over the whole course of World War II, only 172,592 men were captured, 135,009 by Germany and Italy and 37,583 by the Japanese. The sheer scale of numbers of French prisoners of war, therefore, far outweighed those in Britain. As Sarah Fishman suggests, in France ‘everyone had a POW in the family or knew someone who did.’4 As a result, the impact of their capture was consequently much greater, both economically in terms of the very real damage to the rural economy caused by having in the region of half million farm workers taken captive, and politically as the Vichy government proved unable to bring the POWs home.5 Ian Ousby suggests that the fate of POWs remained ‘a stumbling block to Vichy’s credibility in the eyes of the French, a clear warning that the government which claimed to have rescued national sovereignty was in fact proving impotent’.6 In Britain, where numbers of those taken captive were comparatively small, POW issues never assumed a high political profile. Consequently, POW families were generally regarded only as special case in the wider picture of service families rather than as a discrete group with their own particular problems. Second, nearly all the French servicemen were taken captive over a short period and held by the same captor who was a reciprocal signatory of the Geneva Convention. As a result, although a number of authors comment on the long delays in notification, the maximum period French wives waited for confirmation that their husbands had, indeed, been taken captive was in the region of twelve weeks.7 However, despite the fact that the armistice terms stated clearly that French POWs would remain in German hands, the Vichy government encouraged the belief that, as their war was over, the prisoners would soon be home. For many wives this led to false expectations and delays in adjusting to the realities of their husbands’ capture although Sarah Fishman records that some wives, who were more aware of the wider context of the war, expected a long period of captivity from the outset.8 In contrast, British servicemen were engaged in many different theatres of war. For those taken captive by the Axis in Europe, the experience of families was not dissimilar to that of French families, where notification of POW status was received relatively quickly, although there were exceptions to this pattern. For example, following the evacuation of Dunkirk, a number of servicemen remained trapped behind enemy lines and, for these families, notifications were slow to arrive. Similarly, in the cases of some servicemen taken captive in Greece, notification was not received for up to six months when the men had been transferred to camps inside the Greater German Reich. For the families of British servicemen captured in the Far East, however, the situation was very different. Here, delays of up to four years before notification was received were not uncommon and in many

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Family Issues affecting Homecoming of POWs • 143 cases no notification was received at all. Indeed, for some wives, the first indication that their husbands were still alive came after their release after August 1945. Despite these differences, prisoner of war wives in both Britain and France faced a number of common problems. Both Vichy and the British government clearly intended to continue the payment of service allowances to wives during the period of their husbands’ captivity. In both countries married soldiers were eligible for allowances in respect of wives and children.9 For all ‘other ranks’ these allowances were paid direct to wives and, consequently, wives could continue to receive such allowances even after their husbands were taken captive. The arrangements for the payment of officers’ allowances, however, differed in the two countries. In France, three-quarters of an officer’s salary could be paid directly to his wife; in Britain allowances were paid, together with salary, directly to the officer himself. As a result, in cases where British officers were taken captive without making adequate arrangements for their wives to obtain access to their salaries or bank accounts, wives were sometimes left destitute. In their study of 215 prisoner of war and ‘missing in action’ wives of American servicemen during the Vietnam War, McCubbin et al. identified ‘handling family finances’ as a major cause of family problems. In particular they identified situations where, in response to factors affecting family finances, wives were ‘called upon to act against the traditional identity of the dependant wife’.10 Thus, wives of officers in Britain were often forced to establish themselves as the ‘rightful and legal’ representative of the absent husband. As a result, they matured and gained in self-confidence, often developing a style of life for the family independent of the absent husband, which resulted in problems of readjustment after his return. In France, wives of prisoners of war, regardless of rank, were prevented from acting as heads of household in their husbands’ absence, despite the fact that modifications to the French legal code in 1938 allowed for wives to take over this role. During World War II both the Fédération des associations de femmes de prisonniers (FAFP) and the Commissariat Général aux Prisonniers de Guerre Rapatriés et aux familles de prisonniers de guerre (CGPGR), national agencies created to provide moral and financial support to POW families, sought to take over the role of head of household so denying this role to the wives concerned. In both countries, however, inflation meant that even where wives were able to draw allowances, they often had to undertake additional paid work to maintain the family. In Britain, although allowances for wives with two children rose by over 65 per cent during the course of the war, the purchasing power of the pound fell by almost exactly the same amount.11 As a result, service families as a whole were in a much worse financial position than the families of, say, engineering workers whose wages rose by almost 180 per cent in the same period.12 In France, expectations that POWs would return home quickly meant that allowances were not reviewed before 1941 by which time many families had already been rendered

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144 • Homecoming destitute by the ravages of inflation. Following this review, allowances were not increased again until after the liberation despite continuing prices rises. Jacques Chevalier, family and health secretary, writing in July 1941 to Pétain’s deputy, Admiral François Darlan, claimed that ‘a prisoner’s family with children is condemned to the most severe deprivation or to seeking unspeakable resources’.13 Fishman records that, by December 1941, Maurice Pinot of the CGPGR was suggesting that 75 per cent of all the prostitutes in Paris were POW wives.14 Given the influence which incidence of marital infidelity is perceived as having on family reintegration, it is perhaps surprising that the issue of prostitution has not been more directly addressed in studies of reintegration. Even for France, however, there must be some doubt as to whether or not the issue of prostitution was a real one, as it seems possible that the figures were merely employed as a ‘scare’ tactic to force increases in allowances. Perhaps the question is really one of terminology and degree. In Britain there was also much discussion of the moral conduct of service wives in relation to foreign troops in general and US troops in particular. Indeed one of the arguments put forward for raising service allowances in 1942 was the unfavourable comparison between British rates of pay and allowances and those provided by both the Dominions and the USA. Higher levels of allowances paid to American troops meant that they were in a much stronger position, according to the War Office, ‘for the purposes of attracting the opposite sex’.15 However, there is no outright suggestion that British service wives were resorting to prostitution in order to supplement their allowances; there apparently being a fine line between what constituted accepting gifts of food, chocolate and stockings and outrightprostitution. Where infidelity did occur, for whatever reason, there was little public sympathy for the plight of the wives involved. In Britain in December 1943, the magazine Woman’s Own published a letter from the wife of a prisoner of war who had begun relationships with two allied officers and who had become pregnant without knowing which officer was the father of the child. The magazine had no advice to offer the distraught wife. Instead they merely condemned her actions, stating that the fact that she ‘could do such a thing – and with two men – passed comprehension’.16 Similarly Pages des responsables and Femmes de prisonniers, the two publications of the French association of POW wives, regularly published articles on the theme of ‘fidelity’. However, magazines in both countries also recognized the need for wives to take part in leisure activities without guilt, stressing that relaxation did not necessarily imply forgetting one’s husband. Indeed, Woman’s Own went so far as to suggest that it was acceptable for the girlfriends of POWs even to go out with other men ‘provided that they knew where to draw the line’.17 Possibly too, wives may have turned to other men simply as a means of staving off loneliness in their husbands’ absence. Of the 120 wives interviewed by McCubbin et al. in their 1975 survey,

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Family Issues affecting Homecoming of POWs • 145 over 70 per cent reported emotional problems and difficulty in adjusting to the lack of companionship and nearly 30 per cent recorded worries about their husbands’ reaction to ‘dating’ behaviour. However, the rationale for such official advice was not that wives themselves needed companionship nor respite from the stresses and strains of their everyday life as wives of POWs. Rather than acknowledging these needs, agencies emphasized the duty of a wife to keep up both her strength and appearance so that POWs who had spent years dreaming of their attractive young wives should not be faced on their return with a wife who was ‘prematurely aged’.18 The fact that these expectations on the part of prisoners were only too real is demonstrated by an example from Britain. In this case a man who had been taken captive at Dunkirk had spent almost four years in a prison hospital thinking of the young wife and two small children he had left behind imagining a time when he could go home and be cared for by his wife. In the meantime, however, his wife had had to give up their home and put the children into a day nursery so that she could work to supplement her inadequate allowance. She, in her turn, had dreamt of a time when her young, strong husband would return and relieve her of all her cares. Not surprisingly, their reunion proved a disappointment to both and they divorced soon after the husband’s return.19 Nevertheless, wives questioned in the 1975 American survey clearly indicated that hobbies and social functions did rank high as a mechanism for coping with their own anxiety. It is worth noting that infidelity on the part of servicemen was not generally regarded in the same light. In France, contrasting theories regarding male and female nature were used to justify a double standard. Monique Beaulieu, advice columnist for Notre Coeur wrote that for a woman ‘passing the afternoon in arms other than the ones in which she will curl up at night has something incredible, intolerable, dirty about it’, although for a man such behaviour had ‘no more importance than the act of drinking a glass of water’.20 Whatever the sacrifices women at home had made, it was clear that these were not to be regarded as comparable to those made by their menfolk – an attitude which later coloured the whole spectrum of advice given to women preparing to cope with returning prisoners of war. Not all social contacts begun by prisoner of war wives, however, necessarily focused on the opposite sex. Fishman records that many of the wives she interviewed felt ‘alienated from the rest of society’ and McCubbin et al., in their later study, identify participation in specific local and national initiatives geared towards POW families as providing both social and emotional outlets for the majority of wives.21 Wives felt that no one else could understand or share their particular worries and as a result, in both France and Britain, groups formed specifically for and by these wives began to appear. In France, from the spring of 1941, wives began to organize into small groups often with a particular aspect in common. For example, in Paris officers’ wives created their own group, while communist

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146 • Homecoming women in the Resistance formed their own POW wives’ section. One group, however, spread to become a nationwide association.22 The FAFP provided POW wives with local contacts, from whom they could gain advice and support, arranged regular activities and local social events, published two bulletins and provided practical help with the preparation of parcels. In addition, it also provided wives with a political voice and represented their interests on the national stage – for example in its continual campaign to increase service allowances. Similar organizations did form in Britain but, unlike those in France, these local POW committees were often founded by family members other than wives or by outside agencies and provided support for all relatives. The Huddersfield POW Committee was founded by the mother of one of the first local servicemen to be taken captive whilst the local newspaper, the Leeds Evening News, originally formed groups in Leeds. Available sources and circumstantial evidence from local newspapers give a similar picture of activities to those carried out in France, although the esteem in which these committees were held was rather different. By and large, the British government regarded these committees, with the exception of the national Prisoner of War Relatives’ Association (POWRA) as being amateurish and parochial. Probably established in 1941, contemporary with the foundation of the French organizations, the POWRA was not a solely female institution nor entirely organized by prisoner of war families. Indeed, for a large part of its life its acting president was Robert, Lord Vansittart, previously personal secretary to two prime ministers and also a former permanent under-secretary of state at the Foreign Office. In general, however, whatever the cause of wives’ unease, whether it was guilt over infidelity, financial concerns, worries over their husbands’ conditions of captivity or just plain loneliness, and however they chose to cope with it, the advice from all sources was that the menfolk should not be troubled with their worries. In Britain, the prime consideration was that servicemen remained as efficient a fighting unit as possible and that news from home should not affect their morale nor their concentration on duty. A male journalist in the British magazine Woman and Beauty condemned wives who were unfaithful and then confessed to their husbands by letter as ‘fifth columnists’, going on to suggest that ‘The amount of damage to morale and to the war effort that some thoughtless women are doing daily in their letters to their men in the services is probably greater than that done by the whole of Dr. Goebbels’ propaganda machine.’23 The Army Morale Report, compiled from reports from divisional and district commanders, regularly commented on the effect that worries from home had on morale. Indeed, during the whole of its six-year span, the Report had nothing good to say about service wives. Instead, they were blamed for encouraging their husbands to overstay leave, for preventing them from volunteering for dangerous duties, for worrying soldiers by their ‘fickle’ behaviour and for burdening them with financial worries.24 In France,

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Family Issues affecting Homecoming of POWs • 147 women were similarly advised ‘not to trouble their husbands’ particularly with confessions of infidelity’.25 Although concerns about effectiveness could not strictly apply to prisoners of war, morale remained an issue and wives were provided with advice on what to include and what to omit from letters to their captive husbands. In Britain the first issue of The Prisoner of War, a periodical published by the British Red Cross available to the families of prisoners of war, included a table with the title ‘I must write tonight’.26 Two columns listed ‘What to tell him’ including ‘films you saw’, ‘flowers you grow’ and ‘money you’ve saved’ and ‘What not to tell him’ such as the ‘bomb you dodged’, ‘vase you broke’ and ‘ration book loss’. Concerns do seem to have arisen regarding the ‘film you saw’ item as a later issue in August 1942 suggested that wives should also ‘tell him who you went with’. Presumably this was intended to allay fears about infidelity rather than for wives to confirm that they had been to the cinema with American GIs. In France, The Famille du Prisonnier, a national agency which sent social workers to visit POW families, felt that letters, as the ‘sole remaining tie’ between the POW and his family, were so important that their workers took the initiative of attempting to ‘raise the level’ of this correspondence by ‘helping them [wives] to include more interesting things in their letters’, although no details are given of what these ‘more interesting things’ might constitute.27 Despite this advice, many wives did confide their hopes and fears to their husbands. Iris Strange, who subsequently conducted a long campaign to win pensions for POW widows, wrote to her husband almost every day after he was taken captive in the fall of Singapore until August 1945 and often mentioned problems at home. In her letter of 19 December 1941, she wrote that she ‘was feeling particularly miserable’ and was going to ‘let off steam by telling him all about it’.28 In both countries other family members or even complete outsiders were not slow to write to prisoners informing them of their wives’ misconduct. Fishman records that between July and November 1941, sixty POWs in Stalag VIIC alone initiated divorce proceedings based on such letters.29 In this matter too a double standard operated. The British Red Cross, while being prepared to protect the morale of POWs to the extent of refusing to serve divorce petitions on those held captive, did agree to make investigations into the conduct of wives where POWs themselves were worried. For example, in one case a POW reported concerns for the welfare of his daughter, based on letters from his family reporting that his wife was living with another man. The Legal Section managed to trace the wife and found that, although the little girl was well cared for, the wife had had an illegitimate child. In this case they had no hesitation in serving a divorce petition on the wife. In France too concerns were focused on maintaining the morale of prisoners. Even the FAFP formed by wives with their motto, ‘among ourselves, by ourselves, for ourselves’, was careful to stress its ultimate goal as

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148 • Homecoming being to preserve their marriages and families and ease the return to the pre-war role. Once return became imminent, the advice given to their wives was again common across national boundaries and between government and non-governmental agencies, generally focusing on the concerns of the men themselves. Maxine Davis, a medical reporter in America, although recognizing the hardships suffered by their wives, nevertheless spoke for the majority when she concluded ‘compared to what he’s been through, that wasn’t much’.30 In France this attitude was, perhaps, more readily understandable. The whole rational of supporting POW wives had been predicated on government agencies acting as surrogate heads of household rather than allowing the wives to take over that role. As a result, the experiences of captive husbands were seen as having been more difficult than those of wives who, whatever the reality, had at least theoretically been provided with a substitute head of household to shoulder their burdens. Additionally, Fishman records that many French POW wives reconciled the reality of their increased responsibilities with the more traditional norm of dependence by viewing themselves as only temporarily shouldering these responsibilities. Most wives retained their husband’s photo in a prominent place and some even kept a physical space such as an empty favourite armchair or continued to set an extra place at dinner. In this way they were able to maintain a perception of the husband as having a continuing role in family affairs. Through these actions, prisoners’ wives in fact applied a coping mechanism later defined as ‘maintaining family integrity’ whereby wives and children focused on plans for the husband/father’s return. In the light of this it is not perhaps surprising that many French POW wives subscribed to advice that their role was critical in the reintegration of repatriated prisoners. One wife claimed that such readjustment was the wives’ ‘victory over exile and separation’.31 Of the fifty-two wives Sarah Fishman interviewed, only ten openly confessed that the return was difficult although twelve more answered ‘No, but . . .’ and, for some, the adjustment had obviously been hard.32 Although they might have subscribed to the idea that they were only temporary heads of household, a number of wives clearly had difficulty readjusting to not making decisions and to relinquishing their independence. In Britain, the situation was even more problematic. Unlike French families, a significant number of British POW families, especially those of men serving in the Far East, received no concrete information that their menfolk had been taken captive rather than killed in action. As a result they were faced with a dilemma: should they plan for a future when their husband would be reunited with them? Or should they plan for a future in which their status as a widow would be confirmed?33 Families in Britain, therefore, developed a wider range of coping strategies than those employed in France. Some families sought resolution through involvement in local and national organizations such as POWRA to try to resolve

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Family Issues affecting Homecoming of POWs • 149 their husbands’ status. Others coped by establishing their own independence on the basis that their husband might not return and still others coped by adopting the model of ‘maintaining family integrity’ as in France. However, in Britain the government was very much more wary than Vichy of overtly interfering in the domestic life of their servicemen. In 1944, the War Office tentatively suggested that next-of-kin should ‘be given some suggestions as how to treat prisoners of war on their return’.34 Within a fortnight, they had backed away from this suggestion saying that it was a ‘very delicate matter’ for a government department to suggest that POWs were ‘in some way peculiar and requiring humouring by their relatives’.35 Discussions on the issue continued into early 1945 with different agencies such as the press, the BBC and personal letters all being suggested and rejected – the first two on the grounds that neither was the right medium for the discussion of ‘intimate, personal matters’.36 Despite this prevarication, three avenues were actually pursued. In December 1943, the War Office had already produced an article for the issue of Prisoner of War outlining hints for next-of-kin on how returned POWs should be treated.37 In April 1945, the Adjutant General, Sir Ronald Forbes Adams, made a broadcast on the Home Service to relatives and families of prisoners in Germany outlining plans for repatriation and resettlement and personal visits were made to families, often by the British Red Cross (BRC) or representatives of the Soldiers, Sailors and Air Force Association (SSAFA).38 At the same time, there was also a suggestion that prisoners of war should be given information, while in resettlement camps, on conditions at home including the part played by women and wartime restrictions such as rationing. To what extent this suggestion was implemented seems to be open to question. Government sources are not clear on the matter and many POWs appear to have been shocked to find that public perception was that while ‘no doubt many prisoners of war had suffered terribly, so had Mrs. Jones’.39 Their surprise is, perhaps, not to be wondered at considering that, if wives had followed official advice in their letters, the captives would have been kept largely unaware of the hardships faced by the civilian population. Although large numbers of families did successfully reintegrate, and some even considered that the experience of long-term separation had strengthened or even saved their marriages, for many others reintegration was much more problematic.40 Viktor Frankl, speaking in a different context of his experience in a concentration camp, quoted Nietzsche to summarize his survival tactics and those of many POWs saying ‘He who has a why to live can bear with almost any how’.41 As we have already seen, for many POWs this ‘why’ included keeping alive a dream of returning to the family they remembered. Fishman records that most French POWs ‘tacked pictures of their wives and children up on the wall next to their bunks’.42 Although many wives similarly kept the memory of their husbands

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150 • Homecoming alive, they also had had to develop strategies to cope with the realities of day-today life in their husbands’ absence. Now, almost universally, advice suggested that they should step back and allow their husband to ‘regain his position as head of the house’ and concentrate on being ‘utterly feminine’.43 Although they were charged with a crucial role in reintegration, they were directed to carry out this role, not by employing any of their new-found skills, but by reverting to a more traditional role. In both countries, the support networks developed to help prisoner of war wives to cope during the war years vanished almost overnight. In France, the statutes of the FAFP had always laid down that the organization would disband after the prisoners’ return and its leaders were quick to relinquish their public roles in favour of domestic life. In Britain, local committees, such as that in Huddersfield, also quickly disbanded and POWRA was wound up by December 1945. As a result, wives were rapidly deprived not only of the coping strategies they had developed, but also of outside support from those in similar situations. Even where wives were patently only too pleased to relinquish their new responsibilities, for some the changes were problematic. Many wives had to cope with husbands who were mentally or physically unable to resume their previous roles both economically and as heads of household. McCubbin et al. note that repatriation meant that many wives had to ‘come to terms with their fantasies about their husband’s physical and emotional status’.44 Others were less keen to relinquish their hard-won independence. For some wives repatriation posed a threat to what had effectively become the ‘rewards’ of separation; greater freedom, an independent income, increased selfconfidence and more control of family finances. Perhaps it is not surprising then that Rueben Hill in 1949 and McCubbin, Dahl and Hunter in 1975 reached similar conclusions. Although both POWs and their families had a common goal of dayto-day survival through the period of separation, when repatriation came, ‘the wives who adjusted well to wartime separation were the ones whose families had the greatest difficulties adjusting to their renewed status as an intact family’.45

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–12– After the Burma-Thailand Railway: The ‘Homecoming’ of Dutch Prisoners of War Mariska Heijmans-van Bruggen

Introduction From August 1942 to October 1943, about 258 miles (415 km) of strategic railway were built through Burma and Thailand on the orders of the Japanese. It was to run between Thanbyuzayat in Burma and Non Pladuk in Thailand, an area covered with rainforest, mountains and ravines.1 To carry out the work the Japanese used about 250,000 Asian labourers, the romusha, and some 61,000 prisoners of war. About 18,000 of the POWs were of Dutch nationality. They had fought in the Royal Netherlands East Indies Army (KNIL), which had been defeated by the Japanese in March 1942. They had been captured on Java and Sumatra, but during the course of 1942 had been transported by ship and train to Burma and Thailand. Besides the professional soldiers, a large proportion of the prisoners had only been mobilized or had signed up voluntarily at the beginning of the Pacific War in December 1941. The circumstances under which their hard labour had to be performed were awful. The prisoners had to endure long working days and most of the work was heavy manual labour. The tools provided were of inferior quality. Food was lacking in both quality and quantity and this situation worsened as the workers went deeper into the jungle, to places that were very hard to reach and therefore to supply. Exhaustion and bad food made the prisoners vulnerable to diseases for which there were few, if any, available medicines. Dysentery, cholera and malaria spread. After the railway was finished in October 1943 conditions improved a little, but following a short period of recovery, many prisoners had either to return to the railway to carry out repairs or were transported to work in Singapore, Indo-China and even Japan. On 15 August 1945, the Pacific War finally came to an end. About 25 per cent of the POWs, around 15,500 in number, had not survived the ordeal of the Burma-Thailand railway. Estimates concerning the death rate among the romusha go from 50 per cent to as high as 90 per cent. Those prisoners who had survived, among them about 11,000 Dutch,2 were concentrated in camps in Thailand, eagerly awaiting their return home. 151

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152 • Homecoming

Imagining Home During the years of imprisonment and forced labour, the idea of home had kept the prisoners going mentally. Someday the misery would come to an end and they could return home. For some Dutch POWs, home was located in the European Netherlands, but for the far larger part, home was the Netherlands East Indies. These Dutchmen had either been born in the Dutch colony or had left the Netherlands for the archipelago to work and settle there. A considerable number of Dutch born in the Netherlands East Indies were of Eurasian decent, their families having lived in the archipelago for generations. In diaries written by Dutch prisoners along the Burma-Thailand railway, the urge to return to loved ones keeps on occurring and must have been an instrumental factor in keeping the POWs going under the harsh circumstances. Hendrik de Fluiter, an entomologist from Eastern Java with a wife and three daughters, wrote on 22 May 1943: At this moment someone in our tent is having an attack of malaria. It goes on and on. Not very cheering, but we do not lose hope and hope is life. How wonderful would it be to be back home again. I think about that very often and vegetate on lovely memories for the remaining time.3

As a matter of fact, the diaries show that these men hardly had a clear picture of what home would look like after the war. Martinus Feikema, living in Batavia before the war with his wife and two daughters, penned a characteristic passage in his diary on 18 May 1943 in camp Kanchanaburi in Thailand. In this filth you sometimes get a very strong desire for civilisation. Decent room for sitting, sleeping and bathing. It all seems so far away here in the Siamese jungle. But some day this will all have to end, will it not my dear wife? And I beg God to make it possible again for us to live without war somewhere in our own place. Then all this will be a terrible dream and I will do my utmost best to get through it as good as possible.4

The crucial matter seems to be the urge to return to the loved ones; the rest would supposedly follow. Underneath this, however, lay the presumption that, although a lot of reconstruction, both mentally and physically, would remain to be done, politically everything would be the same. In other words, soon after the war the Dutch would resume their pre-war position in the Netherlands East Indies. Some POWs even reflected on their role in society after the war. Anton Bom, who before the war held a position at the Javasche Bank in Batavia, wrote in his diary on 29 March 1944: My membership of the financial committee of the camp confirmed me in my conviction that after the war I want to get politically involved in the Indies. Even in a little

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The ‘Homecoming’ of Dutch POWs • 153 community as we have here, comprising only some thousands of people, you witness incredible messing about in self-interest mixed with inanity and ridiculous arguments. You wonder with concern how to build up the Indies again with these people.5

The assumption that the reconstruction of the Indies would take place under the leadership of the Netherlands was not only general among the Dutch prisoners living in the jungles of Burma and Thailand. It was also evident among the civilian internees in the Japanese internment camps in the Netherlands East Indies. The general opinion is put very aptly by Mrs Adriana Modoo, a divorced woman interned with her son in one of the camps in Ambarawa in Central Java. On 10 November 1944 she wrote in her diary: In the camp I have learned to eat and appreciate lots of real Indies’ dishes. All sorts of fruit too, that we would not have dreamed of touching before the war. Because of that we will be able to eat much cheaper than we used to do. That will be very necessary anyway, because we will have to work hard for little pay during the first years after the war in order to build up everything that has been destroyed.6

Only a few were of the opinion that Indonesia should become independent from the Netherlands after the war, and of this minority, most were convinced that this process would take at least several decades. It can be argued that the isolation of prisoners and internees was the reason why they did not see the Indonesian struggle for independence coming, but even amongst the Eurasian community on Java that was not interned, the conviction existed that the nationalists were a tiny minority that would soon be neutralized when the Dutch returned to power. Even when the violent struggle for independence had already commenced, one prisoner of war in Thailand described his view in the following typical way: ‘It will not be easy when we return to [the factory] Goenoeng Gambir later to make these people [Indonesians] used to regular work and decent behaviour toward their employer again, like their own adat tells them’.7

Between Hope and Fear Though rumours of the end of the war had been circulating in POW and internment camps almost since 1942, the actual announcement of the Japanese surrender came as a surprise to many, including the Allied powers. As a consequence, radical changes occurred in the Allied theatres of command across the Asia-Pacific territory. On the day of the Japanese surrender the main part of the Netherlands East Indies was put under the control of the British forces (SEAC). Because the Netherlands was incapable of restoring its authority in the Netherlands East Indies by itself, it became heavily dependent on the British to make that possible. The

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154 • Homecoming British however lacked sufficient troops and in any case did not consider the military reoccupation of the Netherlands East Indies as particularly urgent. They had other priorities. Until Allied forces were able to take over authority, the Japanese were made responsible for the maintenance of order.8 On 17 August 1945, Sukarno and Mohammed Hatta proclaimed the independent Republic of Indonesia. The absence of any substantial Allied military presence made it possible for the Republic to gain considerably in strength in the following months. When the first British troops finally landed in Batavia at the end of September 1945, they therefore met with fierce resistance by Indonesian revolutionary forces. Reoccupying the Netherlands East Indies would take a great effort, and the British were not very willing to make that kind of an effort. All of these developments initially completely bypassed the former Dutch POWs still in Burma and Thailand. They celebrated their freedom, while eagerly awaiting news from family and friends, with whom they expected to be reunited very soon in the Indies or, for a small minority, in Holland. The reconstruction of the Indies could commence and there was a lot to rebuild. Many houses, plantations and factories had been destroyed or neglected from the moment the Dutch KNIL forces had been captured by the Japanese. Besides that, the Japanese had made every effort to wipe out any Western influence on Indonesian society by forcing a considerable part of the European community to leave their homes and move to internment camps. The camps were primitive and overcrowded. Moreover, both food and medical supplies were very poor and many did not survive. Of 100,000 civilian internees, about 13 per cent died. For those Europeans who were not interned, mostly Eurasians, circumstances were equally bad as they lived under constant fear of being thrown out of their houses or being picked up by the Kempeitai. They also experienced the daily struggle for life as famine developed outside the camps. After the news of the Japanese surrender spread everyone wanted to return ‘home’ but the men, women and children living in internment camps were ordered by the British to stay put to make relief easier. Soon, however, the internees realized that Indonesian society had changed dramatically.

Homecoming Postponed What occupied the minds of the POWs most, of course, was the question of whether their loved ones were still alive and if so, how and where they were. During the occupation period letters had reached the POWs very sporadically, if at all, and the first notes from loved ones only arrived at the end of September 1945 for a lucky minority. By the beginning of November many were still waiting for that first letter. Hendrik de Fluiter spilled his frustration in his diary:

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The ‘Homecoming’ of Dutch POWs • 155 The mood in the camp is below the mark. We wonder how in God’s name it is possible, that through radio or airmail we are still not informed on the situation in the camps on Java. Why do they tell us about big nationalistic parades in Batavia, about the waving of the red-white flags, and nothing about what occupies our minds the most?9

Radio broadcasts were another thing that worried the POWs. During September, the contents of the messages grew more and more discomforting, especially in relation to the situation on Java. There were reports on riots in Batavia, the threatening of European women and children by Indonesian nationalists and so on. Unfortunately this news, initially believed to be at least partly rumours, was true. From the end of September 1945 the European community, especially on Java, increasingly became the target of violent actions by Indonesian nationalist youths, the pemuda. From October to December 1945 Europeans were subjected to an extremely violent episode in the struggle, the so-called Bersiap. Bersiap was the battle cry for the pemuda, meaning ‘be prepared’. In particular, the Eurasians living in the towns, villages and the countryside of Java became the victims of humiliation, molestation and murder by pemuda. Through the radio, the POWs in Thailand heard of the tragedy in Depok, a village in Western Java, where pemuda killed several European inhabitants in the first half of October. The events in Surabaya on 15 October 1945 were so dreadful that in Dutch circles that day has become known as ‘Bloody Monday’. The European population was rounded up by pemuda and imprisoned. Those brought to the Kalisosok prison had to run the gauntlet through a crowd of furious Indonesians armed with bamboo sticks before they were ‘safely’ inside. Only a few people escaped with light wounds and many were killed. The ones brought to the Simpang club experienced real terror as they were subjected to torture and brutal murders including beheadings. Even the women and children still living in their former internment camps were not safe. Former POW Muller received word from his wife and daughter, who were in an internment camp in Ambarawa, Central Java, at the beginning of October 1945. The contents of this letter and the ones that followed were very superficial, but through the radio Muller heard that the situation around Ambarawa was becoming more and more unsafe. On 23 November he heard that a camp in Ambarawa has been attacked by Indonesians; a day later the radio broadcast that 32 women had been killed and only on 7 December did he receive word from his wife telling him that she is ‘“all right” (it used to be excellent)’.10 Knowing all this made the POWs even more frustrated. One wrote: And here we are in the middle of Thailand, far away and not capable of doing anything. It makes you furious, because you get the impression that the situation is going from bad to worse and you wonder if they [wives and children] will ever come out of the mess alive.11

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156 • Homecoming As much as they wanted to, they could do nothing, because the opportunities to return to the Indies were rare if not completely absent for the time being.

Fighting for Home As soon as RAPWI-teams (Recovery of Allied Prisoners of War and Internees) appeared in Thailand and Burma in September 1945, evacuation commenced. At the end of the year all American, Australian and British POWs had left Thailand. In December 1945, Japanese soldiers who were not charged with war crimes were repatriated.12 The evacuation of the Dutch POWs however was seriously hampered. They were concentrated in Thailand for the time being. How the departure of their fellow POWs of other nationalities tempered the flush of victory amongst the Dutch in Thailand can be read in the diary of Hendrik Jacob de Fluiter. On 12 September 1945 he wrote: The official letter from headquarters on our repatriation gave us little hope of an imminent transport. Suddenly there is shortage of means of transport, the weather is bad, Rangoon is full etc, but in the meantime the Americans and English are on their way home, Australians are being shipped from Singapore and Indonesians are flown over from there. We are in a very bad mood.13

In January 1946 over 9,000 of the 11,000 Dutch POWs liberated in August 1945 were still awaiting their evacuation.14 In short, the reasons behind this were the complete Dutch dependence on the British for the reoccupation of the Netherlands East Indies and the Indonesian resistance against just such an eventuality. Afraid of being sucked into a colonial war on foreign territory, the British decided only to occupy some major cities on Java and Sumatra, regardless of Dutch protests. The Dutch would eventually have to occupy the surrounding area themselves. This decision had major consequences for the Dutch prisoners still waiting for their evacuation from Thailand. Because only a few towns would come under Allied control, large-scale evacuation to Java or Sumatra was out of the question. Instead the only way to return ‘home’ was to become a soldier again. Though demobilization was the point of departure, the Netherlands East Indies’ government now decided that demobilization of the conscripted personnel among the Dutch prisoners was no longer a possibility. There was an urgent need for troops for the restoration of Dutch authority and former prisoners could make a considerable contribution to any future military force. Thus they were to be remilitarized and sent to Java and Sumatra.15 Beginning in October 1945, battalions were formed in Thailand from the former Dutch POWs. These initially only contained volunteers, professional and non-professional soldiers who wanted to fight for their country. They left for Chonbury

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The ‘Homecoming’ of Dutch POWs • 157 (Thailand) to receive a military training in jungle and guerilla warfare from the much admired Gurkhas.16 Halfway through the month however, the British Supreme Commander Lord Louis Mountbatten decided that no Dutch troops would be allowed to land on Java and Sumatra, because it would only cause an escalation of the tensions on the islands. Notwithstanding this decision, all the remaining POWs in Thailand were subjected to medical examination in December 1945: those who were declared fit had to undertake military service again. There was criticism of the way the examinations were carried out and suspicions rose that men were declared fit too easily. One ex-POW whose back had been broken during a beating administered by a Japanese guard, and which had never healed properly, was declared fit for military service by the same doctors that had previously said that he would probably not reach the age of sixty with such an injury.17 In addition, hardly any attention was given to the mental state of the prisoners, which in many cases was still very unstable. Conversely however, many former POWs wanted to pass the medical examination, particularly the ones who had wives and children in the Netherlands East Indies. Wim Otten was one of them. At the examination the military doctor wanted to declare him unfit, but Otten convinced him that he was very fit. In his diary he wrote: We had heard that the allies had equipped recovery camps in the British Indies. I was afraid that if I was declared unfit, I might be sent to such a recovery camp which meant that a reunion with Lietje [his wife who was on Sumatra] could be postponed for quite a while.18

Overall, though there was grumbling, the situation was accepted as it was and the former prisoners loyally obeyed the order to take up arms again.19 In general they were also very motivated to ‘deal with’ the pemuda, and their motivation grew as the horrifying stories of attacks and murder multiplied. In December 1945 the Gadja Merah unit of the Netherlands East Indies Army was formed in Thailand. The Indonesian name Gadja Merah, which means Red Elephant, was derived from the national symbol of Thailand, the elephant. The emblem of the unit was a red elephant in a charging position against a grey background.20 In February 1946, Mountbatten finally allowed Dutch troops to return to Java and Sumatra and the Gadja Merah unit departed from Thailand on 14 February.21 The men on board were under the impression that Java was their destination.

The Situation in Thailand Some Gadja Merah soldiers embarking on the steamship Sainfoin, instead of going to their wives and children, in fact had to say goodbye to them again after a

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158 • Homecoming short reunion. One of them was Anton Bom, who had been reunited with his wife Ina only three months before. How did this situation develop? From October 1945 onwards, the situation on Java had grown so dangerous that the British decided to evacuate some 17,000 European women and children in November-December 1945. About 4,600 were shipped to Thailand in December 1945.22 Some previous selections had been made in order to make family reunions in Thailand possible. Mia Tjakkes-Grein for example embarked on the SS Lake Charles Victory on 17 December to be reunited with her husband in Bangkok on 23 December.23 Former POW Dekker describes the reunion with his wife and three sons on the same day as follows: Nine trucks had already passed . . . From the tenth and last one I heard a cry: ‘Daddy, here I am’, it was like an angel calling. A big jump and I found myself between women and children. Our reunion, though it took place in a truck and in the dark. We held each others’ hands without speaking, because emotions were running too high. ... The boys had caught a nasty cold on the ship . . . My wife was swollen from beriberi and lack of vitamins . . . That was how I got my family back.24

Thus some POWs were reunited with their families in a quite unexpected way. Not all wives and husbands were that lucky however. In his novel Kandy, een terugtocht, F. Springer describes how his mother was almost driven to despair when she and her son were sent to Ceylon, while her husband was in Bangkok.25 POW Muller, already mentioned above, was also expecting his wife and daughter, but received a letter in which his wife wrote that she had decided to leave for Holland. He ‘answers’ in his diary: It may be for the best to leave the tropics surrounded by Asians, especially for Ella and her education. . . . Ella has become shy and anxious after the attack on their camp [in Ambarawa]. . . . I think that is the reason why Alijd decided to go to Europe instead of Siam. So here I am with my garments and presents and a considerable amount of Thai money, which I saved for them.26

For Alijd and her daughter the experiences in the Indies during the Japanese occupation and bersiap had been too traumatic to make the archipelago their home again. Many Dutch would follow their decision to leave. The arrival of the women and children from Java in Thailand also gave the opportunity for new love to blossom. Several prisoners fell in love with Dutch girls. Moreover, recent research points in the direction of around 500 marriages in Thailand between Dutch men and Siamese women.27 It was not all happiness however. Living conditions remained very primitive and the desire to leave was often acute. Leaving nevertheless remained problematic. One reason for the Dutch authorities not to expedite the evacuation of the camps around Bangkok was the

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The ‘Homecoming’ of Dutch POWs • 159 cheap lodging they provided. There was however a great deal of concern over the immoral situation developing in Thailand.28 Alongside the marriages, the number of so-called Siam-divorces also rose, with estimates as high as 700.29 Occasionally letters of protest were sent to the authorities and, as a result, several investigating committees arrived, but nothing changed. Official divorces were complemented by forced separations due to further or extended military service. After the departure of the Gadja Merah unit in February other parties of soldiers left Thailand in the following months. Among them were men who in December 1945 were declared unfit for military service. The ones who stayed behind could do nothing but wait. The last former prisoners finally left Thailand in August 1946.30

The Red Elephant Having made a stop at Singapore the ‘Sainfoin’ with the Gadja Merah unit on board set course for Surabaya. Home was coming closer and closer. Marine Joop Hulsbus described his feelings: ‘The sleep that won’t come. Stronger and stronger, reflecting in my veins, the blood is pounding. Three more days. Home, who will wait for me there?’31 However, after arrival in Surabaya no one was allowed to leave the ship. Hulsbus, for whom Surabaya was his hometown, tried to persuade an English officer that came aboard to accompany him back to the town for a few hours. The officer finally agreed and together they left for the harbour. For Hulsbus, the reunion with Surabaya was a major disillusionment. The city was destroyed and empty. He wrote: The once clean swept, well kept yards. The plundered house of the mandoer. A gust makes the dust go up in spirals. A big mangatree with the crown blown away. My gun, clasped in icy hands, sees no murderers any more. Too late. Never will I be able to forgive. After four long years, my home, it is gone.32

After his return on board the commander announced that the final destination of the journey was Bali. A reunion with relatives on Java was thereby postponed. In the morning of 2 March 1946, 2,100 Gadja Merah soldiers landed on Bali.33 They met no resistance and marched to the capital Den Pasar without any trouble. At the end of the month, Lombok also was occupied. In the following months resistance on Bali grew as large gangs began to operate. Many of the gang members came from Java and constant Dutch patrols and regular actions remained necessary to control them. In May 1946, 133 marines, among them Hulsbus, finally got the chance to go to Java. They were transferred to Surabaya where he was reunited with his mother and brother, who arrived in Surabaya a few weeks later on an evacuation ship, after having said goodbye to them in 1942. After only two months, however, he had to say goodbye to them again as they were leaving for Holland.

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160 • Homecoming In the meantime most Gadja Merah soldiers had not had the chance to reunite with their families. Only in August 1946, thanks to the arrival of fresh troops, were many of them granted one month’s leave. Most of them spent their time on Java, looking for relatives. But not all were lucky. Private Smit, arriving on Java, found out that his father was held prisoner in Republican territory and could not contact him.34 After Bali, the Gadja Merah unit was transferred to Sumatra and eventually to Java. The constant strain under which these soldiers operated eventually became too much for some and they suffered from mental breakdowns. After three-and-a-half years of captivity followed almost immediately by fighting as a soldier again, without the opportunity to be reunited with their families and with only very short periods of leave, the soldiers were mentally very fragile. Motivation however was still high. Besides an enduring sense of duty, a further possible explanation was the fact that large numbers of Gadja Merah soldiers were Indies-born, and many had suffered casualties amongst their relatives at the hands of the pemuda.35 They wanted to rebuild their homes with all the means at their disposal, but their minds and bodies were showing signs of fatigue and distress. An official report written in 1946 describes the morale of the troops in a more general fashion: ‘Morale still is very high, despite tiredness, and there is a great longing to take part in action . . . Here and there signs can still be seen of increasing mental and physical tiredness.’36 From the end of 1946 onwards, regular complaints and appeals from Gadja Merah soldiers were printed in the NIBEG News, the magazine of a large and powerful organization of former internees and POWs. The appeals mainly involved leave or demobilization. In March 1947 an article was printed with the title ‘The “Red Elephant” gets tired’. The article ends with a striking passage: One has called these men ‘prisoners of peace’. It would have been a nice title for a film, but poetry is out of the question. It is the sad truth . . . that those who are unable to improve their conditions will have to realize how the Red Elephant lives on Bali, in Palembang where he shows his tusks and where he moves forward irresistibly despite everything.37

Only in the second half of 1947, when troops from the Netherlands had brought the army in the Indies back to its pre-war strength, were the first ex-prisoners allowed to go on a longer leave to Holland. However, when the first Dutch military action began in July 1947, all leave was cancelled.38 It drove some ex-POWs to despair, like the one writing this plea in December 1947: I haven’t seen my family since February 1942. The answer to a request submitted to the army commander three months ago, was that I would go on leave on the first ship available. Now we have been told that all leave has been withdrawn. I do not qualify for sick leave.

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The ‘Homecoming’ of Dutch POWs • 161 Mister chairman [of the NIBEG], isn’t it sad that after 5 years and 7 months I wasn’t given any opportunity to see my wife and children? Could you give me any directions as to what to do to qualify for leave i.e. family reunion as soon as possible?39

Most of the remilitarized former prisoners finally arrived back in the Netherlands at the end of 1947 and the beginning of 1948.40

A New Home? Many ex-Dutch POWs never returned to the homes they knew before the war. These homes had been destroyed. In many cases this was literally true as their houses were destroyed in the Pacific war or the Indonesian war of independence that followed it. Metaphorically it was also true as there was no possibility whatsoever of returning to the life the Dutch led before the war. The struggle for independence had changed everything. The Dutch had become the enemy of the Indonesians. Hendrik de Fluiter experienced this in a very harsh way. His wife, having survived three years of internment during the Japanese occupation, died in November 1945 of the injuries she sustained in an attack by Indonesians in Surabaya. The great majority of the ex-POWs eventually chose to leave the Indies for the Netherlands. The Dutch who had been born in the Indies, whose families had lived there for generations, and who were for a large part Eurasians, postponed the departure as long as possible, but even most of them eventually left for the Netherlands. As one put it: ‘After my military service was done in 1948, I considered staying in the Indies, but everybody left. Something had changed irreversibly’.41 The hostility of the Indonesians towards the Dutch who stayed in Indonesia after it had won its independence ultimately made life there impossible. When they arrived in the Netherlands, the reception afforded the repatriates was far from ideal. Many goods were still rationed and a great deal needed to be done to reconstruct the country after the destruction of the occupation. One former POW remembers his ‘reception’ in Holland in the second half of 1947: ‘We were received with demonstrations against KNIL soldiers that according to them (the demonstrators) [we] were murderers’.42 Many of the new arrivals experienced great problems adapting and integrating and were confronted with all sorts of bureaucratic rules that gave them the impression that they were not welcome. A great deal of indignation was felt by the former POWs when the Dutch government refused to pay them for the forty-one months they had spent in Japanese captivity. The government in The Hague took the formal position that since 1912, the former Netherlands East Indies had been a legal entity apart from the Netherlands and thus the Dutch government had no responsibility for its debts. In moral terms however it was quite another matter. The issue of back-pay was raised

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162 • Homecoming immediately after the end of World War II. In 1946, the Netherlands East Indies government decided not to pay because the payments could not be limited to the European community alone and because the government could not bear the costs of reimbursing a larger group. Problems began when in certain cases the government did make payments to other servicemen, as in the case of soldiers in service of the Kingdom, like staff of the Royal Navy and Dutch seamen not living in the Indies. Those conscripted who were later taken prisoner in 1942 did not get paid. Some legal arrangements were made, but not to the satisfaction of those it concerned. The last arrangement was made in 1981 when it was decided to pay all former prisoners an amount of 7,000 guilders. Still it was a cold comfort and the issue of back-pay remains an emotive issue for former prisoners even to this day.

Conclusion The homecoming imagined by the prisoners was, for many, bound to remain an illusion. The new socio-political realities that resulted from the Japanese surrender, the Indonesian struggle for independence and the Dutch incapacity to deal with the new circumstances had not been foreseen by those who had been employed to defend the old colonial order. The new upheaval caused a loss of the very sense of ‘home’ that they had focused on during those long and exhausting years of captivity. This would be a source of personal tragedy and collective frustration, connected not only to deprivation and loss, but also to the way in which post-war societies in both the Indies and in The Netherlands have dealt with the effects.

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Part V Memory

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–13– Languages of Memory: German Prisoners of War and their Violent Pasts in Post-war West Germany, 1945–56 Svenja Goltermann

In Irgendwo in Berlin (Somewhere in Berlin) – an early post-war German film by Gerhard Lamprecht, from 1946 – Private Steidel, who has returned from war, is lying on a sofa fast asleep. Suddenly he stirs. Scenes from the past war mingle with his dreams, he jumps and wakes. He gets up, buttons up his uniform right to the collar and dons his steel helmet, which was waiting on a table in front of him. He steps up to the open balcony door, stands to attention and offers the military salute. There he stands, motionless, his eyes gazing out, silent and unassailable, a frequent occurrence since he returned from the war. But he had not yet really come home.1 It is well known that the problems caused by persistent and nagging war memories in the lives of returning soldiers figure prominently in early post-war German films. In literature as well as in film this problem was constantly addressed and welded into the more general argument about personal guilt and responsibility. Yet only a few years on, the culture of memory had changed course. In a number of popular films, soldiers were portrayed primarily as heroes who put their lives on the line for their country in spite of their often ruthless and stupidly Nazified officers.2 And, in the public proclamations of the returnee organizations, soldiers were seen only as victims and prisoners at the mercy of Soviet dictatorship.3 This was in tune with a huge number of personal narratives of endless suffering at the hands of the Russians in the camps that were told and retold in the media.4 The whole theatre of war and Nazi atrocities had shrunk to a highly selective scenario of fighting without any German perpetrators. This also meant that any personal experience of ‘breakdown’ or biographical rupture caused by a humiliating confrontation with German atrocities was fading out of public memory in the 1950s. In West Germany, the public knowledge of genocidal war seemed to have all but evaporated. It was Hannah Arendt who remarked in 1950 that this development was already in full swing. In her ‘Report from Germany’, which she wrote after seeing for 165

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166 • Memory herself a number of German and European cities, she commented: ‘Nowhere is this nightmare of destruction and horror less evident and nowhere is it less discussed than in Germany.’ She identified indifference and lack of empathy as the dominant attitude. In it she saw, above all, an outward symptom of ‘a deep-seated, stubborn and sometimes even brutal refusal to confront what had really happened and to understand it’. People had behaved accordingly towards her, when she confessed to be a Jew and, above all she saw in this a thoroughly displaced effort to offset the suffering of the Germans against the suffering of the others, while implicitly giving to understand that ‘the balance of suffering is settled’.5 In recent studies on post-war society in West Germany Arendt’s interpretation seems to be confirmed by a number of examples from public discourse in the late 1940s and 1950s. In the meantime, it goes almost unquestioned that the emergence of a ‘victimization discourse’ right after the end of the war is one, if not the defining element in the way West Germans treated their Nazi past and the crimes committed by Germans. In the last analysis Germans even went so far as to show off their own loss and pain as if this could in any way balance out or even diminish the suffering that they had meted out to others.6 Examples of this can clearly be found in the political debates in parliament on compensation for the victims of Nazi atrocities on one side and in the measures for reintegrating war veterans, expellees and refugees on the other. The sufferings of the different groups of victims were often offset against each other, just as ‘in double entry book keeping’, as Robert Moeller has remarked.7 In fact, there is no doubt that in this transformation of Germans into war victims, the responsibility for crimes committed under Nazi rule was also being renegotiated. Only a small number of committed protagonists of the regime seemed to be held responsible. This was well in line with the broad political consensus on the legal requirements for wholesale amnesty and integration of former party members and Nazi perpetrators.8 Political initiatives, parliamentary decisions and media reconstruction of the war thereby created an extremely narrow view of National Socialism, which hardly did justice to the conflicting memories of different groups of victims and which prevailed well into the later years of the Federal Republic. Public memory construction, in the meantime, was busy establishing a ‘picture of German national tragedy’ that was evoked again and again by the stories about the suffering of POWs, refugees and those bombed out in the cities.9 Yet, as Peter Fritzsche rightly remarked recently, this emphasis on German victimization also had its limits. In political terms the narratives of suffering by Germans were ‘dangerous memories’ insofar as they put into jeopardy all efforts at normalizing international relations since this required a broad public acknowledgement of German guilt for Nazi crimes.10 In addition, the dominant public discourse on German victimization only lent itself to a very limited articulation of personal memories of violence in war and captivity. As Michael Geyer has argued, the

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German POWs and their Violent Pasts, 1945–56 • 167 wartime generation even demonstrated a high degree of verbal ineptitude. The experience of mass death nonetheless lingered on, being present ‘half awake’ and generating a ‘permanent state of paralysis’, which perhaps constituted the main characteristic of the post-war period.11 The discrepancy between this public memory discourse and private memories of war veterans has hardly been gauged so far.12 Different narratives of war do emerge, however, in Vera Neumann’s analysis ‘The Privatization of War Damages’13 and in some recent studies on war stories as told in families14 or in veterans’ leagues,15 which all indicate that multiple and sometimes even divergent patterns of memory construction coexisted in the private and the public sphere. But this evidence is still not sufficient to answer the question as to how far, and in what ways, the crimes of war and the pangs of captivity haunted the minds of returning soldiers. Thus it seems important to follow up the analysis of the ‘social spheres’ of memory with the search for more ‘intimate spheres’ and to investigate the way in which they interact.16 Medical records in psychiatric clinics are revealing in this respect as we can retrieve from these files a whole range of verbal, emotional and corporeal expressions of memory fragments that speak of the horrors of war, violence and death. These records, which have been examined for the period between 1945 and 1956, cover a wide range of military ranks, theatres of war and places of captivity. Some cases were referred for specialist treatment by their doctors, others were sent for psychiatric observation by family and friends who were deeply worried about their state of mind. There were, of course, several reasons for the patients’ sometimes extreme psychological disorientation. In a number of cases one might be tempted to question the diagnosis of the psychiatrists at the time, who refused to acknowledge a possible causal link between the confrontation with violence and long term psychiatric consequences.17 It has to be said, however, that no one is in a position to conclude in retrospect from this evidence that the symptoms and complaints documented in these files are due solely to the experience of wartime action and captivity.18 Yet, in these records, the violence of war finds a voice on different levels and in a number of different ways: First, it is spoken of in terms of a sober report by members of the family who observe their deranged relatives; second, it crops up in the narratives of the returnees themselves, who might lose control of what needs to be said in phases of mental disorientation; third, it may return in dreams or via other tangible stimuli such as a particular noise that opens the closed doors of memory; finally, it may speak its horrors in obsessive delusions and hallucinations, which, like dreams, will not yield any proxy for reality but will (re)produce fictional reality. In any case, they are equally valuable sources for our understanding of how the violence of war and its fallout was perceived, just like the ‘snapshots of the mental interior’, as Reinhart Koselleck has called the dream narratives of the Third Reich.19

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168 • Memory Memories of this kind are – metaphorically speaking – like sediments that are never at ease and certainly not totally controllable. But, as such, they were hard to tap into and share. The communication of these memory traces was almost impossible in the framework of everyday narratives about the war and their logic seemed incompatible with the accepted stories of a ‘usable past’.20 They threatened to counter the evolving moral idiom and to break up the cosy notions about the meaning of war as enshrined in collective memory. In spite of this, they were not lost, either on the medics or on the returning POWs themselves and their families. In many ways they resemble the ‘deep memories’ that Lawrence Langer has identified in the narratives of concentration camp survivors.21 It has to be said, however, that ‘deep memories’ of war veterans fed on a very different repertoire and came from a completely different background. Even the closest of kin seldom had the faintest idea about the mental turmoil their beloved ones had to live through – as their reports in the files show. This is particularly obvious in the absence of the war itself from most of their reports, either through lack of information by the returnees themselves or because what evidence there was would often not be deemed worthy of communication by family and friends. It is interesting to note that the experience of personal bullying that some men had to endure during their time in the army is usually remembered and spelled out much more vividly and precisely. As in the case of Rudolf R. whose mother reported that he had had a ‘hard time with his commanders and comrades in arms’, who scolded him ‘either as stupid or a thickhead’. However, on whatever might have happened to her son in the ‘chaotic retreat’ from Eastern Prussia, as she called it, she was unable to give any detailed information. When he had broken out in rage and despair on one occasion, she had felt helpless and perplexed. ‘You don’t know what I have been through’, he had shouted at his family in tears, ‘Why don’t you just club me to death!’ It is clear that he did not think his memories were in any way comprehensible for his family. There was no need for clarification either. As if the war and its horrors had disappeared in their respective speechlessness.22 In spite of these silences many a family kept a sense of the permanent shock of war. This may even have been articulated perfectly well without any words whatsoever being said as, for example, in the case of Franz B. who spoke his mind by being his other self in ritual practices and everyday habits. Neither his father, mother, brother nor long-standing friend said anything about his practical war experiences when they talked to the doctor about his strange behaviour. A minor foot injury that he had incurred while in a prisoner of war camp was the only tangible information reported about that period of his life. The family was obviously unaware of his horrendous hunger march into captivity in Yugoslavia during which, as he told his doctor, anybody was liable to be shot who did no more than try to quench his thirst at a fountain. Still, the family felt that Franz B. might have

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German POWs and their Violent Pasts, 1945–56 • 169 carried a gun even after the war simply ‘in order to be able to defend himself against any enemy’. His brother was struck by his behaviour, which reminded him of somebody ‘who always felt somebody breathing down his neck’. He had no idea how appropriate this feeling was, as the patient confided to his doctor much later.23 This is not to say that the common life of most of the returnees was dominated by the destructive powers of war or the violence of the POW camps. The medical files are full of evidence about the degree to which returning soldiers were engaged in ‘normalizing’ their lives through civil routines and social practices. However, this semblance of normality was shaky at best. In some the sense and sometimes even the knowledge of disaster was deeply entrenched. They were haunted by the memories of blatant Nazi atrocities and the utter destruction that they had wreaked in the East. These were memories that might be covered up but never laid to rest.24 Werner F. is a case in point. When he was hospitalized in December 1947, he seemed to be a rather unremarkable case.25 As his doctor observed, at the age of forty-four he still looked a proud and upright man in extremely good health with an intelligent look on his face and was absolutely clear in his mind about the stories he wanted to tell. He had been troubled, however, by a recurring rush of fears and anguish in the last months. As a possible reason, his wife had suggested he was worried about the currency reform and the insecurity of future family life. In hospital she added that ‘the questionnaire was haunting him like a ghost’ but she had no clue as to why this should have been so. One day, on his own account, the former SS officer handed himself over to the British. Eventually, his deep-seated fear of being ‘imprisoned for his former political convictions’ had won the day. When Werner F. finally came round to confessing his former political credentials as a National Socialist in psychiatric treatment he still seemed almost naïve. He was proud to have been a member of ‘nationalist organizations’ and he felt obliged to show his worth by mentioning that he had exchanged his Dutch nationality for a German one in 1932 as proof of his ‘consistently German-minded and patriotic feelings’. And yet, after the war, his own National Socialist biography came home to him with a vengeance: hallucinations were his daily obsessions. When looking into a shop window he might suddenly see the runes of the SS, as he told his doctor. He felt constantly under the close supervision of the British occupation forces, he suspected his friends as spies and informers who he felt would act ‘on orders from the British’. In the end he could not even stand reading the newspaper any more since he always had the impression, as he said, ‘that they were writing about him’ and he switched off the radio because the programmes allegedly ‘always alluded to him’. In all this, Werner F. never even mentioned the possibility of the horrific crimes committed by Germans during the war. But he faltered under the public exposure of these crimes although he never gave in to any feeling of self-doubt about his personal conduct during the Third Reich. The only tangible reason for his assiduous

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170 • Memory feeling of anguish and humiliation was the sheer presence of the occupation forces that was daily proof of the collapse of the Nazi regime. He only managed to escape this painful state of mind in hallucinations of an unreal world. For weeks he held on to the idea that the ‘Führer’ was still alive and had ordered him to be part of a ‘staged experiment’ for which he had to be hypnotized. ‘This is why I now have to live through the experience that the war is lost,’ he told his doctor, ‘that the English are all over the country and that there are demarcation lines between the different occupied zones’. But more and more, he said, he came to the conclusion that the war had really been won. When Werner F. broke down in tears after these words, it was far from clear to him, as he openly confessed, what was ‘true’ or ‘a dream’ after all. He expected the doctor to tell him whether all he had said was ‘insane’ and whether he had now ‘gone truly mad’. This feeling of insecurity as to what constituted fact or fiction was typical of the frequent states of anguish and fear that can be found in the medical records of returnees. As in the case of Werner F., it remains unclear which practical experience lay at the root of these feelings. It almost seems as if different layers of experience were heaped upon each other, sometimes intersecting with or blotting out each other, sometimes erupting in no predictable manner. This might be triggered by external events or circumstances like the ubiquity of the occupation forces, a trivial news item in the daily press or simply a particular noise or just a passing car, which might bring home the terrifying realization that the Russians might take them away.26 But even then, those layers of memory were not necessarily exposed; sometimes they are but barely visible in those panicky reactions. In some cases these feelings of panic and suspicion were long in coming and hard to pin down to any particular exposure to fear, shame or anger in war or captivity. Günter B. had already been suffering from such fits of fearful mistrust during the war and their recurrence after the war fed on a whole range of possible emotional triggers.27 From his perspective he could only think of one possible reason – that he had failed to defuse a live hand grenade in time that had caused some injury to one of his fellow-soldiers. Although Günter B. recovered for a while, so that even his wife found him almost ‘completely restored’, his delusions of persecution caught up with him again. They had never fully disappeared, he now confessed to his doctor. He claimed to have heard different voices calling him ‘rascal and dirty dog’ and ‘beat him up and hang him!’ Some days later he admitted that he had always been worried while at home ‘that he might be snatched up and brought into the Russian zone of occupation which is why he was glued to the window and took down the numbers of all the cars which passed by’. He did not mention any reason why he should have been in such a state of fear. Some weeks later he again heard voices that denounced him openly as ‘Nazi, Nazi’, which led him to conclude that everybody wanted to insinuate that he had been a Nazi although he protested this was far from the truth, maybe rightly so.

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German POWs and their Violent Pasts, 1945–56 • 171 Yet his imagined accusations, just like his defence, show the degree to which being a Nazi had become a taboo and a stigma in the aftermath of the war. After the public confrontation of the Germans with the evidence of their mass crimes, it was hard to believe that the Allies really meant the denazification procedures to show and prove individual responsibility and not collective guilt.28 ‘Being a Nazi’ had become a code for the crimes committed, which in some cases imbued the memories of returnees with full knowledge of these horrors, in other cases just with a nagging suspicion. It is debatable whether the charge of collective guilt was indeed levelled at the Germans by the Allies, or, as Norbert Frei has argued, whether it was a forgone conclusion by the Germans on account of their ‘widespread feelings of personal implication’.29 In any case, it functioned as a moral regulator that closely circumscribed the limits of public discourse. But it is certainly not enough to explain the ‘lack of communication and almost speechlessness’30 that was so common in postwar society generally and among returnees in particular. No general explanation should be attempted here. But in many of the medical cases on record we can find clear indications why these former soldiers felt inhibited about talking of their memories of violence and mass destruction in war. Rudolf B. is a good case in point. In his first encounter with the psychiatrist, his war memories erupted almost as if in search for a ‘usable language’. As the records show, they came in leaps and bounds without ever finding any narrative form: ‘It is dreadful at nights. Memories of my being buried keep coming back. Yes – interruption – yes, it is dreadful.’ And only a few sentences later he continues: ‘They keep coming back, and now they are gone again. I wonder whether I am making this up? Why all these victims? All in vain. Treachery and treason, sabotage. I cannot . . .’ After a while he raises his voice again, as the psychiatrist carefully notes, and suddenly breaks out in anger: ‘Is this possible. All in vain, well, well. Am I mad or am I going mad? (Poisoned?) No. (Changing people?) People, people are worth nothing. I tell you, doctor, it is true we did have the secret weapons. But all is all so, well, you don’t believe me anyway, it is all so . . .’ After some more sentences he concluded: ‘well, well, thou shalt not kill’ and then he fell silent.31 ‘Memory functions with or without speech.’ This is how Lawrence Langer tries to define the restless and provocative character of ‘deep memories’. They are valid whether they can be articulated or not.32 In the case of Rudolf B. they were present in the military commands that he yelled when he was half awake, and they seeped through his dreams, in which he met his fellow-soldiers again and again.33 But they also found expression in the distorted language and maddening despair in which he tried to come to grips with his memories of war. It almost seems as if those memories were at work in destroying his ability to speak. His memories of mass deaths and killings were not just devoid of any reason – all the more so in

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172 • Memory case of defeat – but they actively ran counter to any sensible narrative. The experience of bodily pain and injury was equally hard to express in language even though it ached to come out in the open. When Rudolf B. finally managed to say with some clarity that he had ‘relived the events of his wounding’ he could address them as ‘events’ but he never came close to expressing the emotional havoc that these ‘events’ had caused for him.34 There were clearly limits to how the war could be told. Yet memories of war were at work in driving forth ever more stories, in which Nazi atrocities were usually addressed only incidentally and distorted in their range by highlighting one’s own sufferings. It has already been mentioned above that the ‘rhetoric of victimhood’ dominated the stories of the returnees just as of any other group of the war-damaged.35 From the cases that have been analysed here it appears, however, that in many returnees this may have been due more to the grief and affliction of those who had witnessed or perpetrated violence of an unprecedented kind than to a mere ‘repression’ of memory as several historians have argued.36 This is also why many a war story in these records reads like a desperate effort to escape the presence of these horrendous memories. As Franz F. confided to his doctor one day, ‘he really harboured two natures or two souls in his heart’, one relentless, the other compassionate. ‘If put into the same kind of situation again’, he insisted, ‘he would certainly be more compassionate’. And he added: ‘All this did haunt him, but not as a feeling of guilt, he was much too much concerned with real life, and after all, he could always remind himself that he could have been killed himself in this war.’37 It is obvious how far this exercise in self-rationalization is still shot through with the nagging memory of past violence. Franz F. eventually took refuge in the imagination of a split identity that would allow him to get on with his life; the memories of violence notwithstanding, which he hoped would thus disappear at least from parts of his self. In fact, during the rest of his clinical observation the ‘deep memories’ that had haunted him at night and worried him during daytime never resurfaced. For Franz F., therefore, the transition into psychological ‘normality’ – or at least what went under that name – seemed to be successfully completed. As in many other cases of returnees in psychiatric care, this transition was dependent on the patients’ ability to frame their memories in a ‘tellable’ story of their war experience. Others managed to completely silence their erstwhile haunting memories in periods where they regained self-control. In terms of psychiatric knowledge, this was a first step towards recovering and establishing their mental health. The fragments of memory of war and violence that did resurface in phases of mental instability and that, needless to say, also incorporated fictitious events were only interesting to the psychiatrists as symptoms and proof of their diagnostic definitions. In therapeutic sessions they were therefore bent on ‘framing’ these resurfacing memory fragments so as to fit their established professional knowledge. As

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German POWs and their Violent Pasts, 1945–56 • 173 a consequence this amounted to a ‘de-realization’ of memory, which in a way was the precondition for the psychiatric approval of regained mental health. For instance, when Günter B. – the one who had been in fear of the Russians and had heard the incriminating voices calling him a ‘Nazi’ – eventually showed signs of ‘great insight’, this was recorded as a first step on the road to recovery. To his doctor this was clear from his confession, in which he admitted that ‘whereas before he had not seen any signs of illness in these events’, he had now come round to believe, ‘that this illness will eventually be cured by intensive treatment’. If, as in this case, there were no further complaints, the way was clear to wind up the psychiatric treatment and release the patient back home to his family. The great majority of men who appear in these medical records did return home after a short treatment of a few weeks and disappeared without trace back into the re-emerging West German society from which they had come. In rare cases, letters can be found that were subsequently sent by relatives to report on the state of former patients to their doctors and that remind us that the regained life of ‘normality’ was still shot through with the violence of the past war. But these are only vague hints. Yet, the empty spaces of this silence cannot just be filled in by accepted notions of public memory discourse. As these examples show, we have to accept that there were many more varieties in which the violence of war, Nazi crimes and total defeat shaped and returned to private memories and which were not part of the selective narrative of public memory construction. But to articulate these intimate, disturbing and contradictory memories meant to share them, however uneasily. They could be expressed in body language, in dream talk or in stammering confessions, but not least in a repeated effort to translate memory into an acceptable and usable narrative that would promise a way not to dispose of, but to live with the past. ‘Deep memories’ are far from static.38 They are malleable and in many cases it can be shown that these personal memories would only come to a superficial rest when and if they had been adapted to the construction of public memory on offer or to external and expert knowledge. This, clearly, is not a case for the alleged destruction of language in ‘traumatic’ war experience, quite apart from the fact that a diagnosis of ‘post-traumatic stress disorder’ was not even available at the time to shape public knowledge and professional language and, therefore, should not be applied retrospectively.39 Instead, it appears that the painful knowledge about the gulf which divided the unspeakable horror from speakable victimhood was itself part of the ‘deep memories’ that came home with German veterans after the war and cried out for acknowledgement and healing in manifold languages of memory.

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–14– Retaining Integrity? Sex, Race and Gender in Narratives of Western Women Detained by the Japanese in World War II Christina Twomey

Why do English-speaking cultures continue to be fascinated by the experiences of Allied nationals who were interned or imprisoned by the Japanese during World War II? The 1997 film Paradise Road, a big-budget Hollywood production about life in a women’s internment camp, forms part of a long tradition of films, plays, novels and television dramas about this subject.1 It is also one of a number of such fictional accounts of camp life that has taken women prisoners as its specific focus. This chapter does not attempt to assess these narratives about internment for their historical accuracy or ‘truth’. Instead, the chapter explores the links between captivity, sex, race and gender that operate in these war stories about women. When film-makers and playwrights attempt to explain why they have produced or written a story about women internees, they usually claim that inspiration came after stumbling across an ‘unknown chapter’ in the history of the World War II. The studio publicity for Paradise Road, for example, focuses on women’s internment as history waiting to be told. It describes the film as a ‘powerful tale of female courage, friendship and strength’ that centres on ‘a little known chapter of World War II – the capture and internment of tens of thousands of Europeans, Australians and Americans by the Japanese’.2 The better-known prisoners of the Japanese that this publicity does not mention are the military POWs who were captured when much of the Asia-Pacific came under Japanese control in the early 1940s. In Australia, especially, the soldiers who were captured and forced into slave labour by the Japanese have become iconic figures of World War II. Accordingly, they have inspired film and novel genres, popular histories and, in the last fifteen years, serious academic study.3 The imprisonment of defeated military personnel was paralleled by the large-scale internment of Allied nationals caught in the region when war broke out. Colonial Dutch living in the East Indies were by far the largest group of civilian internees, but British subjects living in territories such as Singapore, Malaya and Hong Kong, 175

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176 • Memory Americans in the Philippines, and citizens of other Allied countries such as Australia were also interned. Military nurses from Australia, the USA and the UK were treated as ‘civilians’ for the purposes of imprisonment, and were placed in separate camps from male POWs. In all, it is estimated that over 130,000 civilians were interned by the Japanese for the duration of the war.4 Although film producers claim that civilian internment is an ‘unknown chapter’ of the war, there have in fact been numerous fictional and filmic explorations of the subject. Hollywood made an early foray into the field, with the adaptation of American woman Agnes Keith’s account of her years as a prisoner on Borneo, Three Came Home. The film, made in 1950, starred Claudette Colbert.5 Around the same time popular novelist Nevil Shute was inspired by tales he heard in Sumatra to write A Town Like Alice, the story of a young British woman and an Australian POW held captive by the Japanese in Malaya. In 1956, Shute’s novel was made into a film starring Virginia McKenna and Peter Finch.6 A quarter of a century later, A Town Like Alice was made into a television mini-series. In Australia, 70 per cent of the television audience tuned in. In Great Britain, the average audience during the screening of the series was 15 million and in the United States the series won an International Emmy Award for Best Foreign Drama. After its screening in the USA, Ballantine Books began publishing Alice in print runs of 50,000. Within two years, the mini-series had been screened in fifty countries.7 The 1980s witnessed increasing interest in the civilian camps, led by the 1982 British television series Tenko, and another Hollywood production, this time Steven Spielberg’s direction of J.G. Ballard’s novel, Empire of the Sun.8 In Australia there have been a number of recent plays about women prisoners of the Japanese, including John Misto’s award-winning The Shoe-Horn Sonata, which final-year high school students in one state now study as part of their English curriculum.9 Almost all of these plays and films about civilian internment focus on the experience of women internees. The Empire of the Sun is the only one in this genre to devote considerable attention to the experiences of civilian men. Although male POWs have a considerable amount of fiction and drama devoted to their experiences, allowing authors to probe questions about soldiering, masculinity and the nation,10 civilian men’s non-combatant status provoked fewer questions in such terms, nor did they produce quite the same cultural ambivalence as defeated military personnel. Defeat, then imprisonment in war, did not fit the stereotype of the soldier hero. On the contrary, passivity and confinement could be interpreted as emasculating experiences and it is precisely these tensions and contradictions that have driven creative production about male POWs. But this still does not explain why civilian women internees have caught the eye of dramatists and film-makers. Women have become the focus of most stories about civilian internment because their detention has been perceived as carrying a danger that men’s did not:

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Western Women detained by the Japanese • 177 sexual violation. The threat of rape, or the imagined temptation for desperate women to prostitute themselves to Japanese guards, moves like a shadow through cultural productions about the women’s camps. It is this additional dimension to women’s internment experience, the construction of the camps as sites of sexual danger, that has proved so enticing to writers and producers. Admittedly, fictional accounts do have wide-ranging concerns that have changed over time. So, for example, early films such as A Town Like Alice reflect continuing tensions over British colonialism. By the early 1980s, however, other issues had surfaced. The creators of the British series Tenko described the camps as a ‘“laboratory” in which there was a great deal to be learned about women’.11 Influenced by the 1970s women’s movement, they were interested in the camps as sites where women explored the joys and limits of sisterhood. Despite such diverse concerns, captivity for women is often presented as centrally connected to sex, or at least the threat of violation. Very few novels, films or reminiscences tackle the subject of male sexuality or rape in Japanese camps. Exceptions, such as Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence, tend to prove the rule.12 Generally, imprisonment for men emerges as an almost asexual experience. In contrast, fears and fantasies about rape and prostitution have been a key feature of Hollywood films about female POWs and internees, as they were for journalists who reported on the release of women from the Japanese camps. For its American release A Town Like Alice was renamed Rape of Malaya, the implication being that both the nation and the film’s central female character, Jean Paget (who featured prominently in publicity material), were at risk of invasion and attack. The concern has been more than metaphorical – plays and films made in the post-war years nearly always contain either real or imagined rape scenes, sometimes bordering on sexual voyeurism, in which one of the defining features of captivity for women is the threat or actuality of rape.13 Furthermore, female captivity is often presented in these texts as posing the dilemma or temptation to which all women may succumb: the imagined temptation to prostitute oneself, to trade on men’s desire for the female body, in return for financial or material gain. In the Australian play The Shoe-Horn Sonata, the pivotal event or secret on which the friendship between two surviving internees, and indeed the play itself, turns is one woman’s reluctant sexual involvement with a Japanese guard in exchange for quinine, which saves her friend’s life. There is also a crucial episode in Paradise Road where the moral fibre of the main characters is tested when they are offered food and better living conditions in exchange for sex with Japanese officers. The novel A Town Like Alice contains a comment on a minor character, Ellen Forbes, ‘the unmarried girl who had come out to get married and hadn’t . . . Ellen was a vacuous, undisciplined girl, good humoured, and much too free with the Japanese troops for the liking of the other women’.14 In contrast to the resolutely virginal main character, Jean Paget, Ellen’s willingness

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178 • Memory to favour Japanese officers leads to her downfall, when she is apparently abducted one night and never seen again. Captivity, in stories such as these, presents women as the hostages not only of men, but also of their own bodies. Male POW films, on the other hand, more often highlight the ways in which male prisoners either continue to uphold national honour under extreme duress or, alternatively, come to a deeper understanding of self or the human condition through their experience as prisoners. For women, captivity is more often than not presented as a threat and a challenge to bodily and moral integrity. While it is clear that gender is a crucial element in these captivity stories, the racial dynamic of white women’s internment also remains critical. One of the reasons that the story of women interned by the Japanese during World War II has had enduring cultural appeal is that it has strong parallels with older stories about detention by unfamiliar captors. These are stories that scholars have labelled ‘captivity narratives’. Although nearly all studies of the captivity narrative focus on indigenous people as captors, particularly in countries or colonies of relatively recent European settlement, there is continuity between these early stories and accounts of imprisonment by others in the twentieth century.15 The internment of Allied women by the Japanese military contained several key elements which resonated with stories about the capture of white women by hostile indigenous groups. First, the women were captured as a result of conflict, usually over land. Indigenous people were often defending their land against an invading European force, while the Japanese were aggressors, occupying parts of Asia that had been subject to European or American colonial rule. In World War II captivity stories, the enemy from without replaces the enemy from within. Second, and more significantly, both captors were from racial or ethnic groups constructed as other in Western culture. During World War II, and for a long time thereafter, the Japanese were often represented in popular culture in terms similar to those applied to other non-white racial and ethnic groups: deviant, untrustworthy, excessively brutal and indeed, sexually violent, if given half a chance.16 Prevailing cultural attitudes to the racial and ethnic backgrounds of the women’s captors, most often influenced by a dynamic interweaving of resentment, fear and fantasy, should be counted as one of the most important continuities between the captivity stories of old and new. The captive women also shared the experience of isolation from their broader culture. Both sets of captives were placed in material and social conditions vastly different from their previous experience. Even more critically most – although certainly not all, because some of the camps also contained civilian men – of the women internees and captives of indigenous groups were isolated from their ‘traditional’ protectors, white men. They were forced to manage, negotiate and sometimes even succumb to male captors in the absence of men from their own cultural group.

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Western Women detained by the Japanese • 179 Films and novels based on women’s experiences in Japanese camps tend to play out some of the themes that have run through captivity stories since the seventeenth century. These are questions about survival, tenacity, isolation, community, sexuality and racial difference. For example, films about female imprisonment are usually shot through with an awareness of the racial difference between captive and captor, and the possibilities for both the assertion of Western cultural superiority, and the temptation to ‘forget’ or compromise the blessings of civilization. The 1956 film of A Town Like Alice contains an early exchange between a very proper English schoolteacher and a Japanese guard. The guard insists that the group of British women the schoolteacher represents walk fifty miles to the next town. The schoolteacher complains that it is too far and that it is ‘impossible to walk in this heat’. The following exchange occurs: ‘English women have grand thoughts, always. Japanese women not mind walk. Now you walk.’ ‘We are not Japanese women.’ ‘No, you are the arrogant English. You will apologize and bow.’

The exchange then becomes more heated, during which the guard draws his gun and points it at the teacher until the heroine of the film, Jean Paget, intervenes to negotiate some kind of peace. Although the teacher has endangered her life in this exchange, the film makes clear that we are meant to admire her courage and her stand in support of what is appropriate and ‘proper’ treatment of white women. World War II female captivity texts also restage the anxieties about race, gender and nation – particularly the threat of sexual violation of white womanhood – that mark the earlier work. One literary scholar has described captivity stories as expressing ‘prurient interest in the sexual exploits of the helpless white girl and hatred and fear of the brutal man of colour’.17 In the 1960s and 1970s, this blend of anxiety of fantasy was depicted graphically on the covers of books about women’s camp experience. For example, the cover of a 1973 edition of Three Came Home depicts a bare-chested Japanese soldier looking down with his sword raised. Splashed across the cover are the words: ‘Degradation at the hands of a Japanese – in the hell of a women’s POW camp’. The implication is that the degradation was of a physical and sexual nature. Similarly a 1963 edition of White Coolies, an Australian nurse’s account of her years interned on Sumatra, shows tousle-haired Australian nurses wearing revealing negligees as they recline on the beach after their boat has been bombed by the Japanese. They appear apprehensive as aggressive Japanese soldiers, swords and guns held aloft, approach them. These images take a voyeuristic interest, a combination of fear and imaginings, about the sexual fate of women imprisoned or captured by a military enemy. They also, however, work on the level of metaphor. It is not just any women who run the risk of violation or rape in these images, it is white women threatened by men who are

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180 • Memory at once military enemies and racial others. In the White Coolies example, the women lie on the beach, surely an allusion to the shipwreck that preceded the nurses’ captivity. Yet the shoreline is also a potent symbol of national borders and boundaries. In this sense, then, the nation – its security and cultural integrity – is embodied as a woman, who is perceived as vulnerable to the invasion or penetration of ‘alien’ cultures. Such images have struck a particular chord in Australia, where the fear of a Japanese invasion during World War II was often constructed as the end of ‘white Australia’ and the beginning of the long-predicted invasion by ‘yellow hordes’ from the north. The sexual threat to women internees has been a recurrent theme in films and books centred on the internment experience. However it is also worth considering how women themselves have negotiated popular and public interest in their sexual fates, and how this has contributed to public discourses about the camps. Profoundly contradictory remarks about sexual contact between the Japanese and their female captives are present in most memoirs and autobiographies. Until the 1980s, nearly all accounts mentioned the author’s continuing fear of molestation or rape by her overseers, particularly early in the internment experience or immediately prior to capture. Miss E. Gander, a teenage girl living in Shanghai whose British father worked for the Chinese Maritime Customs, was terrified at the beginning of her internment at Yangchow Civilian Assembly Centre. ‘As an extensive reader’, she remembered years later, ‘I had come across accounts by Pearl Buck and Lin Yu Tang concerning the ravages of war in China, and the rape and pillage that went on. I was convinced that we were all in for the same treatment.’18 Although the rape of ‘native’ and Eurasian women, and even their abduction, is sometimes mentioned, it is very rare to find discussion of the actual rape of white women, despite frequent reference to Japanese guards watching women urinate, bathe and sleep. An Australian nurse captured in New Guinea attempts to deal with her discomfort with sexual harassment by mocking the Japanese guards responsible, but notes that ‘the Chinese women of course did not escape’, and nor did the indigenous women on the island.19 In the last decade, however, the ‘comfort women’ controversy has allowed for renewed speculation on the sexual experiences of all women interned by the Japanese during World War II. The revelation of systematic military-controlled sexual slavery – disclosures made by Korean, and later other, women about their years spent in sexual slavery for the Japanese – is one of the key reasons for renewed interest in the women’s camps. In the west, feminist human rights activists publicized vigorously the issue of rape in war in the preceding years. In the early 1990s, reporting on the conflict in Bosnia-Herzegovina revealed the mass rape of women as a strategy of war and again demonstrated the dangers women face in wartime.20 This climate gave added impetus to the revelations of Korean women about their abuse during Japanese occupation of their homeland. They received

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Western Women detained by the Japanese • 181 even more extensive coverage in the Western media once a Dutch woman now living in Australia, Jan Ruff-O’Herne, revealed in December 1992 at an International Public Hearing in Tokyo that she too had been forced into military sexual slavery by the Japanese. Mrs Ruff-O’Herne’s courage inspired other Dutch women, whose numbers were small compared to the vast numbers of Asian women subjected to this torture, to speak out.21 These revelations sent journalists rushing back to interview former prisoners, many of them now women aged in their eighties, to seek the ‘truth’ about their experiences while prisoners of the Japanese. The Australian, a national daily newspaper, devoted almost half a front page to a photograph of one the surviving Australian nurse POWs, Wilma Young, denying that she and other nurses had been ‘prostitutes’ for the Japanese. ‘There were women among the civilians in the camp who were prepared to go with the Japanese so we were left alone,’ Mrs Young said.22 Wilma Young’s statements to the newspaper in 1992 confirmed a story repeated by her colleagues since their release in 1945. They reveal how women have been forced to negotiate public interest in their sexual fates in ways that might have proved damaging to those with a different story to tell. In the nurses’ account, sexual involvement with the Japanese was presented as a matter of choice, and it is mercenary Dutch women, British ‘collaborators’ who had spent too long in the ‘East’ and immoral Asians who succumbed to temptation. The infamous designation of the women involved as ‘Jap girlfriends’ or the ‘satin sheet brigade’ also reveals the nurses’ assumption that life in a Japanese brothel was an easy choice; to stay in the camp and labour in the fields was the difficult but noble path.23 Despite acknowledging their own fears, in these accounts prostitution remains a choice open to the beautiful, young or immoral. These stories were reported extensively in Australian newspapers upon the nurses’ release, and repeated in memoirs of the camps published in the post-war years. It is possible to read this public stand as the nurses’ (perhaps subconscious) plan to deflect unwelcome interest in their sexual experiences or harassment during captivity. It works by constructing a dichotomy between ‘good’ and ‘bad’ women, in which the nurses were ‘good’ women who resisted the temptations to prostitution that the ‘bad’ women could not. Although all women in the camps were vulnerable to sexual harassment it was only the immoral women who became involved in systematic sexual relations with the Japanese. The Australian nurses are not the only camp inmates who exhibited this attitude. Jan Ruff-O’Herne has described in harrowing terms her treatment by other camp inmates after her release from three months of enforced sexual slavery. She and other women who had been detained were isolated in a separate area of the camp at Kramat on the island of Java. Other Kramat internees described the quarters as ‘Hoeren Camp’, the ‘Camp of Whores’. She continued: ‘At times, women from the other part of the camp would shout abusive names at us through the fence and

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182 • Memory throw messages, written on paper and tied to a stone, over the fence. They addressed us as whores and traitors, or ‘konyen’ [konijnen], meaning rabbits’.24 Jan’s sister, Fien, has also spoken about the continuation of this behaviour when the women were released from the camp. ‘When we went through the gate [the other Dutch women] looked down on us and called us whores. They called us the rabbits. When we got to Holland we couldn’t ever mention it. They made us feel ashamed for what had been inflicted upon my sister’.25 Until the 1980s, the public silences about the sexual victimization of women in war, prevailing cultural attitudes that shame the victims of rape rather than its perpetrators, combined with the attitude of other camp survivors towards their fellow inmates, might have helped to silence the histories of other former internees forced into military sexual slavery. There were, of course, women who did ‘choose’ to enter the Japanese brothels, but we must always be sensitive to context and power relations when speaking about people’s ability to choose. Some women ‘chose’ to accede to Japanese sexual demands in order to protect their daughters from the same fate, others needed or wanted access to food and medicines for themselves, their children, other relatives and even fellow inmates. These discourses about sexual involvement with Japanese guards are also permeated with the assumption that desire could never run in the opposite direction: that a moral white woman would not want a Japanese sexual partner. There is also no space here for women who might have formed relationships with Japanese guards of their own volition for no ulterior motive. Despite the publicity around the ‘comfort woman’ issue since the early 1990s, the latest Hollywood version of female captivity is firmly situated within older understandings about female sexuality in Japanese prison camps. Paradise Road presents sexual engagement with the Japanese as a choice, one that is resisted by those characters whom we are meant to admire most for their fortitude and bravery. There is a scene towards the end of the film where we glimpse the apparently ‘weak’ woman who could no longer stand conditions within the camp and chose instead to work in the brothels. We witness her on the verandah of a grand Dutch colonial mansion, dressed in silk and fully made up with not a hair out of place, showing signs of (is it?) regret as her ‘sisters’ pass by on the road outside, herded like cattle into the back of a truck. Contrast this with Jan Ruff-O’Herne’s description of arriving back at her camp, after three months of daily, multiple rapes, with her head bound in a scarf. The scarf hid her baldness, which had been an intentional act of self-mutilation in a vain effort to discourage the sexual interest of her attackers. The recent revelations of women, like Mrs Ruff-O’Herne, who were forced into military sexual slavery reveal a historical complexity that is overlooked in the public’s voyeuristic fascination with the sexual threats to female internees. That complexity does not rest only in understanding that both voluntarism and compulsion were involved in

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Western Women detained by the Japanese • 183 sexual contact. It also rests in recognizing that the forced detention of Europeans, particularly women, in camps controlled by Asian overseers, evokes in many people’s imaginations anxieties about sexual and racial integrity that have deep resonance in Western cultures. It is problematic, of course, to distinguish between the fictional re-creations of female internees’ sexual experiences and the autobiographical ‘revelations’ of camp survivors. This could be reduced to an equation in which the ‘fact’ of women’s historical experiences present in biography or testimony undermines the claims to historical accuracy present in many fictional re-creations. Instead of establishing a dichotomy between fact and fiction, it is perhaps more fruitful to consider testimony and fiction in complex and contradictory relation to one another. Women’s experiences as prisoners or captives – particularly of cultural ‘others’ – are always already caught within a web of cultural associations linked to race, gender and nation. Women who have been captives continue to speak about sex at their peril, precisely because in Western cultures the discussion of sexual violence is surrounded with ambiguity over questions of responsibility and morality. These ambiguities and tensions are present in the responses to women who speak the silences about sexual violence, and also in the voyeurism that has marked the fictional recreations of their experiences.

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–15– Prisoners of War in Australian National Memory Joan Beaumont

It is a remarkable fact that, until quite recently, World War II was marginalized in Australian national memory by World War I. The war of 1939–45 was, in global terms, the more catastrophic conflict, and in contrast to the war of 1914–18, it confronted Australia in early 1942 with its first loss of civilian lives to aerial bombing and the very real threat of invasion. Despite this, the conflict has played a secondary role in ritual and war commemoration at the national level. Moreover, the details of the war – its major battles, campaigns and contours – are comparatively unknown among the younger generation of Australians.1 There are many reasons for these phenomena, which are beyond the scope of this study. However, the key point, for the purposes of this volume, is that POWs have been an exception to this rule of national amnesia – or more particularly, prisoners of the Japanese have been so. Why? In the first instance, it needs to be stressed that the experience of captivity in the Asia-Pacific region from 1941 to 1945 was a remarkably dominant one for Australian personnel who served in that theatre of operations. More than 21,000 Australians were captured by the Japanese. This was almost three times the number captured by the Axis powers in the Mediterranean and Europe.2 While these numbers are small compared to the millions of men and women who were taken prisoner in Europe, particularly on the Eastern front, POWs constituted about 25 per cent of the deaths suffered by Australia during World War II. Moreover, some 7,600 prisoners – or almost a third of those captured by the Japanese – died in captivity. In contrast, only 3.2 per cent of men interned by the European Axis powers died in captivity. The total Australian death toll in World War II was, in fact, only in the order of 30,000,3 from a population of about 7 million, a statistic that accounts to some degree for the marginalization of this war in Australian memory, given that World War I, when the population was less than 5 million, saw combat deaths of more than 58,000. But the ratio between deaths in combat and deaths in captivity in the Asia-Pacific War was dramatically different from the other theatres of war in 185

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186 • Memory World War II and from other major conflicts in which Australia was involved in the twentieth century: 46 per cent of total deaths in the Asia-Pacific War were POWs.4 In the European and Mediterranean theatres, on the other hand, they accounted for only 0.02 per cent of deaths. World War I, meanwhile, saw only 0.6 per cent of total deaths being prisoners. In Korea, only one prisoner (of 29) died. In Vietnam, no Australians were taken prisoner. This raw data goes some way to explaining the importance of prisoners of the Japanese in Australian national memory. However, the more substantive reason as to why POWs have assumed such importance in national memory relates to the way in which their experiences have been integrated into the dominant narrative about Australia’s history of war and the dominant construction of national identity. In the now extensive international literature on war and memory, it is axiomatic, first, that memory operates at many levels – individual, private, local, collective or national, as they are variously called. Moreover, at the national level particularly, the memory of war is regularly mobilized for the purposes of nation building. To quote an important 2000 study, war memory is ‘a practice bound up with rituals of national identification, and a key element in the symbolic repertoire available to the nation-state for binding its citizens into a collective national identity’.5 Furthermore, as constructions of national identity change with successive generations, so too does memory change; the memory of war is therefore inevitably dynamic, contingent and contested. All of these points are germane to the memory of prisoners in Australia: because progressively, over the past fifty years, private memories of captivity have interfaced with national ritual, thereby providing, across successive generations and changing political contexts, a new and continuing resonance for the nationalist narrative, known as the Anzac myth. ANZAC is an acronym for the Australian & New Zealand Army Corps of World War I, but the ‘myth’ or ‘legend’, as it is popularly called, is a construction of Australian identity – and particularly Australian masculinity – that arose from the national experience of World War I, especially the Gallipoli campaign of 1915. Initially Anzac (to use the common short-hand) was in many ways the creation of the official Australian war correspondent, C.E.W. Bean, who was present at Gallipoli and on the Western Front from 1916 to 1918. After the war Bean became the chief author and editor of the twelve-volume official history and he played a central role in the creation of the massive Australian War Memorial in Canberra.6 As a result of these activities Bean became an ‘official carrier of memory’, to use the term of the French historian Henry Russo,7 and dominated Australian writing on World War I for many decades. From Bean’s writings (and to a lesser extent, from those of the Australian commander, General Sir John Monash,8 and British writers such as John Masefield and the journalist Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett9) there emerged a mythology about the Australian soldier – or ‘digger’, as he is inevitably called – that proved to have extraordinary resonance throughout the twentieth

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POWs in Australian National Memory • 187 century. Not only did this celebration of the soldier engage with the needs of private Australians seeking to make sense of grief and loss on an unprecedented scale, but during the war years and in succeeding decades Anzac was appropriated by a State that was eager to mobilize the population around the war effort and a particular construction of Australian nationalism. It is still dominant in political discourse today. The essential elements of this myth are that the Australian digger was a naturally good fighter. Moreover, he excelled at fighting because (so Bean argued) of the dominance of the rural (or ‘bush’) values in pre-war Australia and the democratic and relatively classless nature of Australian society. The digger was supposedly instinctively egalitarian, disrespectful of formal authority and military hierarchies, particularly if the latter were British; he was independent in spirit, able to show personal initiative in combat, endlessly resourceful in situations of hardship, and characterized by a dry laconic humour when under stress. Above all, his success on the battlefield owed much to his loyalty to his fellow soldiers – or as they are always called in Australian discourse, ‘mates’. As Bean said in one his most celebrated passages within his account of the Gallipoli campaign: The [Australian] was seldom religious in the sense in which the word is generally used. So far as he held a prevailing creed, it was a romantic one inherited from the gold-miner and the bush-man, of which the chief article was that a man should at all times and at any cost stand by his mate. This was and is the one law which the good Australian must never break.10

This stereotype of the Australian digger was well established in popular mythology and culture by the time World War II broke out.11 Anzac Day (25 April), the day of the landing at Gallipoli in 1915, became a national holiday in Australia during the 1920s and there is considerable evidence that the men who served in World War II, including those who fell into Japanese hands in 1942, saw themselves as heirs to that tradition. The dilemma that confronted men who became prisoners of the Japanese was that they were defeated – a condition that was difficult to reconcile with the heroism and military prowess inherent in the national myth. Anzacs were supposed to be exemplary fighters, better than the armies of other nationalities.12 Yet it is intriguing to see how, from the experiences of humiliating defeat in Malaya, Singapore and the Netherlands East Indies in early 1942, a heroic narrative emerged. Prisoners of the Japanese and the Australian public moved quickly to integrate the experience of captivity into the dominant national discourse about war. This process began almost immediately on the prisoners’ return to Australia. Huge crowds lined the streets of Melbourne and Sydney to greet the POWs on their repatriation in September-October 194513 and, although the research of

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188 • Memory Stephen Garton, Janette Bomford and Michael McKernan shows that the return to civilian and home life was much more fraught for the individual veteran than the scenes of euphoria might suggest,14 publicly POWs were given the welcome of heroes. This public interest in prisoners of the Japanese – and the notion that their experience was not in any sense shameful – was sustained by a number of very successful publications by ex-POWs that emerged in the first decade after the war. A well-known war correspondent Rohan Rivett rushed into print in 1946 with his account of captivity, Behind Bamboo.15 The same year saw the publication of Slaves of the Samurai by a prominent Australian who went on to become a federal minister in the conservative government of Robert Menzies in the 1950s, Wilfred Kent Hughes.16 In 1951 Roy Whitecross followed with the similarly titled Slaves of the Sons of Heaven,17 while Russell Braddon published a semi-fictional account of captivity, The Naked Island in 1952.18 This incidentally was the year of the first publication of The Bridge on the River Kwai, a novel written by a Frenchman but which became forever identified in the popular mind as British, since the film starred that quintessentially British actor, Alec Guinness. There are a number of points worth noting about these books. Firstly, they were – and in some cases, remain – immensely popular. The Naked Island sold well over a million copies and remains in print in Australia, Britain and the United States today. Rivett’s Behind Bamboo has been reprinted many times, and was revived in the Penguin Australian War Classics series in the 1980s. Whitecross went through many editions and was reprinted in 2000. The second point about these books is that they spawned a selective memory of captivity. They ensured that the major internment camp at Changi, Singapore, and the Burma-Thailand railway eclipsed other memories of captivity at the public level for at least three decades. There was one exception to this: the experiences of Australian Army nurses who were torpedoed while trying to escape Singapore and interned on Sumatra. These were the subject of two very popular memoirs, Betty Jeffrey’s White Coolies19 and Jessie Simon’s While History Passed,20 both published in 1954. Many other memories of captivity, however – in places such as Ambon, Borneo, Hainan Island, Manchuria and Formosa (Taiwan) – were pushed to the margins. This was despite the fact that at Ambon the death rate was 77 per cent21 – much higher than on the Burma-Thailand railway where, at its worst, the death toll was around 39 per cent – and the fact that in northern Borneo, only 6 of 2,500 British and Australian prisoners survived a horrific regime of forced marches, starvation and disease in the last year of the war.22 The dominance of the Burma-Thailand railway was not entirely attributable to the early literary works about captivity. Other forms of cultural production were at work, shaping individual and collective memories of captivity. In the first place, there were a number of artists and photographers who managed to record the scenes of horror and deprivation that occurred during the construction of the

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POWs in Australian National Memory • 189 railway:23 scenes of primitive camps, high up in the mountainous jungle of Burma and Thailand, awash with sewage and monsoonal rain; of tropical ulcers eating away men’s flesh to the bone; of skeletal frames of men with stomachs unnaturally distended from beriberi; of bonfires burning with the victims of cholera, and of men struggling with the most primitive of weapons, day and night, to hew railway cuttings out of solid rock. Memory at the cultural level of documentaries and museums, such as the Australian War Memorial, is contingent to some degree on there being images of horror that survive and imprint themselves on the minds of individuals, thus providing an interface between private and public memory. In addition, memory at the public level requires there to be a significant number of survivors performing the role of ‘carriers of memory’. Many thousands of Australians survived, as witnesses, to the railway and Changi. In contrast only 6 prisoners survived Sandakan; and 123, Ambon. There was also another element that contributed to the enduring memory of the railway at the national level – the sheer megalomania of the Japanese conception of the project. For all the horror associated with the construction of the railway, it remained a remarkable engineering achievement – although, admittedly, this is not a view that is often voiced by the Australian prisoners who worked on the railway. In the mid-1990s the Australian and Thai governments collaborated to build a museum at Hell Fire Pass, a notorious cutting on the railway, but the suggestion by the Office of Australian War Graves, which was responsible for developing the museum, that there should be some recognition of the technical achievement the railway represented was strongly opposed by ex-POW associations. In a clear instance of a contest over memory, they rejected any implication that Australian prisoners had contributed to the Japanese war effort (which they manifestly had because of the Japanese failure to observe the Geneva Convention of 1929). Instead, the memory that the veteran organizations wanted the Hell Fire Pass museum to enshrine was that of mateship on the part of Australians and brutality on the part of the Japanese.24 But to return to the early written accounts of captivity. The third, and perhaps, most important point is that these books began the process of integrating prisoners of war into the hegemonic Anzac mythology. Australian war literature was already characterized by a classical heroic tradition, which owed something to the fortuitous geographical proximity of Gallipoli to Greece, the home of classical civilization. But it also reflected the tendency of soldiers, highlighted by Paul Fussell in his The Great War and Modern Memory, to make sense of the disjunction of wartime by drawing on their existing cultural and literary heritage.25 Hence Rivett and Kent Hughes, when describing the experience of captivity, trawled classical and British literary imagery, even though the setting of their experiences was Asia. Slaves of the Samurai is a long poem in the style of the Iliad full of references to classical Rome, Greek mythology, the Bible, European and Asian philosophers and

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190 • Memory British, Asian and Australian history. Rivett also presents his experiences as an Odyssey, and each chapter of his book is headed by a quotation from (to give only a sample) Shakespeare, Byron, Goethe, Tennyson, Hippocrates, Keats, Carlyle, the Bible and – predictably, given Australia’s dominion status within the British Empire – Rudyard Kipling. Even more significant than the use of classical imagery by these authors was the positioning of the POW experience within the Anzac tradition. Kent Hughes, for example, devoted five pages to a description of the celebration of Anzac Day in Changi; and when describing the early days of captivity, during which the other ranks showed signs of insubordination and of challenging the authority of Australian officers on the grounds that captivity made all previous distinctions of military rank irrelevant, he wrote: Among the soldiers and the N.C.O.s The old comradely spirit soon arose The Anzac spirit in its finest form Repaired the damage of the early storm.26

Kent Hughes, of course, might be discounted as unrepresentative. Like Rivett, he had been educated at Oxford, and also had political aspirations. But there is evidence from the records of other prisoners that the internalization of Anzac was occurring in the case of individuals who were not intent on publishing their memoirs and projecting a positive public image. The prisoner of war doctor, Sir Edward (‘Weary’) Dunlop, for example, noted in his diary on Anzac Day 1944, at Chungkai, Thailand: Anzac Parade assembled at 1915. There were approximately 700 AIF in the camp well over 400 were able to be present . . . We stood for one minute at attention to think of comrades who had by their sacrifice furthered the lustre of the name ANZAC, then marched to church by companies. The first AIF soldiers were leading. Padre Thompson, as Australian, took the service and rather gave us all a rocket that we only turn up to church in large numbers on this one day! . . . the only flaw was that he forgot to mention New Zealand in the sermon!27

Another prisoner recorded an Anzac Day service at 75-kilo camp on the BurmaThailand railway, which took the form of the traditional remembrance ceremony: Just before dawn a few shadowy forms gathered on the road. The flickering light from crude kitchen fires in the background lighted to mutual recognition the drawn faces of a number of 1914–18 diggers. . . . The still solemnity of this Anzac morning – their day since 1915 – garbed their emaciated forms with imagined uniforms . . . On quiet word of command, ranks were formed, and with shoulders squared to carry the proud

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POWs in Australian National Memory • 191 heritage of former years of freedom and victory, they marched to the accompaniment of mental martial music . . . to where a large wooden cross had been erected. A wreath of timid jungle flowers and ferns were reverently laid before this simple shrine, in memory, not only of the fallen of 1914–18 and of this last war, but also of the all too many mates, whose resting places were marked by an almost endless chain of pitiful little wooden crosses throughout the length of this trail of tribulation. The hush was broken by the haunting notes of the Last Post. Reveille sounded; symbolic of re-awakened life, bringing with the dawn a message of – faith in the past and hope for the future – to Gallipolean slopes, transcended the barriers of Jap and jungle, with its inspiration to courage and sacrifice.28

Very early, therefore, in the aftermath of World War II a narrative of captivity was being shaped which highlighted those qualities of the prisoners that resonated with the Anzac mythology: that is, their resilience, adaptability, resourcefulness in situations of extreme hardship, their superior social organization, and, above all, their mateship. In many ways, POWs have been constructed as one of the prevailing popular archetypes, the ‘Aussie battler’, someone who survives against the odds and confronts adversity with stoicism. Alternative narratives of captivity, which included evidence of individual self-interest prevailing over the collective good – such as stealing among the prisoners, dissension and insubordination, all of which certainly occurred within the POW camp, though their incidence is disputed – were marginalized or even eclipsed. This process of affirming the dominance of the Anzac qualities in captivity occurred also at the local, collective level of the battalion association. When, in the mid 1980s, I was writing a study of a battalion held prisoner on Ambon and Hainan, I encountered a seemingly deliberate attempt on the part of the battalion association (which was dominated by ex-officers) to deny the existence of bitter divisions within the POW camps. These divisions had been so deep on Hainan that the senior Australian officer had handed the men whom he could not discipline over to the Japanese for brutal punishment, including electric shocks. In response, the men had set up vigilante groups to inflict physical punishment on prisoners who stole from each other. On Ambon the officers, who again lost effective control of the camp, built an open bamboo cage within which Australian thieves were detained.29 However, these dissonant memories of captivity, which challenged the dominant value of mateship, were emphatically denied by the carriers of the ‘authorized’ memory. What might be called the apotheosis of the prisoner of war gained momentum in the 1980s and 1990s when a remarkable resurgence of public interest in the Australian experience of war occurred. The reasons for this phenomenon, which was global as well as Australian, are complex. In Europe, where the Holocaust was initially at the heart of the concern with memory, the end of the Cold War is thought to have ‘unfrozen’ memories of the past that had formerly been con-

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192 • Memory strained by ideology and the East-West divide. New agendas of nation building in the former Soviet empire contributed to the ‘return’ of the past: the mobilization of collective memories in order to create founding myths, assert new minority identities and provide social cohesion during the painful dislocation involved in moving to market economies. The ‘war memory boom’ was also encouraged globally by a fin de siècle mood: a need, as not only the twentieth century but also the millennium closed, to make sense of that immensely violent century. The fact that this period coincided with the ageing of the victims of the Holocaust and the veterans of the two world wars generated a sense of urgency and anxiety about the loss of memory based on personal recollection. In Australia this mood of national reflection was accentuated by the bicentenary of white settlement in 1988, and the centenary of federation in 2001, both of these being occasions for celebratory nationalism and identity building on the part of the State. Australian federal governments (Labor and non-Labor) and official agencies such as the Australian War Memorial and the Department of Veteran’s Affairs spawned a new ritual of war commemoration in the 1990s particularly. This included a plethora of anniversary celebrations, of which the year-long Australia Remembers campaign to mark the fiftieth anniversary of the end of World War II was the most elaborate. There were regular pilgrimages of veterans and politicians to battlefields and former prisoner-of-war camps; and the creation of new museums and war memorials in Canberra and overseas. As Jan-Werner Müller has said, ‘“communicative memory”, that is, living oral memory based on personal recollection, [passed] into “cultural memory” – with “cultural memory” now commonly understood as the cultural representations which lack the immediacy of first-hand recollection’.30 And all this was ‘fuelled and amplified by the public communications media, which seize[d] upon forthcoming commemorative dates to stimulate cultural production of all kinds’,31 including special newspaper supplements on war anniversaries, television series such as the Australian Broadcasting Corporation (ABC)’s Changi and an increasingly hysterical countdown to the death of the last Gallipoli veteran in 2002. With this ‘memory industry’ there came an affirmation at the highest level of national ritual of the centrality of POWs to the Australian national identity, and a new recognition of the complexity and diversity of the experience of Australian prisoners in Asia and Europe. Sandakan in northern Borneo, for example, which had been largely forgotten at the public level, was retrieved from the private domain of families and survivors and brought into the mainstream of national commemoration. The process by which this happened is instructive. In 1985, an academic at the Australian National University, Hank Nelson, and journalist, Tim Bowden, conducted an extensive series of interviews with POWs for the national broadcaster, the ABC. Sandakan formed a case study in this oral history and companion book.32 At the same time the leading ex-servicemen’s association, the

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POWs in Australian National Memory • 193 Returned Services’ League (RSL) (which has seen itself since World War I as the hegemonic custodian of a conservative memory of war) took the initiative in developing memorials to POWs in north Borneo. In addition, from the late 1980s a number of books were published privately on Sandakan33 and, from 1992 onwards, a number of memorials were erected by local initiatives on the part of people who called themselves the ‘Sandakan family’ (that is, the few remaining survivors and the relatives of those killed). A critical moment in the ‘cross-over’ from private to public memory came in August 1993 when one of these memorials, in Burwood Park, Sydney, was unveiled by the Prime Minister, Paul Keating. Keating happened to have lost an uncle at Sandakan and represented literally the intersection between the private and public memory.34 By the mid-1990s, therefore, Sandakan had moved fully to the stage of national memory. Official pilgrimages of politicians and veterans were organized in 1995 and the government took over from the RSL the responsibility for funding the development and maintenance of a memorial park at Sandakan. A further official pilgrimage took place in 1999 to open the new facilities.35 A similar process of POW memory being affirmed by the interface between private and public initiative can be seen in the development of a museum at Hell Fire Pass on the former Burma-Thailand railway. Despite the prominent place of the railway in cultural memory, there were few physical memorials in Thailand or Burma, other than the cemeteries maintained by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. However, in the 1980s certain highly motivated individuals, including expatriates in the Australian-Thai Chamber of Commerce, began to campaign for the development of a more formal museum in memory of prisoners of war. Progressively, the Australian federal government became involved, until in the mid-1990s Keating allocated funding to the development of a museum at Hell Fire Pass. His conservative successor, elected in 1996, John Howard, opened the museum in 1998, with an official contingent of veterans in attendance.36 In Hell Fire Pass, we can see the explicit integration of the prisoner experience into the grand narrative of Anzac. At Kanchanaburi War Cemetery, Thailand, on 25 April 1998 Howard claimed that in captivity the ‘Anzac legend found a new form’. ‘Mateship, courage, compassion. These are enduring qualities – the qualities of our nation. The essence of a nation’s past and a hope for its future’.37 In a manner resonant of a famous passage from Bean’s official history, when he asked why Australian men kept fighting during the Gallipoli campaign,38 Howard posed the question, supposedly asked by an English officer watching Australian POWs trudging back from work in the driving rain: ‘Just what is it that these Australians have?’ The answer . . . was that they had each other. They had their mates. Mates who would carry a man’s pack or his body when pain or fatigue became too much. Mates who would break all rules or give up their meagre rations to a friend in need. Mates who listened to last words whispered from dying lips – for it’s been said that no Australian was

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194 • Memory allowed to die alone. Mates who contained their fear but freely shared their courage and strength.39

There were seven references to mateship in a speech of less than 550 words. At the start of the twenty-first century, therefore, it is clear that the narrative of captivity has been transformed, through a complex interface of individual, collective and State agency, from a story of defeat, humiliation and suffering into a celebration of national identity. In part this has been possible because the defeats that made Australians prisoners, which logically should have diminished the triumphalist mythology of Anzac, have been able to be sheeted home to people other than Australians, notably the British with whom Australians have enjoyed a ‘schizoid love–hate’ relationship.40 At Gallipoli the blame for the failure of the campaign has been attributed in the Australian press to Winston Churchill, then First Lord of the Admiralty and champion of the eastern strategy of which the Dardanelles campaign was part.41 On the Western Front it was ‘the butcher’, General Sir Douglas Haig, and the ‘donkeys’42 of the British high command that carried the odium for the terrible losses on the Somme, Bullecourt and Passchendaele. In the case of the disasters of 1942, it is again Churchill and the disastrously flawed strategy of imperial overstretch that has been held responsible for the ‘great betrayal’ of Australia.43 When this chauvinistic capacity to deflect blame for defeat and failure is added to the fact that captivity in Japanese camps did offer Australian prisoners the chance to manifest the Anzac qualities of individual courage, resourcefulness and comradeship, then the integration of POWs into the dominant national narrative becomes explicable. The prisoner-of war-experience has enabled the Anzac myth, as the Gallipoli campaign itself recedes into the distance, beyond the personal experience of any living Australian, to be re-created with new meanings at the national and individual level. And because, through its sheer scale, captivity touched so many Australian individuals and their families, it has proved able to provide an enduring interface between private and national memories of war. In other words, it has provided Anzac with that synthesis of an ‘individuated memory’44 and ‘communal ownership’45 that is the essence of active national memory of war.

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Notes

Foreword 1. www.ihtp.cnrs.fr/cih2gm.html

1 Overview 1. See also Richard Bessel and Dirk Schuman (eds) Life after Death. Approaches to a Cultural and Social History during the 1940s and 1950s (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003). 2. See also John Dower, War without Mercy: Race and Power in the Pacific (New York: Pantheon Books, 1986). 3. See also Frank Biess’ contribution to the Hamburg conference, previously published as ‘Survivors of Totalitarianism. Returning POWs and the Reconstruction of masculine Citizenship in West-Germany, 1945–1955’, in Hannah Schissler (ed.), The Miracle Years. A Cultural History of West Germany, 1949–1968 (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 2001) and Robert G. Moeller, War Stories. The Search for a Usable Past in the Federal Republic of Germany (Berkeley CA: University of California Press, 2001).

2 The Repatriation of Prisoners of War once Hostilities are Over: A Matter of Course? 1. Christiane Shields Delessert, Release and Repatriation of Prisoners of War at the End of Active Hostilities – A Study of Article 188, Paragraph 1, of the Third Geneva Convention Relative to the Treatment of Prisoners of War (Zürich: Schulthess Polygraphischer Verlag, 1977), pp. 47, 50; Joachim Hinz, Das Kriegsgefangenenrecht unter besonderer Berücksichtigung seiner Entwicklung durch das Genfer Abkommen vom 12. August 1949 (Berlin: F. Vahlen, 1955), p.171; Franz Scheidl, Die Kriegsgefangenschaft von den ältesten Zeiten bis zur Gegenwart (Berlin: E. Ebering, 1943), p. 30. 2. Delessert, Release and Repatriation, p. 51. 3. Scheidl, Kriegsgefangenschaft, p. 507. 195

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196 • Notes 4. Delessert, Release and Repatriation, p. 54; Helene Heide, ‘Die französischen Kriegsgefangenen in Deutschland, während des Krieges 1870/71’ (Diss. Universität Köln 1960), p. 91. 5. Inge Pardon (ed.), Lager, Front oder Heimat. Deutsche Kriegsgefangene in Sowjetrußland 1917 bis 1920, (München: K.G. Saur, 1994), p. 13–14; Gerald Davis, ‘Prisoners of War in Twentieth-Century War Economies’, Journal of Contemporary History, XII/4 (1977), pp. 623–34 (630). 6. Delessert, Release and Repatriation, pp. 56, 68; Scheidl, Kriegsgefangenschaft, p. 507. 7. Delessert, Release and Repatriation, pp. 114–16; Hinz, Kriegsgefangenenrecht, p. 172. 8. Scheidl, Kriegsgefangenschaft, pp. 484–5. 9. Delessert, Release and Repatriation, p. 116; Christoph Marx, ‘“Die im Dunkeln sieht man nicht.” Kriegsgefangene im Burenkrieg 1899–1902’, in: Rüdiger Overmans (ed.), In der Hand des Feindes. Kriegsgefangenschaft von der Antike bis zum Zweiten Weltkrieg, (Köln/Weimar/Wien: Böhlau, 1999), pp. 255–76, see pp. 264–5; Rüdiger Overmans, ‘Die Kriegsgefangenenpolitik des Deutschen Reiches’ in Das Deutsche Reich und der Zweite Weltkrieg, Bd. 9/2, (forthcoming 2005); Dutch professional soldiers and the Norwegian officers were not released. 10. Leo de Hartog, Officieren achter prikkeldraad 1940–1945. Nederlandse militairen in Duitse krijgsgevangenschap (Baarn: Hollandia, 1983), p. 74. After the events of the Second World War, regulations on release on parole were reintegrated into the Geneva POW convention of 1949, see Hinz, Kriegsgefangenenrecht, p. 74. 11. Scheidl, Kriegsgefangenschaft, p. 504. 12. Overmans, ‘Kriegsgefangenenpolitik’; Delessert, Release and Repatriation, p. 125; Arnulf Moser, Die Grenze im Krieg. Austauschaktionen für Kriegsgefangene und Internierte am Bodensee 1944/45 (Konstanz: Eigenverlag des Arbeitskreises für Regionalgeschichte e. V., 1985), pp. 44–8. 13. Overmans, ‘Kriegsgefangenenpolitik’. 14. Russel Buhite, ‘Soviet-American Relations’, The Historian, 35 (1973), pp. 384–97, see esp. p. 388; Delessert, Release and Repatriation, p. 116; Hinz, Kriegsgefangenenrecht, p. 74. 15. Werner Ratza, ‘Anzahl und Arbeitsleistungen der deutschen Kriegsgefangenen’, in: Erich Maschke (ed.), Die deutschen Kriegsgefangenen des Zweiten Weltkrieges. Eine Zusammenfassung (München: Gieseking, 1974), pp. 185–230, see pp. 200–1. 16. Buhite, ‘Soviet-American Relations’, pp. 386, 388, 394; George Lewis and John Mewha, History of Prisoner of War Utilization by the United States Army 1776–1945 (Washington: Department of the Army, 1955), p. 148; Delessert,

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Notes • 197 Release and Repatriation, pp. 145, 149. 17. Catherine Klein-Gousseff (ed.), Retours d’URSS. Les prisonniers de guerre et les internés français dans les archives soviétiques (Paris : CNRS Editions, 2001), pp. 13–33. 18. Lewis and Mewha, POW Utilization, pp. 172, 189–90; Bob Moore and Kent Fedorowich, The British Empire and its Italian Prisoners of War, 1940–1947, (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2002), pp. 148–70. 19. Overmans, ‘Kriegsgefangenenpolitik’. 20. Overmans, ‘Kriegsgefangenenpolitik’. 21. Biess, Frank: ‘“Pioneers of a New Germany”: Returning POWs from the Soviet Union and the Making of East German Citizens, 1945–1950’, Central European History, 32 (1999), pp. 143–80. 22. Rüdiger Overmans, ‘“Ostmärker” oder Österreicher? Nationale Differenzierung zwischen Deutschen und österreichern in sowjetischem Gewahrsam während des Zweiten Weltkriegs’, Zeitgeschichte, 29 (2002), pp. 133–47, see pp. 138–40. 23. Delessert, Release and Repatriation, pp.64, 70, 132, 141, 169, 172; Hinz, Kriegsgefangenenrecht, pp.184–185. 24. Delessert, Release and Repatriation, pp.157–166.

3 British Perceptions of Italian Prisoners of War, 1940–7 1. Terri Colpi, ‘The Impact of the Second World War on the British Italian Community’ in David Cesarani and Tony Kushner (eds), The Internment of Aliens in Britain (London: Cass, 1993), pp. 168–9. Lucio Sponza, Divided Loyalties: Italians in Britain during the Second World War (Bern: Peter Lang, 2000), p. 14. 2. Angus Calder, The People’s War (London: Penguin, 1965), p. 23. 3. Colpi, ‘British Italian Community’, p. 172. See, for example, Scottish Record Office HH55/7 Circular 3732: Scottish Home Department, Intelligence Report 48A, which reported windows being broken in 156 (mainly Italian) shops on the night of 10 June 1940, and further disturbances on the two nights following. Sponza, Divided Loyalties, pp. 75–93 also notes that the violence was more prevalent in Scotland than in England or Wales. 4. Calder, The People’s War, pp. 242, 488–9. 5. Calder, The People’s War, p. 489. 6. Alfred Duff Cooper, Old Men Forget: The Autobiography of Duff Cooper (Viscount Norwich) (London: Rupert Hart-Davis, 1953), p. 275. 7. Commander-in-Chief, Middle East to War Office, 27 January 1941 (I.37605) FO371/29920. 8. Commander-in-Chief, Middle East to War Office, 23 December 1940

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198 • Notes

9. 10. 11.

12. 13. 14. 15.

16.

17. 18.

19.

20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25.

(I.31448); Commander-in-Chief, Middle East to War Office, 13 January 1941 (I.34962), FO371/29920. Lord Avon (Anthony Eden), The Eden Memoirs: The Reckoning (London: Cassell, 1965), p. 159. Bob Moore and Kent Fedorowich, The British Empire and its Italian Prisoners of War (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2002), pp. 23–4,132. Winston Churchill to Lord Ismay, 26 December 1940. Lieutenant-Colonel L.C. Hollis, Senior Assistant Secretary (Military) to Churchill, 31 December 1940, PREM3/363/1. David Dilks (ed.), The Diaries of Sir Alexander Cadogan, 1938–1945 (London: Cassell, 1971), p. 339. Entry for Thursday 12 December. Leo Amery to Lord Linlithgow, 17 February 1941, India Office Library and Records, Linlithgow Papers, MSS Eur. F125/10. See, for example, Capt. Fraser to J.E. Fraser (Nova Scotia), 19 March 1942, CO980/17. Lucio Sponza, ‘Italian Prisoners of War in Great Britain, 1943–6’ in Moore and Fedorowich (eds), Prisoners of War and their Captors in World War II (Oxford: Berg, 1996), p. 207 cites report from POW Camp No.31 Ettington Park, 19 September 1941, FO916/176. See, for example, Bob Moore, ‘Axis Prisoners in Britain during the Second World War: A Comparative Survey’ in Moore and Fedorowich (eds), Prisoners of War and their Captors, pp. 19–46, and Moore and Fedorowich, The British Empire and its Italian Prisoners of War, pp. 14–43. Memorandum on a meeting between Ministry of Agriculture Officials and the National Farmers’ Union, 5 February 1941, MAF47/54. Undated draft memorandum for War Cabinet from Minister of Agriculture, reporting the comments of the Secretary of State for War, probably early 1941, MAF47/54. Sir Desmond Morton, Personal Assistant to the Prime Minister, to Churchill, 24 February 1941, PREM3/363/1. Hunter to R.S. Wells, Acting Secretary, HD(S)E, 27 January 1941, CAB114/25. ‘Use of Italian Prisoners of War for Agricultural Purposes.’ Note by Secretary of the War Cabinet, 14/6/39–1, 29 May 1941, CAB123/136. Cipher from W.C. Huggard, 22 January 1941, PREM3/363/3. War Office to W.C. Tame, Man Power Division, Ministry of Agriculture, 19 June 1941, MAF47/54. Report by A. Carr Williams to Labour Supply Branch, Ministry of Agriculture, 12 August 1941, MAF47/54. The Times, 5 January 1942, Daily Express, 9–10 January 1942. J.M. Ross (Home Office) to H.J. Johns (Agriculture), 11 March 1942. MAF47/54.

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Notes • 199 26. PWE Regional Director, Italy to PWE Director-General, 29 August 1944, FO939/356. 27. The Times, 21 November 1941, cited in Lucio Sponza ‘Italian Prisoners of War in the United Kingdom, 1943–46’ in Moore and Fedorowich (eds) Prisoners of War and their Captors, p. 208. See also Sponza, Divided Loyalties, pp. 206–7. 28. The Times, 28 July 1943. 29. Mass Observation Archive (University of Sussex), DR3164. 30. Mass Observation Archive, DR3194. 31. Mass Observation Archive, DR2845, DR2362, DR3184. 32. Mass Observation Archive, DR3356. 33. Norman Longmate, How We Lived Then. A History of Everyday Life during the Second World War (London: Arrow, 1973), pp. 450, 480 cited in Sponza, Divided Loyalties, p. 209. 34. Mass Observation Archive, DR3194. 35. Mass Observation Archive, DR1578, DR3380, See also Sponza, ‘Italian Prisoners’, p. 208. 36. Jenny Hartley, Hearts Undefeated. Women’s Writing of the Second World War (London: Virago, 1996), pp. 208–9. See also Imperial War Museum, Sound Archive 87/5/1; 88/1/1; 88/43/1; 87/21/1. 37. The Times, 26 July 1943. 38. Nicola Tyrer, They Fought in the Fields: The Women’s Land Army: The Story of a Forgotten Victory (London: Mandarin, 1997), p. 181. 39. War Office to Regional Command HQs and London District, UM 4857(PW4), 2 November 1944, WO32/10737. 40. Memorandum by PWE on the Proposal to Employ Italian POW on Work Prohibited by the Geneva Convention, 14 April 1944, FO898/325. 41. Superintendent ‘K’ Division, East Ham, to Chief Constable, 5 January 1945. Superintendent ‘Z’ Division, Croydon, to Chief Constable, 6 January 1945. Superintendent C2 Branch, to Chief Constable, 2 January 1945. For other incidents, see Sponza, Divided Loyalties, pp. 214–215. 42. The Times, 9 April 1943. Daily Express, 20 April 1943 and Daily Sketch, 19 April 1943. 43. Tyrer, They Fought in the Fields, p. 182, cites Daily Sketch, 15 February 1945. 44. The Times, 25 October 1944; Question by Sir J. Mellor to Sir James Grigg (Secretary of State for War), Hansard, House of Commons, fifth series (1943–1944) vol. 404, col. 14, 24 October 1944. 45. See, for example, MEPO2/6871 Superintendent ‘A’ Division, Cannon Row to Chief Constable, 6 January 1945, reporting on speakers at Hyde Park Corner. 46. The Times, 14 September 1944. 47. WP(44)686 Memorandum by Ernest Bevin, 24 November 1944,

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200 • Notes PREM3/363/13. WM160(44)5, 30 November 1944, CAB65/44. 48. The Times, 5 October 1944 and 10 October 1944. Superintendent ‘X’ Division (Harrow Road) to Chief Constable, 6 January 1945, MEPO2/6871. See also Sunday Pictorial, 1 October 1944, Daily Express, 2 October 1944 and Daily Herald, 2 October 1944, all from CAB114/31. See also Sponza, Divided Loyalties, pp. 282–3. 49. H.C. Loyd, HQ London District, to Sir Harold Scott, Commissioner of Police for the Metropolis, 6 May 1945, MEPO2/6871. 50. Major G. Rescazzi to Commandant, 122nd Italian Labour Battalion, Rayners Lane Camp, 28 November 1944. WO32/10737. For the full text, see Sponza, Divided Loyalties, pp. 285–6. 51. Ministry of Information, Home Intelligence Weekly Report, No. 208, 28 September 1944. CAB114/29. 52. Ministry of Labour and National Service: Joint Consultative Committee 49(44)7, 12 December 1944. WO32/11131. 53. Imperial War Museum, Sound Archive 12861/2. 54. Oxfordshire County Record Office TS42 OT83, Interview with Mrs D. Griffin (née Bush), Hill Farm, Fifield. 55. News Chronicle, 1 August 1944. 56. Bury Times, 23 April 1945. Letter, Carnegie Hero Fund Trust to Foreign Office, 15 November 1946, FO371/60570. 57. Military Liaison Officer (SO1) GHQ Cairo, Colonel C.J.M. Thornhill to Stark, 15 August 1940, FO898/110. 58. Director of Military Intelligence, Major-General F.H.N. Davidson to P. Nicholls (Foreign Office), February 1941, FO371/29935/R1376. 59. Lieutenant-Colonel John de Salis, Report on Geneifa Camp (No. 3) April 1941, FO371/29947/R5913. 60. PWE Propaganda Directive, 15 August 1941, INF1/920. 61. Memorandum by Anthony Eden, 18 February 1943 CAB66/34, WP(43)73. PWE Internal Memoranda, 2 April 1943, 8 April 1943, FO898/323. 62. Memorandum by PWE on the Proposal to Employ Italian POW on Work Prohibited by the Geneva Convention, 14 April 1944, FO898/325. 63. The YMCA had been organizing educational work inside POW Camps since early 1942 and claimed to have taught 8,000 men to read and write Italian, although their attempts to teach English were less successful, not least because of the shortage of teachers. Sponza, Divided Loyalties, p. 229. 64. Memorandum on Re-Education of Italian P/Ws in England, 30 September 1944, FO898/324. 65. ‘Memorandum by PWE on the Proposal to Employ Italian POW on Work Prohibited by the Geneva Convention’, 14 April 1944, FO898/325. 66. Moore and Fedorowich, The British Empire and its Italian Prisoners of War,

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Notes • 201 pp. 220–2. 67. Effie Pedaliu, ‘Britain and the Reconstruction of the Post-Fascist Italian Armed Forces, 1943–1948’, Cold War History 2/1 (2001), p. 42. 68. Calder, The People’s War, p. 489.

4 Hatred within Limits: German Prisoners of War and Polish Society, 1945–50 1. On the history of German POWs in Poland: Otto Böss, Die deutschen Kriegsgefangenen in Polen und der Tschechoslowakei (München: E. und W. Gieseking, 1974); Jerzy Kochanowski, W polskiej niewoli. Niemieccy jen´cy wojenni w Polsce 1945–1950 (Warszawa: Neriton, 2001); German version: In polnischer Gefangenschaft. Die deutschen Kriegsgefangenen in Polen 1945–1950 (Osnabrück: fibre Verlag, 2004). Memoires: Siegfried Bellartz, Tagebuch einer verlorenen Jugend. Erinnerungen an Krieg und Gefangenschaft in Polen (Aachen-Mainz: n.p., 1998), Harri Czepuck, Meine Wendezeiten: Errinerungen, Erwägungen, Erwartungen (Berlin: Dietz, 1999); Manfred Gebhardt, ‘Kriegsgefangener 330. Fünf Jahre in Polen’, in Manfred Gebhardt, Joachim Küttner, Deutsche in Polen nach 1945. Gefangene und Fremde (ed. Dieter Bingen) (München: R. Oldenbourg, 1997); Ernst Korn, Spuren hinterm Zaun. Jahre der Gefangenschaft 1945–1949 (Frankfurt am Main: Fischer, 1998). 2. For the full list of the Polish camps for German POWs: see Kochanowski, W polskiej niewoli, pp. 102–4, 453–60; Boguslaw Kopka, Obozy pracy w Polsce 1945–1950. Przewodnik encyklopedyczny (Warszawa: Niezalez· na Oficyna Wydawnicza Nowa: Os´rodek Karta, 2002), pp. 73–176. 3. Eugeniusz Cezary Król, Propaganda i indoktrynacja narodowego socjalizmu w Niemczech 1919–1945 (Warszawa, Instytut Studiów Politycznych Polskiej Akademii Nauk: Oficyna Wydawnicza Rytm, 1999), pp. 511–643. 4. Edmund Dmitrów, Niemcy i okupacja hitlerowska w oczach Polaków. Poglady ‘ i opinie z lat 1945–1948 (Warszawa: Czytelnik, 1987), pp. 147ff. 5. Jan Turanu (ed.), Dziesieciu sprawiedliwych. Wspomnienia okupacyjne ‘ (Warszawa, 1986). 6. Ernst Korn, Spuren hinterm Zaun, p. 161; Siegfried Bellartz, Tagebuch einer verlorenen Jugend, p. 147; Herbert Lante, ‘Meine Erlebnisse in der russischen Kriegsgefangenschaft 1945–1946’, Bundesarchiv Militaerarchiv (BAMA), MSG 200, 1007, p.3; Zbigniew Wiltosin´ski, ‘Wspomnienia o jen´cach’, pp. 5–6 (copy in the possession of the author). 7. Centralne Archiwum Wojskowe (Central Military Archive, CAW), III-4–381, p. 88. 8. Gosudarstvennyi Arkhiv Rossiiskoi Federatsii (State Archive of Russian

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202 • Notes Federation, GARF), 1–1/140, pp. 336–7. 9. Jerzy Kochanowski, W polskiej niewoli, pp. 24–61; Jerzy Kochanowski, ‘The Slave Labor of German POWs in Poland 1945 to 1950’, Annali dell’Instituto storico italo-germanico in Trento, XXVIII, 2002, p. 596. 10. See Bernard Linek, Polityka antyniemiecka na Górnym S´ lasku w latach ‘ 1945–1950 (Opole Pañstwowy Instytut Naukowy – Instytut S´ laski, 2000). ‘ 11. Letter from Romuald Mazurek to the author, 12.11.1998. 12. Archiwum Akt Nowych w Warszawie (Archive of Contemporary Documents in Warsaw, AAN), Ministerstwo Administracji Publicznej (Ministry of Public Administration, MAP), 138, p. 3; Archiwum Pan´stwowe w Katowicach (State Archives in Katowice, APKat.), Centralny Zarzad Przemyslu Weglowego (Central Coal Board, CZPW), 4812, pp. 250, 254. 13. AAN, Departament Wieziennictwa i Obozów (Department of Prisons and ‘ Camps, DWO), 3/154, p. 43. 14. APKat., CZPW, 4756, p. 213. 15. APKat., CZPW, 4847, p. 12. 16. APKat., CZPW, 4756, p. 30; AAN, DWO, 4/333, p. 236. 17. AAN, DWO, 4/181, p. 120. 18. AAN, DWO, 4/182, p. 171. 19. AAN, DWO, 4/182, p. 171. 20. AAN, DWO, 4/355, p. 182. 21. Jerzy Kochanowski, ‘Deutsche Kriegsgefangene in Polen 1945–1950 im Lichte der Genfer Konvention’, in: Forum für osteuropäische Ideen- und Zeitgeschichte, Bd. 4, 2000, Heft 1, pp. 231–261. 22. AAN, DWO, 3/148, pp. 66–67. 23. AAN, DWO, 4/352, p. 347. 24. AAN, DWO, 4/352, p. 124. 25. AAN, DWO, 4/354, p. 18.

5 Japanese Deserters and Prisoners of War in the Battle of Okinawa 1. As for the progress of the Battle of Okinawa, see Roy E. Appleman, The War in the Pacific OKINAWA: The Last Battle (Washington DC: Center of Military History United States Army, 1984; first edition 1948), Gerald Aster, Operation Iceberg (New York: Donald I. Fine, Inc., 1995); George Feifer, Tennozan: The Battle of Okinawa and the Atomic Bomb (New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1992); Yahara Hiromichi, The Battle of Okinawa (New York: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 1995. In addition there are several hundred books in Japanese on the Battle of Okinawa. For general description of the Battle of Okinawa, see Oshiro Masayasu, Okinawasen [The Battle of Okinawa],

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Notes • 203

2.

3. 4. 5. 6.

7. 8.

9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

17.

(Tokyo: Kobunken, 1988); Ota Masahide, Soshi Okinawasen [General History of the Battle of Okinawa] (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1982); Fujiwara Akira (ed.) Okinawasen: Kokudo ga Senjo ni natta toki [The Battle of Okinawa: When the Homeland Became Battlefield] (Tokyo: Aoki Shoten, 1987); Fujiwara Akira (ed.) Okinawasen to Tennosei [The Battle of Okinawa and the Emperor System] (Tokyo: Rippu Shobo, 1987); Hayashi Hirofumi, Okinawasen to Minshu [The Battle of Okinawa and the People] (Tokyo: Otsuki Shoten, 2001). HQ Tenth Army, G2 Report, 26 March-30 June 1945 (RG407/2948, National Archives and Records Administration [NARA], US), and Tenth Army, Tenth Army Action Report: Report of Operations in the Ryukyus Campaign 26 March 1945 to 30 June 1945. SWPA Air W.I.S. No. 211, 27 May 1944 (WO208/1485, Public Record Office [PRO], UK). Military Research Bulletin, Japanese Intelligence, No. 15, 23 May 1945 (WO208/1485, PRO). I presented more than ten cases in Okinawasen to Minshu, pp. 356–9. Gerald Astor, operation Iceberg, p. 211. See also E.B. Sledge, With the Old Breed (New York: Oxford University Press, 1990), and Yoshida Kensei, Okinawasen: Beihei ha Naniwo mitaka [The Battle of Okinawa; What did US Soldiers See?] (Tokyo: Sairyu-sha, 1996). See Hayashi, Okinawasen to Minshu, Chapter 7. As for Boeitai Units in Okinawa, see Hayashi Okinawasen to Minshu, Chapter 7 and Fukuchi Hiroaki, Boeita [Home Defense Unit] (Okinawa: Okinawa Jijishuppan, 1985). Memorandum on the Boeitai question by Lt Lamott in May 1945 (RG407/Box2954, NARA). Fukuchi, Boeita, pp. 74–162. Ginowan Gajumarukai, Senka to Ue [Devastation of War and Starvation] (Okinawa: Ginowan Gajumarukai, 1979), pp. 216–23. Urazoe city, Urazoe Shishi [Municipal History of Urazoe], Vol. 5 (Okinawa: Urazoe City, 1984), pp. 49–62, 183–93. See Fukuchi, Boeita and Hayashi, Okinawasen to Minshu. There are many reports on POW interrogations in RG407/Box2955, 5352 and 7039. This analysis is based on Hayashi, Okinawasen to Minshu, Chapter 7. G2 Tenth Army, Intelligence Monograph: Ryukyu Campaign, date unknown (just after the Battle for Okinawa ended) (Okinawa Prefectural Archives, original document is preserved in NARA). Boei Shoshu Gaikyo Ichiranhyo [List of Defense Conscription] (Okinawa document No. 28), preserved in the Library of the National Institute for

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204 • Notes Defense Studies [LNIDS], Defense Agency, Tokyo. 18. Okinawa document No. 49 preserved in the LNIDS. 19. Watanabe Norio, Nigeru Hei [Escaping Soldiers] (Tokyo: Marujusha, 1979), pp. 55, 108–13, 166–72. 20. Okinawa Prefecture, Okinawa Prefectural History, Vol. 10 Documents of the Battle of Okinawa, Part 2, (1974), pp. 708–14. 21. Russell A. Gugeler, The Operation of the 7th Infantry Division on Okinawa, 1946, pp. 501–3 (Historical Manuscipt Collection, US Army Center of Military History). 22. Title unknown, dated on 17 May 1945 (Okinawa Prefectural Library, original is preserved in the NARA). 23. I presented numerous such cases in the book, Okinawasen to Minshu, chapter 7, 9 and 10. 24. Island Command, Military Government Headquarters, History of Military Government Operations on Okinawa, 1 April to 30 April 1945, dated on 10 May 1945 (RG407/Box2988). 25. General Staff, Shina-jihen Daitoasenso kan Doin Gaishi [Outline History of Mobilization during the Sino-Japanese War and the Pacific War], 1945 [LNIDS], and see also Okinawasen to Minshu, pp. 319–24. 26. Eguchi Keiichi, ‘Kyokasho Mondai to Okinawasen [The Textbook Dispute and the Battle of Okinawa]’, in Fujiwara Akira (ed.) Okinawasen to Tennosei. 27. Shima Tsuyoshi (penname of Oshiro Masayasu), Okinawasen wo kangaeru [Considering the Battle of Okinawa] (Naha: Hirugi-sha, 1983). 28. As for the origin of the phrase ‘Life is Precious’, see Yakabi Osamu, ‘Rekishi wo Mezasu Ichi: Inochi koso Takara toiu Kotoba no Hakken’ [Life is Precious: An Okinawan Perspective on History], Quadrante [Institute of Foreign Affairs, The Tokyo University of Foreign Studies] No. 4, March 2002. 29. Fukuchi Hiroaki, Boeita. 30. As for the concept of ‘Heiwa no Ishiji’, see Guidebook of Okinawa Prefectural Peace Memorial Museum (Okinawa: Prefectural Peace Memorial Museum, 2001) and Ishihara Masaie, ‘Senbotsusha Kokumeihi Heiwa no Ishiji ga Imisuru mono’ [The meaning of the War Victims Memorial, ‘The Cornerstone of Peace], Senso Sekinin Kenkyu [The Report on Japan’s War Responsibility], No. 8, June 1995. 31. This number includes Okinawans who died outside of Okinawa during the Sino-Japanese War and the Pacific War. As for North and South Korean citizens, the number of names inscribed so far is quite small because the Japanese government has neglected to inquire about Koreans killed in action. 32. Guidebook of Okinawa Prefectural Peace Memorial Museum, p. 2.

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Notes • 205

6 Re-educating the German Prisoners of War: Aims, Methods, Results and Memory in East and West Germany 1. Wolf-Dieter Mohrmann (ed.), Der Krieg hier ist hart und grausam! Feldpostbriefe an den Osnabrücker Regierungspräsidenten 1941–1944, (Osnabrück: Wenner, 1984), pp. 57–8. In general, see Jürgen Förster, ‘Zum Rußlandbild der Militärs 1941–1945’, in Erich Volkmann (ed.), Das Rußlandbild im Dritten Reich, (Köln: Böhlau, 1994), pp. 149–50, and Marlis G. Steinert, Hitlers Krieg und die Deutschen. Stimmung und Haltung der deutschen Bevölkerung im Zweiten Weltkrieg, (Düsseldorf: Econ, 1970), pp. 226 ff. 2. This was the experience of early German communist delegations to POW camps. Walter Ulbricht, Zur Geschichte der deutschen Arbeiterbewegung. Aus Reden und Aufsätzen, supplement, (Berlin: Dietz, 1968), pp. 245 ff. and 266 ff. 3. ‘Konvoirovanie nachato v 11 chasov utra’, in Vestnik, 2(1995), pp. 135–9; M.A. Vyltsan, ‘Kievskii marsh nemetskikh voennoplennykh’, in Istoricheskii arkhiv, 1 (1997), pp. 66–8. 4. In the first months and years of partisan warfare, their prisoners certainly faced lower chances of survival. Nevertheless, Soviet sources contain rich evidence for increasing transfers from captured enemies to regular units of the Red Army. See the edition from the Central Archive of the Russian Ministry of Defence and the former Party Archive: V.A. Zolotarev (ed.), Partizanskoe dvizhenie v gody Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny 1941–1945 gg. Dokumenty i materialy, (Moscow, 1999), pp. 27–9, 191–2, 307–9, 357–8, 455–63, 511–29, 550–7, 561–9, 608–12; Gottfried Hamacher, ‘Frontorganisation des Nationalkomitees “Freies Deutschland”’, in Stefan Doernberg (ed.), Im Bunde mit dem Feind. Deutsche auf alliierter Seite (Berlin: Dietz, 1995), pp. 298 ff. 5. Directive No. 243, 23.4.1949, Russian State Archive (GARF, Moscow), 12/334/183. 6. Later captures (returnees from Western custody and transfers from Swedish internments) took place in 1946, but are included in this brief discussion of total numbers. See Lutz Prieß, ‘Deutsche Kriegsgefangene als Häftlinge in den Speziallagern des NKVD in der SBZ’, in Sergej Mironenko, Lutz Niethammer & Alexander von Plato (eds), Sowjetische Speziallager in Deutschland 1945 bis 1950, Vol. 1 (Berlin: Akademie, 1998), pp. 251–63; Enar Runsteen, Schutzlos in Schweden. Interniert, deportiert. Schicksale deutscher Soldaten (Königstein/Ts.: Gerig, 1995). 7. Colonel Bulanov, head of the MVD’s administration for prisons, 28 April 1956, as cited in Stefan Karner, ‘Die sowjetische Hauptverwaltung für

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206 • Notes

8.

9. 10.

11.

12. 13.

14.

15. 16.

17.

18.

Kriegsgefangene und Internierte’, in Vierteljahrshefte für Zeitgeschichte (VfZG), 42 (1994), p. 470. For German policy still see Christian Streit, Keine Kameraden? Die Wehrmacht und die sowjetischen Kriegsgefangenen 1941–1945, new edition (Bonn, 1997) (first edition 1978). Colonel Bulanov, head of the MVD’s administration for prisons, 28 April 1956, as cited in Karner, ‘Die sowjetische Hauptverwaltung’, p. 470. Andreas Hilger, Deutsche Kriegsgefangene in der Sowjetunion, 1941–1956. Kriegsgefangenenpolitik, Lageralltag und Erinnerung (Essen: Klartext, 2000), pp. 48–71 is a more detailed analysis of Soviet attitudes to international and the law of war regarding POWs. See, above all, comprehensive collections of documents prepared and edited by Moscow and Volgograd historians: Maksim M. Zagorul’ko (ed.), Voennoplennye v SSSR 1939–1956. Dokumenty i materialy (Moscow: Logos, 2000); V.N. Vartanov et al. (eds), Inostrannye voennoplennye vtoroi mirovoi voiny v SSSR, (Moscow: Terra, 1996); V.N. Vartanov et al. (eds), Nemeckie voennoplennye v SSSR 1941–1955 gg., 2 Vols (Moscow, 1999–2002). For a discussion of Soviet repatriation policy see Hilger, Deutsche Kriegsgefangene, pp. 314–32. Conversation between Stalin and the Chief of the General Staff, Shaposhnikov, with Commander of the Reserve Army, 4 September 1941, Central Archive of the Ministry for Defence, Moscow, (CAMO) 96a/2011/ 5/68–70, as cited in V.A. Zolotarev (ed.), Stavka VGK. Dokumenty i materialy. 1941 god (Moscow: Terra, 1996), pp. 162–3. Cited by Ralf Possekel, ‘Einleitung’, in Sergej Mironenko et al. (eds), Sowjetische Speziallager in Deutschland 1945 bis 1950, Vol. 2 (Berlin: Akademie, 1998), pp. 51–2. For Finnish POWs, see Vladimir P. Galitskij, Finskie voennoplennye v lageriakh NKVD (Moskau: Graal, 1997). For a description of GUPVI see Karner, ‘Die sowjetische Hauptverwaltung’, pp. 447–71; Hilger, Deutsche Kriegsgefangene, pp. 82–96. For discussion of the periodization of Soviet policy towards POWs, see Andreas Hilger, ‘Sowjetische Gewahrsamsmacht und deutsche Kriegsgefangene 1941–1956. Zum Verhältnis von Völkerrecht und nationalem Interesse im Stalinismus’, in MZG 62 (2003), pp. 395–422. For early problems of re-education see esp. Jörg Morré, Hinter den Kulissen des Nationalkomitees. Das Institut 99 in Moskau und die Deutschlandpolitik der UdSSR 1943–1946 (Munich: R. Oldenbourg, 2001), pp. 19–42. By November 1942, UPVI counted 11,286 German POW. For the years 1941–2, it registered 10,700 cases of death among Western POWs. Russian State Military Archive, Moscow (RGVA), 1p/23a/2/10 ff.; 1p/6i/3/3 ff.;

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Notes • 207 1p/01e/5/1; 1p/01e/39/112 ff. and 150 ff; 19. RGVA, 1p/17z/5. 20. Directive NKVD No. 120, 16.3.1943, RGVA, 1p/4z/1. 21. Order NKVD No. 00675, 6.4.1943, RGVA 1p/2z/2/71; Letter Petrov, 12.3.1943, RGVA 1p/4i/8/13. 22. Hilger, Deutsche Kriegsgefangene, pp. 173–97. Sergei G. Sidorov, Trud voennoplennykh v SSSR 1939–1956 gg. (Volgograd: University of Volgogard, 2001) advocates a more positive general assessment that is scarcely supported by his own documents. 23. As in the case of Gulag-prisoners, the State Committee for Defence and the SNK (since 1946: SovMin) distributed in consultation with Gosplan and interested ministries, distributed prisoners of war and attached them to the most important works and plants. On the spot, prison camps and industry had to conclude treaties that exactly followed established models. 24. Calculated on the basis of statistics and reports in RGVA, 1p. For yearly results and further indicators see Hilger, Deutsche Kriegsgefangene, pp. 191–98, 380–8. 25. Ibid. 26. As introductory reading for different types, sources, and results of forced labour see, among others: Alec Nove, An Economic History of the USSR, 1917–1991 (London: Penguin, 1992); Otto J. Pohl, The Stalinist Penal System (London: McFarland, 1997); Ralf Stettner, ‘Archipel GULag’. Stalins Zwangslager – Terrorinstrument und Wirtschaftsgigant. Entstehung, Organisation und Funktion des sowjetischen Lagersystems 1928–1956 (Paderborn: Schönigh, 1996); Pavel Polian, Ne po svoei vole . . . Istoriia i geografiia prinuditel’nykh migracii v SSSR (Moscow: OGI, 2001); Nicolas Werth, ‘Ein Staat gegen sein Volk. Gewalt, Unterdrückung und Terror in der Sowjetunion’, in Stephane Courtois (ed.), Das Schwarzbuch des Kommunismus. Unterdrückung, Verbrechen und Terror, 5th edition (Munich: Piper, 1998), pp. 45–295; Andreas Hilger, ‘“Haft in entlegenen Gebieten”. Zum Problem der Deportationen verurteilter Deutscher’, in Andreas Hilger et al. (eds), Sowjetische Militärtribunale, Vol. 2: Die Verurteilung deutscher Zivilisten 1945–1955, (Köln: Böhlau, 2003), pp. 663–71. 27. Tamàs Stark, ‘Ungarische Kriegsgefangene in der Sowjetunion’, in: Günter Bischof & Rüdiger Overmans (eds), Kriegsgefangenschaft im Zweiten Weltkrieg. Eine vergleichende Perspektive (Ternitz-Pottschach: Höller, 1999), pp. 407–16; Sergei I. Kuznetsov, Japontsy v sibirskom plenu (1945–1956) (Irkutsk: University of Irkutsk, 1997); Elena L. Katasonova, Japonskie voennoplennye v SSSR (Moscow: Kraft+, 2003). 28. See the poorly edited collection of documents in Inge Pardon et al. (eds), Lager, Front oder Heimat. Deutsche Kriegsgefangene in Sowjetrußland 1917

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208 • Notes bis 1920, Vol. 1 (München: K.G. Saur, 1994). 29. As first comparative analysis see Arthur L. Smith, The War for the German Mind. Re-educating Hitler’s Soldiers (Oxford: Berghahn, 1996). 30. Zagorul’ko (ed.), Voennoplennye, pp. 916–20. 31. For the intensive debates about function and motives of both organizations see Gerd R. Ueberschär (ed.), Das Nationalkomitee ‘Freies Deutschland’ und der Bund Deutscher Offiziere (Frankfurt am Main: Fischer, 1995). 32. At the given moment, Shcherbakov was the candidate of the Politbureau, head of the Sovinform and later on of the GlavPURKKA. Manuil’skii acted as representative of the Comintern, a member of the office for military and political propaganda and became a leading member of the Political Main administration. See Morré, Hinter den Kulissen, pp. 29–30. 33. Morré, Hinter den Kulissen, pp. 73–7. 34. Ibid., pp. 198–9. 35. Heike Bungert, Das Nationalkomitee und der Westen. Die Reaktion der Westalliierten auf das NKFD und die Freien Deutschen Bewegungen 1943–1948 (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1997), pp. 27–32, 47–68 and 298–301. 36. Leonid Reshin, Psevdonim – ‘Svoboda’. ‘Iz istorii organizatsii, sozdannykh dlia razlozheniia voisk i tyla protivnika’, Istoricheskii archiv, 5 (1994), pp. 136–64; Reshin, ‘Soiuz Nemetskich Ofitserov’, Istoricheskii archiv, 1993, pp. 86–105. 37. See examples in Bungert, Das Nationalkomitee. 38. Documents of the GUPVI testify about the recruitment of Czechoslovak, Yugoslav, Romanian, French, Polish, Bulgarian and Hungarian prisoners. RGVA, 1p/01e/39. See, despite some problematic interpretations, Peter Gosztony, Stalins fremde Heere. Das Schicksal der nichtsowjetischen Truppen im Rahmen der Roten Armee 1941–1945 (Bonn: Bernard und Graefe, 1991). 39. For the corresponding decision-making process see Morré, Hinter den Kulissen, pp. 179–86. 40. See Information, compiled by the operative branch of GUPVI, 30 November 1949, in Ueberschär (ed.), Das Nationalkomitee ‘Freies Deutschland’, pp. 256–8. 41. Resolution Politbureau No. Po 73/257, 18.3.1950, Ueberschär (ed.), Das Nationalkomitee ‘Freies Deutschland’, pp. 259–61. The decision made a difference between ‘revanchist’ or ‘reactionary’ generals and war criminals. 42. The final report of the Stalingrad branch of the Extraordinary Investigation Commission listed apart from von Seydlitz, for example, Field Marshal Paulus and General Korfes, who never stood trial. Report No. 05/ok, 9.6.1944, State Archive Volgograd region, 6088/1/17/77–87. 43. Report Kruglov (MVD), Abakumov (MGB), Vyshinskii (MID) et al. to Molotov, 2.2.1950, GARF, 9401/2/270/38 ff.

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Notes • 209 44. Andreas Hilger et al. (eds), Sowjetische Militärtribunale, Vol. 1: Die Verurteilung deutscher Kriegsgefangener 1941–1953 (Köln: Böhlau, 2001). 45. Directive NKVD No. 489, 7.10.1943, GARF, 9401/1a/154/489. 46. Report Kruglov, in Zagorul’ko (ed.), Voennoplennye, pp. 916–20. 47. Hilger, Deutsche Kriegsgefangene, pp. 245–51. 48. Kriegsgefangene in der Sowjetunion (Berlin: SWA-Verlag, 1949). 49. Die deutschen Kriegsgefangenen in der UdSSR (Köln: Pahl-Rugenstein, 1979). 50. This purpose was made explicit in an ‘open letter’, included in the cited publication. 51. Directive MVD No. 162, 25.8.1947; Order MVD No. 541, 27.8.1947; Directive MVD No. 250, 22.10.1946: GARF, 9401/12/2587/215 and 254; Report Kobulov, 21.3.1946, GARF, 9401/1a/214. 52. Report about meetings until April 1949, camp No 108, RGVA, 47p/4/27/60 ff. and 140 ff. 53. Letter Deputy Chief GUPVI, 19.4.1948, in Hein Mayer et al. (eds), Aus dem NKWD-Archiv, Stalingrad (Wolgograd) 1943–1955 (Wolfsburg o.J.: Private Publication, n.d.), pp. 81–2. 54. Hilger, Deutsche Kriegsgefangene, pp. 268–9. 55. Final report about the political work among POWs, RGVA, 1p/23a/8/31. 56. Compare Heinz Keßler, Zur Sache und zur Person. Erinnerungen (Berlin: Ed. Ost, 1996), p. 51. 57. Morré, Hinter den Kulissen, pp. 175–7. 58. Morré, Hinter den Kulissen, pp. 175–7. 59. Morré, Hinter den Kulissen, pp. 177, 198. 60. Morré, Hinter den Kulissen, p. 188. 61. Hilger, Deutsche Kriegsgefangene, p. 241; Torsten Diedrich and Rüdiger Wenzke, Die getarnte Armee. Geschichte der Kasernierten Volkspolizei der DDR 1952 bis 1956 (Berlin: Link, 2001), pp. 28–9. 62. Report Kruglov to Molotov, 27 October 1948, in Vladimir Konasov, Sudby nemetskikh voennoplennykh v SSSR (Vologda: University of Volgoda, 1996), pp. 213–15. 63. Draft Resolution ZK SED for Politbureau, 5 February 1949, in Christa Uhlig, Rückkehr aus der Sowjetunion. Politische Erfahrungen und pädagogische Wirkungen. Emigranten und ehemalige Kriegsgefangene in der SBZ und frühen DDR (Weinheim: Deutscher Studien, 1998), pp. 217–18; Jörg Morré, ‘Kader für Deutschland? Die Bemühungen der SED um die Repatriierung antifaschistischer Kriegsgefangener’, in Annette Kaminsky (ed.), Heimkehr 1948 (München: Beck, 1998), pp. 227–9; Karin Hartewig, Zurückgekehrt. Die Geschichte der jüdischen Kommunisten in der DDR (Köln: Böhlau, 2000), p. 261. SED statistics from 1953 reveal that only eleven per cent

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64.

65.

66.

67.

68. 69. 70.

71.

72. 73.

74. 75.

76. 77.

among the party-members with a ‘Eastern’ POW past had visited anti-fascist schools in the camps. Semenov, 24 January 1950. In: Ralf Badstübner et al. (eds), Wilhelm Pieck. Aufzeichnungen zur Deutschlandpolitik 1945–1953 (Berlin: Akademie, 1994), p. 331. Hilger, Deutsche Kriegsgefangene, p. 224; Morré, ‘Kader für Deutschland’, p. 228 f.; Ernst Kehler, Einblicke und Einsichten. Erinnerungen (Berlin: Dietz, 1989), pp. 289–90. See Anneli Hartmann and Wolfram Eggeling, Die Gesellschaft für Deutschsowjetische Freundschaft. Zum Aufbau einer Institution in der SBZ/DDR zwischen deutschen Politzwängen und sowjetischer Steuerung. Analysen (Berlin: Akademie, 1993), pp. 20, 42. See Mike Schmeitzner, Schulen der Diktatur. Die Kaderausbildung der KPD/SED in Sachsen 1945–1952 (Dresden: HAIT, 2001), pp. 8–9; Diedrich & Wenzke, Die getarnte Armee, p. 171. Diedrich & Wenzke, Die getarnte Armee, pp. 25, 29, 35–6, 187–93; Uhlig, Rückkehr, p. 52. Diedrich & Wenzke, Die getarnte Armee, pp. 190–201. See Frank Biess, ‘“Pioneers of a New Germany”. Returning POWs from the Soviet Union and the Making of East German Citizens, 1945–1950’, in Central European History, 32 (1999), pp. 146 and 151 ff. With regard to the Ministry for State Security see Jens Gieseke, Die hauptamtlichen Mitarbeiter der Staatssicherheit (Berlin: Links, 2000), pp. 56, 102–6, 180, 191. Uhlig, Rückkehr, p. 77; Biess, ‘Pioneers’, pp. 153–4. Hendrik van Bergh, ABC der Spione. Eine illustrierte Geschichte der Spionage in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland seit 1945 (Pfaffenofen a. d. Ilm: Ilmgau, 1965), p. 213. On the repercussions see Andreas Hilger, ‘Der Spion, der sich liebte. Wolfram von Hanstein’, in: Hilger et al. (eds), Sowjetische Militärtribunale, Vol. 2, pp. 397–416. Morré, Hinter den Kulissen, pp. 38, 53–4; Uhlig, Rückkehr, p. 219. Diedrich und Wenzke, Die getarnte Armee, pp. 187ff. For the complex case of Vincenz Müller, who after a twisted career under Hitler, Stalin, and Ulbricht was dismissed in 1958 and committed suicide in 1960 see now Peter Joachim Lapp, General bei Hitler und Ulbricht. Vincenz Müller – Eine deutsche Karriere (Berlin: Links, 2003). Jan Emendörfer, Verfemt. Mein Vater Max Emendörfer (Frankfurt/Oder: Frankfurter Oder Editionen, 1997). Directive GUPVI No. 8/po/10132, 19.2.1949, RGVA, 47p/4/28/125–126; Report from SMAD East-Berlin, October 1949, Archive for Foreign Policy, Moscow (AVP RF), 457a/7/5/37/200; Emil Jeschonnek, Wo der Landser

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Notes • 211

78. 79.

80. 81.

82.

83.

84. 85.

86.

denken lernte. Die sowjetische Kriegsgefangenschaft im Spiegel der Zeitung ‘Nachrichten’ (Berlin: Rütten und Loening, 1959), pp. 173–4. Albrecht Lehmann, Gefangenschaft und Heimkehr. Deutsche Kriegsgefangene in der Sowjetunion (München: Beck, 1986), pp. 136–7. Frank Biess, ‘Vom Opfer zum überlebenden des Totalitarismus: Westdeutsche Reaktionen auf die Rückkehr der Kriegsgefangenen aus der Sowjetunion, 1945–1955’, in Bischof & Overmans (eds), Kriegsgefangenschaft, pp. 376–8; Frank Biess, ‘“Russenknechte” und Westagenten’, in Klaus Naumann (ed.), Nachkrieg in Deutschland (Hamburg: Hamburger Institut für Sozialforschung, 2001), pp. 59–89; Diether Posser, Anwalt im kalten Krieg. Ein Stück deutscher Geschichte in politischen Prozessen 1951–1968 (München: Dietz, 1991), pp. 109–29 and 187. Biess, ‘Pioneers’, pp. 148–9; Lehmann, Gefangenschaft, pp. 167–8; Hilger, Deutsche Kriegsgefangene, pp. 250–2. See Robert G. Moeller, ‘Geschichten aus der “Stacheldrahtuniversität”: Kriegsgefangene im Opferdiskurs der Bundesrepublik’, in Werkstatt Geschichte, 26 (2000), pp. 23–46, and now his War Stories. The search for a usable past in the Federal Republic of Germany (Berkeley CA: University of California, 2001); Biess, ‘Vom Opfer’, pp. 365–78. See Willi Belz, Soldat gegen Hitler. Ein Antikriegsbuch (Köln: Röderberg, 1987); Gert Robel, Die deutschen Kriegsgefangenen in der Sowjetunion. Antifa (München: Gieseking, 1964, pp. 291–304. This work was part of the above-mentioned West German research project on captivity during World War II. See Michael Borchard, Die deutschen Kriegsgefangenen in der Sowjetunion. Zur politischen Bedeutung der Kriegsgefangenenfrage 1949–1955 (Düsseldorf: Droste, 2000), p. 82 about harsh measures against returnees who were unwilling to cooperate. Karl Lewke to KPD Berlin, 2.12.1945, as cited in Biess, ‘Pioneers’, p. 143. Report Main Administration DVdI, Mickinn, 15.9.1948, in Günther Glaser (ed.), ‘Reorganisation der Polizei’oder getarnte Bewaffmung der SBZ im Kalten Krieg? Dokumente und Materialien zur sicherheits- und militärpolitischen Weichenstellung in Ostdeutschland 1948/59 (Frankfurt a.M.: Lang, 1995), p. 168; Report of Soviet Military Administration in Germany, Department for Information, Kommandantura Berlin, to Tiulpanov, 10.3.1948, AVP RF, 456/6/19/36/287 ff. Lehmann, Gefangenschaft, pp. 165 and 172; Institut für Sozialforschung (ed.), Zum politischen Bewußtsein ehemaliger Kriegsgefangener. Forschungsbericht (Frankfurt am Main: Institut für Sozialforschung, 1957).

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7 Anti-fascist Propaganda among Italian Prisoners of War in the USSR, 1941–6 1. This chapter is taken from my Doctorate on Italian POWs in the Soviet camps during World War II (University of Bologna, 2003). Supervisor: Prof. Elena Aga-Rossi. 2. The total losses of the ARMIR after the second battle of the Don amounted to 95,000, thus around 25,000 had been killed and the rest taken prisoner. 3. Istorija bolezni N. 553 [Case History number 553], ‘Archivio P. Resta’, Archive of the General Staff of the Italian Army (AUSSME). The case history concerns the Italian soldier, Pietro Davide, of the ‘Forlì’ Infantry division stationed in the Balkans. He was taken prisoner by the Germans after the 8 September 1943 and then transferred to the USSR when the Red Army occupied the Balkans. 4. Memorandum of Conversation between Dr. Bounous, First Secretary at the Italian Embassy, and Mr Hilton, Representative of USA State Department, 24 October 1950. NARA Confidential US State Department Central Files, Italy Internal Affairs (1950–1954), 0551–0555. Restricted. 5. The UNIRR still now publishes a journal devoted to the question of repatriating soldiers and officers from Russia. 6. See the interrogations of the prisoner of war, soldier Antonio Astediano, sent to Georgi Dimitrov on 6 December 1942. RGASPI [Russian State Archive of Socio-Political History], f.495, op.77, d.18, l. 26. 7. Commincazione del ministro per l’Asssistenza post-bellica all’Ufficio autonomo reduci e rimpatriati, 15 November 1945, AUSSME, DS 2271/C. 8. The word ‘Davaj!’ (Forward!) was shouted by the guards as the prisoners set off in columns. 9. C.Vicentini, ‘I prigionieri italiani in Urss negli archivi russi’ in A. Bendotti and E. Valtulina (eds), Internati, prigionieri, reduci. La deportazione militare italiana durante la seconda guerra mondiale (Bergamo: Rassegna dell’Istituto bergamasco per la storia della Resistenza e dell’età contemporanea, 1999), p. 157. 10. According to Andrei Krupennikov, director of the Memorial Museum of antifascist German prisoners of war, if it is true that at Tambov – one of the worst Soviet camps – the mortality rate among Germans was 10 per cent higher than that of Italians (9,000 Italians died at Tambov), the documentation shows that for the whole period of captivity the percentage of mortality among Italians was the highest one. Interview taken at Krasnogorsk – Moscow – on 4 November 2000. See also the communication of L.P. Beria to V.M. Molotov on 7 March 1944, GARF, Osobaja papka Stalina, f.9401, op.2, d.69, l. 142; and Elenco dei lager dove sono deceduti prigionieri italiani [List of camps

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11.

12. 13.

14.

15.

16. 17. 18. 19.

20.

21.

22.

23. 24.

where Italian POWs died], according to Russian data, in Ministero della Difesa, Csir – Armir. Campi di prigionia e fosse comuni (Roma, 1996), pp. 3–5. Information about the number of POWs of the German Army and its allies until 22 April 19456, RGVA [Russian State Military Archive], f.1p, op.32b, d.2, l. 8–9. ‘Italian prisoners of war in the II World War’, according to the Report of the UNO Commission for POWs, 1958, AUSSME. Mortalità mensile dei prigionieri di guerra italiani nei lager sovietici, in Ministero della Difesa, Csir – Armir. Campi di prigionia e fosse comuni, p. 25. See Pismo V. Bianco G.P. Petrovu GUPVI NKVD [Bianco’s letter to G.P. Petrov, responsible for the GUPVI of NKVD], Moskva, 24 March 1943, Secret, RGASPI, f.495, op.74, d.256, l. 24. RGASPI, f.527, op.1, d.1, l. 14. Bianco’s letter to Togliatti was published in Italy for the first time in the magazine Panorama, on 19 February 1992. When Bianco wrote the letter, many Italian POWs had not yet been transferred to the camps. RGASPI, f.527, op.1, d.1, l. 18–25. RGASPI, f.527, op.1, d.1, l. 18–25. RGASPI, f.527, op.1, d.1, l. 26–26 bis. The decree n. 0488 had fixed a ration of 700 gr. of bread a day for the prisoners of war ‘who attended anti-fascist courses’. GARF, f.9401, op.1a, d.133, l. 150. Anyway, in many cases, owing to the generally bad conditions in the camps as well as in the country, the POWs had to be satisfied with the ordinary rations. G. Ossola, ‘Notes’, Archivio “M”, MF 312, doc. 312, Fondazione Istituto Gramsci, Roma. Giuseppe Ossola, member in exile of the PCI, worked as a political instructor in the Suzdal’ camp, number 160. Ossola’s ‘Notes’ is a sort of diary in which he recorded the behaviour and the political attitude towards political propaganda of the Italian officers gathered at Suzdal’. Postanovlenie Sekretariata IKKI ot 5-ogo fevralja 1943 [Resolution of the Secretariat of the Executive Committee of Komintern on 5 February 1943], RGASPI, f.495, op.77, d.26, l. 24. Such objectives were indicated in the programme drawn up for Italian POWs by Edoardo D’Onofrio – exiled member of the Italian Communist Party – and Nikolaj Teres˘c˘enko – a Soviet political commissar – according to the Komintern guidelines. See: Plan meroprijatij brigady tt. Teres˘c˘enko i Edo, July 1943, RGASPI, f.495, op.77, d.21a, l. 153–155, l. 154. RGASPI, f.495, op.77, d.21a, 1. 153–155, l. 154. Postanovlenie Sekretariata IKKI ot 5-ogo fevralja 1943, RGASPI, f.495,

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214 • Notes op.77, d.27, l. 179. 25. Pismo Bianco italjanskim kommunistam instruktoram lagerej, RGASPI, f.495, op.77, d.27, l. 50. 26. N. Teres˘c˘enko, L’uomo che ‘torturò’ i prigionieri di guerra italiani [The Man who ‘Tortured’ Italian POWs] (Milano: Vangelista, 1994), p. 109. 27. The importance of the interrogations for information from POWs is emphasized by V. Bianco in a letter sent to the Italian political instructor Fiammenghi, on 30 December 1942. RGASPI, f.495, op.77, d.27, l. 122. Moreover, see the minutes of the Committee for the political work among POWs, on 6 March 1942 where it was underlined that ‘the political instructors should pay much attention to the individual work among POWs’, p. 17. 28. See: soldier Umberto Picini’s interrogation of 4 December 1942, RGASPI, f.495, op.77, d.18, l. 27. Secret. 29. Doklad Bianco o politrabote sredi italjanskich voennoplennych v lagere 99, 18 June 1942, RGASPI, f.495, op.77, d.16, l. 7. 30. The first issue of L’Alba (The Dawn) for Italian prisoners of war was published on 10 February 1943 in Moscow, and carried the subtitle ‘For a free and independent Italy’. First it contained only articles written by exiled members of the Communist Party; but later, since the paper did not attract much interest among the prisoners, the editorial staff decided to include prisoners’ articles. This kind of collaboration started with issue 7, of 8 May 1943. 31. N. Teres˘c˘enko, L’uomo che ‘torturò’ i prigionieri di guerra italiani, p. 133. 32. N. Teres˘c˘enko, L’uomo che ‘torturò’ i prigionieri di guerra italiani, p. 134. According to his interview with the former prisoner of war, Giulio Brancadoro, the study of history of political parties and atheism was also particularly exhaustive at Krasnogorsk. Interview taken at L’Aquila on the 27 November 1999. 33. RGVA, f.88, op.4, d.2, l. 85 s. N. Teres˘c˘enko states that about 500–550 Italian students attended Krasnogorsk anti-fascist school in the period between 1943 and 1945. See: N. Teres˘c˘enko, L’uomo che ‘torturò’ i prigionieri di guerra italiani, p. 142. 34. Osobaja papka Stalina, GARF [State Archives of the Russian Fedration], f.9401, op.2, d.69, l. 142. 35. The chronicle of anti-fascist movement among Italian officers in prison-camp number 160, Archivio ‘M’, Fondazione Istituto Gramsci, Roma. The ‘activist officers’ were the anti-fascist officer POWs, members of the ‘Active’ of the anti-fascist group that organized propaganda activities and wrote articles for the wall-newspaper, l’Alba. 36. The chronicle of anti-fascist movement among Italian officers in prison-camp number 160, p. 3 ss. 37. Dokladnaja zapiska. Ob oznovnych politic˘eskich itogach obuc˘enija 4-ogo

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38. 39. 40.

41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46.

nabora slus˘atelej antifas˘istskoj polits˘koly prilagere N. 27/B NKVD Sssr, 22nd May 1944, RGASPI, f.495, op.77, d.40, p. 2 s. See Robotti’s diary, in Fondo Robotti, Archivio Fondazione Istituto Gramsci, Roma. E. Aga-Rossi and V. Zaslavsky, Togliatti e Stalin (Bologna, Il Mulino, 1988), p. 170. Only one, the soldier Antonio Mottola, was convicted for insubordination during the captivity period. See the Judgement of the Court martial in Milan against Antonio Mottola, 8 May 1951, ‘Archivio P. Resta’, AUSSME. Contro le calunnie le falsità [Against slanders and lies], Fondo D’Onofrio, b. 3639, 22, Fondazione Istituto Gramsci, Roma. P. Robotti, Perché non si è fatta luce sulla campagna di Russia. Dove sono i soldati dell’Armir?, suppl. to ‘L’Unità’, 13 August 1948. G. Messe, A survey about Italians missing in Russia, in, Russia. 1941–43 (Milano, Rizzoli, 1964), p. 12. N. Teres˘c˘enko, L’uomo che ‘torturò’ i prigionieri di guerra italiani, p. 178. D. S´c˘evljagin worked as a political instructor among Italian POWs in the antifascist school of Taliza. RGASPI, f.17, op.128, d.373, l. 43. See also P. Robotti’s Notes, in Fondo Robotti, Archivio Fondagione Istituto Gramsci, Roma.

8 The Nucleus of a New German Ideology? The Re-education of German POWs in the United States during World War II 1. A copy of the statement, signed by a German prisoner of war, can be found at the Bundesarchiv-Militärarchiv (Federal Military Archives), Freiburg, B 205/ v.1537. See also: Jochen Leykauff, ‘Erinnerungen an Georgia’ (Hörstein, Ger. 1993), 81. Unpublished manuscript, Bundesarchiv-Militärarchiv, MSg 200/886. 2. In German: Amerikanisches Verwaltungs und Demokratie Programm. 3. ‘Am Anfang stand nämlich ein Statement, das wir Knall auf Fall zu unterschreiben hatten und aus psychologischen Gründen und [das] gewohnheitshalber auch unterschrieben wurde.’ Leykauff, ‘Erinnerungen an Georgia’, p. 81. 4. ‘Guter Wille, das Bedürfnis, nach allem, was man vorfinden würde, einen Neuanfang zu machen, sicherlich auch eine Nutzen-Analyse, wie auch die Neigung zur Anpassung – das waren wohl wesentliche Komponenten, die die Bereitschaft der PW’s weckten, am Umschulungs-Programm der Amerikaner teilzunehmen.’ Leykauff, ‘Erinnerungen an Georgia’, p. 79. 5. Office of The Provost Marshal General (hereafter: PMGO), ‘World War II: A Brief History. Part III: Prisoners of War’ (1946). The Prisoner of War Division

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6.

7.

8. 9.

produced ‘POW Operations’ 4 vols. (1945) and ‘Supplement File’ (1946). The Special Projects Division (SDP), who was in charge of the re-education programme, also produced a number of internal studies: ‘Re-education of Enemy POWs’ (1945), ‘Report on the Experimental Administrative School for Selected German Prisoners of War established at Fort Kearney, Rhode Island, May 7 to July 7 1945’ (no date), ‘Supplement 1 November 1945 – 28 February 1946’ (1946), ‘Re-education of Enemy POWs: Project II and III’ (1946), and ‘Re-education of Enemy POWs: Eustis Project’ (1946). Two other studies by the military were also very influential: George G. Lewis and John Mewha, History of Prisoner of War Utilization by the United States Army 1776–1945 (1955) and George McCracken, ‘The Prisoner of War ReEducation Program in the Years 1943–1946’ (1953). The study by McCracken was not published, but an internal study was produced by the Office of the Chief of Military History. The work by Lewis and Mewha was published and is sold by the Government Printing Office. Martin Tollefson, ‘Enemy Prisoners of War,’ in Iowa Law Review 32 (November 1946), pp.51–77. Cummins E. Speakman, Jr., ‘Re-education of German Prisoners of War in the United States during World War II.’ (M.A., Univ. of Virginia, VA 1948). Henry W. Ehrmann, ‘An Experiment in Political Education: The Prisoner-of-War Schools in the United States,’ Social Research 14 (1947), pp.304–20. William G. Moulton, ‘Our Profession in Reverse: Teaching English to German Prisoners of War,’ Modern Language Journal 32, no. 6 (October 1948), pp.421–30. John Brown Mason, ‘German Prisoners of War in the United States,’ American Journal of International Law 39, no. 2 (April 1945), pp.198–215. Edwin Casady, ‘The Reorientation Program for PWs at Fort Eustis, Virginia,’ in The American Oxonian 34, no. 2 (April 1947), pp.146–54 and ‘The Basic Assumptions of Democracy as Presented to German POWs,’ in Lyman Bryson, Louis Finkelstein and R.M. Maciver (eds) Conflicts of Power in Modern Culture. 7th Symposium (1947, reprinted New York, NY 1964), pp. 229–46. SPD, Re-Education, pp. 88–90. Tollefson, ‘Enemy POWs’, pp. 70–1. Moulton, ‘Our Profession in Reverse’, pp. 428–30. Casady, ‘Fort Eustis’, p. 146. Arnold Krammer, Nazi Prisoners of War in American (Chelsea, MI: Scarborough House, 1991; first published 1979), pp. 224–26. The latest example is David Fiedler, The Enemy Among Us: POWs in Missouri During World War II (Saint Louis, Missouri Historical Society, 2003), pp. 46–7. McCracken, ‘The POW Re-Education Program’, p. 15. McCracken, ‘The POW Re-Education Program’, p. 15. ‘the association of prisoners of war with American homes and their equipment and luxuries, through employment procedures, would do more to impress the prisoners “than a teacher in a classroom or a lecturer from a platform”’.

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Notes • 217 10. Andre Vulliet, ‘On various aspects of religious, welfare, and educational work in German PW camps in America in the light of recent events.’ Memo for Dr Tracy Strong. June 1945, p. 19. Record Group (RG) 389, Entry (E) 459A, Box (B) 1606, Folder ‘Welfare Activities’, National Archives and Records Administration (NARA). 11. ‘Zieht man alle Faktoren in Betracht, so erscheint die Annahme begründet, daß das amerikanische Re-education Program, was die weit überwiegende Mehrzahl der Kriegsgefangenen – etwa 355 000 von rund 380 000 – betrifft, weder Breite noch Tiefgang genug hatte, um wesentliche Wirkungen erzielen zu können, daß hingegegen ein Teil der Teilnehmer an den “Schulprogrammen” sicherlich Förderung bei der inneren Auseinandersetzung mit dem Nationalsozialismus erfahren hat.’ Hermann Jung, Die deutschen Kriegsgefangenen in amerikanischer Hand – USA (Zur Geschichte der deutschen Kriegsgefangenen des Zweiten Weltkrieges, vol. X/1) (München: Gieseking, 1972), pp. 237–8. 12. Ron Robin, The Barbed-Wire College: Reeducating German POWs in the United States during World War II (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1995), p. 183. 13. Secretary of State Cordell Hull wrote a letter to Secretary of War Henry L. Stimson on 30 March 1944 to which the latter replied on 8 April 1944. These letters were preceded by informal talks between members of both Departments. RG107, E102, B106, ‘383.6 German’, NARA. 14. Letter Hull to Stimson, 30 March 1944, p. 1. For the shaping of the U.S. reeducation program, the impact of public opinion and the Russian policy towards their German POWs see McCracken, ‘The POW Re-Education Program’, pp. 5–29, and Arthur L. Smith, Jr., War for the German Mind: ReEducating Hitler’s Soldiers (Providence, RI: Berghahn, 1996), pp. 9–21. 15. ‘Intellectual Diversion Program’. To Commanding Generals (CG), 1st–9th Service Command (SvC), Military District (MD) of Washington DC. Brig. Gen. Robert H. Dunlop, Acting The Adjutant General (TAG). 9 November 1944, p. 1. RG319, E47, B941, no folder title, NARA. 16. ‘Intellectual Diversion Program’. 17. ‘in the implementation of the project, reliance should be placed upon securing the desired effect through the spontaneous reaction of the prisoners, rather than through so-called propaganda.’ Letter Stimson to Hull. 8 April 1944. RG107, E102, B106, ‘383.6 German’, NARA. 18. SPD, ‘Re-Education’, p. 4. 19. Address on the Intellectual Diversion Program for Enemy Prisoners of War in the United States. By Brigadier General Blackshear M. Bryan, Jr., Assistant The Provost Marshal General (PMG), before Fifth Orientation Conference, Fort Slocum, NY. Friday, 25 May 1945, p. 1–2. RG389, E459A, B1630, ‘337

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218 • Notes General’, NARA. 20. ‘Intellectual Diversion Program’. 21. ‘The program aims not only to select and make available materials that will promote its purpose but also to assure the rejection of such materials as are harmful, indifferent, or alien to it. Only by a judicious centralized control of the content and quality of materials going into the camps and by correct emphasis as to their use and also as to the directions that should be taken by educational and recreational activities in general can an effective reorientation be achieved.’ ‘Intellectual Diversion Program’, pp. 1–2. 22. Matthias Reiss, ‘Die Schwarzen waren unsere Freunde’: Deutsche Kriegsgefangene in der amerikanischen Gesellschaft 1942–1946 (Paderborn: Schoeningh, 2002), pp. 294–98. 23. SDP, ‘Re-Education’, pp. 11–15. 24. SDP, ‘Re-Education’, p. 19. 25. ‘Intellectual Diversion Program’. 26. ‘I further realize that, in addition to the danger of retaliation by the German authorities on American prisoners of war that might arise from any public knowledge that such a campaign had been undertaken, such public knowledge could also lead to unfavorable reaction and suspicion on the part of the prisoners themselves and to redoubled action on the part of Nazis or other extremist elements in our camps to counteract our efforts in this direction.’ Letter from Hull to Stimson, 30 March 1944, p. 1. RG165, E43, B572, ‘383.6’, NARA. 27. As already mentioned declassification became effective on 12 June 1945. Declassification of Intellectual Diversion Program. To CGs, 1st–9th SvC, MD of Washington. Maj. Gen. Ulio, TAG. No date. RG389, E459A, B1626, ‘312 (Declassification) Gen.’, NARA. The German prisoners were informed the day before, but without mentioning the word ‘re-education’. In contrast, when Brig. Gen. Bryan informed the public on 14 June 1945, he used the word ‘reeducation’ in his address. Hoover Institution Archives, Farrand Collection, B3. No folder title. 28. However, the transfer of prisoners simply to foster the re-education program was not allowed. McCracken, ‘The Prisoner of War Re-Education Program’, pp. 63–4. 29. SDP, ‘Re-Education, p. 34. 30. At Fort Douglas (Wyoming), the camp commander even suspended the local POW paper indefinitely on 19 April 1945, because the editors refused to conform. McCracken, ‘The Prisoner of War Re-Education Program’, p. 46. 31. This figures, for example, in the letter Hull wrote to Stimson on 30 April 1944. RG107, E102, B106, ‘383.6 German’, NARA. 32. The issue of collective guilt became a major source of conflict between the

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33.

34.

35. 36. 37. 38.

39.

40. 41.

Americans and the German POWs in the special re-education camps. Ehrmann, ‘An Experiment’, pp. 306–10. Disposition of German POWs. Memo for the Deputy Chief of Staff (CoS) for Service Commands (DCSfSvC). 16 May 1945. RG407, E360, B2439, ‘AG 383.6 Disposition, Employment, & Replacement of Prisoners of War (16 May 45)’, NARA. ‘Jeder hat den heißen Wunsch, einmal die völlige Freiheit wiederzuerlangen. Wenn es geht[,] so schnell wie möglich. Jeder muß sich aber auch zu Gemüte führen, daß es auf sein persönliches Verhalten ankommt, wann er das ersehnte Ziel erreicht.’ Deutsche Woche, Camp Ft. Lewis, WA. Special Election Issue (22 May 1945), p. 2. Archer Lerch, ’An die deutschen Kriegsgefangenen’, Der Ruf (1 July 1945), p. 1. ‘Richtiges Verhalten bringt uns früher nach Hause’, Neue Deutsche Woche, Camp Ft. Lewis, Washington, 6 (7 July 1945), p. 12. ‘Aus dem Weltgeschehen’, Neue Deutsche Woche 18 (29 September 1945), p. 4. Special Screening of Cooperative German Prisoners of War. Memo for the PMG to the Assistant CoS, G-1. 7 December 1945. Copy in: Special Projects Div., Eustis Project, 34. Prisoners who had been members of the NSDAP or of one of its affiliated organizations (with the exception of the Hitler Youth and the German Labour Front) could not be selected for Fort Eustis. Preference was given to those who had been persecuted for various reasons by the Nazi regime, whose biography had an anti-Nazi background or who had shown a pro-democratic and cooperative attitude in the camps. Some, however, were selected simply for negative reasons, meaning that they had not been uncooperative and had never been a member of any Nazi organization. ‘A Reorientation Program seen through the Eyes of German Prisoners.’ Study submitted by the Special Project Center, Fort Eustis, Virginia. No date. RG260/OMGUS, Box 307–3, ‘16’, NARA. Fort Getty: 455 graduates; Fort Wetherill: 488 graduates. Fort Kearney (testschool): 73 graduates. Clay was then Deputy Military Governor and was soon to become Military Governor of the American Zone of Occupation in Germany. He was informed about the work of Special Projects in the United States and the schedules of returning special prisoners. Why he did not raise his objections earlier remains as much a mystery as why he chose to ignore the returning re-education prisoners when the US forces under his command were looking for reliable, English-speaking German personnel. Smith, War for the German Mind, pp. 146–8.

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220 • Notes 42. Smith, War for the German Mind, pp. 149–56. 43. Smith, War for the German Mind, pp. 156–9. 44. Moulton visited Germany in May and June 1947. Smith, War for the German Mind, pp. 160–1, quote on p. 160. McCracken, ‘The POW Re-Education Program’, pp. 130–42. 45. ‘zwischen einem in der Retorte richtig begonnenen Bemühen und seinem bösen Ende in der durchaus nicht keimfreien Luft Nachkriegsdeutschlands ..’ Alfred Andersch, ‘Getty oder Die Umziehung in der Retorte’, in Frankfurter Hefte 11 (November 1947), p. 1090. 46. However, only 128 of the 386 useable returns from Halloran and only 100 from Ft. Getty were used for analysis. Morris Krugman, ‘A Study of German Prisoners of War’, The American Journal of Orthopsychiatry 19 (July 1949), pp. 525–36. See also, Charles P. Gershenson, ‘A Comparison of Procedures for Analyzing an Attitude Questionnaire for German prisoners of War.’ Ph.D. Thesis, Columbia Univ. 1951. 47. The results for the Getty group were: 78 per cent ‘safe’, 15 per cent ‘untrustworthy’ (meaning that they had high attitude but low truth scores) and 7 per cent ‘unsafe’. Krugman, ‘A Study’, p. 535. 48. Krugman, ‘A Study’, p. 536. 49. ‘Hitler behauptete, dass die Deutschen ein Herrenvolk und dazu bestimmt seien, die Welt zu beherrschen. Glauben Sie an diesen Grundsatz. Kreuzen Sie eine Antwort an. Ja / Nein’ Question 3. PMGO, Poll of German Prisoner of War Opinion, 1946, p. 8. RG389, E459A, B1655, ‘Poll of German Prisoner of War Opinion (PMGO)’, NARA. The GAS consisted of 50 paired questions and 10 truth items. The latter were ‘statements of such nature that honest Germans could not agree with them’. Krugman, ‘A Study’, p. 525. 50. Gershenson concluded in his analysis of the GAS that ‘whatever their political beliefs, the one thing that stands out in the analysis of the German Attitude Scale is an awareness by the Prisoners of War of the American Eagle hovering over them.’ Gershenson, ‘A Comparison of Procedures’, p. 78. 51. PMGO, Poll, p. 29. 52. PMGO, Poll, pp. 3–4. 53. Jung, Die deutschen Kriegsgefangenen, p. 248. 54. ‘Nach meiner Beurteilung der damaligen Situation war es so, daß die meisten der Gefangenen hofften, durch eine Teilnahme an diesem Lehrgang früher wieder nach Hause zu kommen. Politische Interessen waren damals nicht viele vorhanden. Jeder wollte möglichst bald heimkommen und wir dachten, daß das ein Weg dazu wäre’ WKG-177 (21 January 1965). Bundesarchiv– Militärarchiv, B 205/v. 1221. 55. No PW Assistant who assisted the American personnel in teaching the other German prisoners was classified ‘unsafe’; but 40 per cent of Getty’s Service

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56.

57.

58.

59.

60. 61.

62.

63. 64. 65. 66.

Company and 12.5 per cent of the Administrative School were. Excluding the members of the Service Company, who were not part of the re-education effort, a total of 12 per cent of all Getty prisoners were ‘unsafe’ according to the Liberty Project. Krugman, ‘A Study’, p. 535. Reorientation of German Prisoners of War in European Theater of Operations. Summary. Brig. Gen. Joseph F. Battley, DCSfSvC. Prepared by Maj. Gemmill, Office of The PMG. 2 June 1945, p. 1. RG389, E452, B1390, ‘353#2’, NARA. Kurt W. Böhme, Die deutschen Kriegsgefangenen in amerikanischer Hand – Europa (Zur Geschichte der deutschen Kriegsgefangenen des Zweiten Weltkrieges, vol. X/2) (2nd ed.; München: Gieseking. 1973), pp. 76–7. Reorientation of German POWs. Summary. Col. R. W. Berry, Deputy Assistant CoS, G-1. 4 September 1944. RG389, E459A, B1632, ‘350 General’, NARA. ‘Intellectual Diversion Program’. Declassification of Intellectual Diversion Program. POW Special Projects Letter. To CGs, 1st–9th SvCs, MD of Wash. No date. RG389, E459A, B1626, ‘312.1 (Declassification) Gen.’, NARA. Re-Education Program for German Prisoners. 14 June 1945. Hoover Insitution Archives, Farrand Collection, B3, no folder title. An American officer at Camp Scottsbluff, Nebraska, reported in August 1945: ‘Members of the American military personnel are asked very frequently as to the possibility of staying on this country or of returning to this country. These questions are asked by Nazis and anti-Nazis alike and the desire to live in this country is not always born out of love for the United States.’ Political Activities. Major Richard Parnell, Director, Security & Intelligence Div., POW Camp Scottsbluff, Nebraska, to PMG, Attn.: Director, Security & Investigations Division. 23 August 1945, p. 2. RG 389, Entry 459A, Box 1606, Folder ‘091.412 General’, NARA. ‘A great number of them [the POWs] want to stay in America. They realize that Item #1 is to learn English, then prepare for a post-war occupation. They are set and ready to take steps as soon as the opportunity presents itself, for immigration. Memo to Major Maxwell S. McKnight, Executive Officer. No date, pp. 3–4. RG389, Entry 459A, Box 1638, Folder ‘383.6 General #2’, NARA. Report of visit to Camp Algona, Iowa, on September 12 through 16, 1945, by Mr. Paul Schnyder, International Red Cross Committee. 28 September 1945, p. 3. RG59, ELot58D7, B2, ‘Algona, Iowa’, NARA. ‘A Reorientation’, p. 33. ‘A Reorientation’, p. 33. ‘A Reorientation’, p. 31. Report No. 93 (11 February 1948), ‘The Cream of the Crop’Two Years Later’, in Anna J. and Richard L. Merritt (eds) Public Opinion in Occupied Germany.

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222 • Notes

67. 68.

69.

70.

71.

72.

73.

74. 75.

The OMGUS Surveys, 1945–1949 (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1970), pp. 200–1. SPD, ‘Re-Education’, p. 63. A number of publications deal with American advertising during the Second World War, for example: Frank W. Fox, Madison Avenue Goes to War: The Strange Military Career of American Advertising 1941–1945 (Provo, UT: Brigham Young University Press, 1975); Jackson Lears, Fables of Abundance: A Cultural History of Advertising in America (New York, NY: Basic Books, 1994); Juliann Sivulka, Soap, Sex, and Cigarettes: A Cultural History of American Advertising (Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 1998); Roland Marchand, Creating the Corporate Soul: The Rise of Public Relations and Corporate Imagery in American Big Business (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1998). For example, the Fortbildungsblatt, a supplement to the Zaungast (Camp Aliceville, AL) explained American advertising to the prisoners on 4 February 1945 (p. 3) and pointed out that much could be learned about Americans and American economy by observing it. Calvin N. Jones, ‘Views of America and Views of Germany in German POW Newspapers of World War II’ Yearbook of German-American Studies 17 (1982), p. 65. ‘Hierbei zeigt sich, daß die Überfluß- und Wegwerfmentalität der Amerikaner auch schon uns erfaßt hat.’ Manfred Sonntag, Im Goldenen Käfig. Freiheit hinter Stacheldraht (Hamburg: SOLDI Verlag, 1992), p. 76. ‘A Reorientation’, 23. Only some 19,000 questionnaires were collected because a number of POWs chose not to turn in theirs. ‘A Reorientation’, p. 1. Michael Wildt, ‘Promise of More. The Rhetoric of (Food) Consumption in a Society Searching for Itself: West Germany in the 1950s’, in Peter Scholliers (ed.) Food, Drink and Identity. Cooking, Eating and Drinking in Europe Since the Middle Ages (Oxford: Berg, 2001), pp. 63–80. Stereotypes about the United States remained strong among the prisoners. The German soldiers could aspire a high level of consumption and still complain about America’s perceived lack of culture and the negative effects of capitalism on society. For similar developments in post-war Germany see Michael Geyer, ‘America in Germany: Power and the Pursuit of Americanization’, in Frank Trommler and Elliott Shore (eds) The GermanAmerican Encounter: Conflict and Cooperation between Two Cultures, 1800–2000 (New York: Berghahn 2001), pp. 121–44. SPD, ‘Re-Education’, p. 16. The camp newspapers were supposed to serve as mediums for self-education and as forums of discussion. Articles of one camp paper where sometimes reprinted by others, in Der Ruf, or in a nationwide clipsheet called Die

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76.

77. 78.

79.

80.

81.

82.

83. 84. 85.

Auslese. The first issue of Die Auslese was distributed on 21 July 1945. SPD, ‘Re-Education’, pp. 27–30. ‘daß es Amerika, nur Amerika ist, das Millionen Menschen unserer Heimat vor dem drohenden Hungertod bewahren kann, dem sie ohne die kräftige Unterstützung dieses reichen Landes rettungslos ausgeliefert wären.’ Neue Deutsche Woche 18 (29 September 1945), p. 20. ‘A Reorientation Program’, p. 11. ‘A Reorientation Program’, p. 22. The prisoners were also asked to make suggestions for additional topics in which they would be interested. Under the heading ‘On World Affairs’, many requested more information on the history, ideology, foreign and domestic politics of the Soviet Union. This could have been an implied threat to join the Soviet side, but was also often motivated by anti-communism. For example, when POWs requested a lecture on the differences between National Socialism and Communism, they frequently implied that there were none. ‘A Reorientation Program’, p. 28. Matthias Reiss, ‘“Götterdämmerung” im “Goldenen Käfig”: Die U.S.-Armee, die deutschen Kriegsgefangenen in den USA und die bedingungslose Kapitulation 1945’ Militärgeschichtliche Mitteilungen 58, no. 1 (1999), pp. 87–110. Heike Bungert, Das Nationalkomitee und der Westen: Die Reaktion der Westalliierten auf das NKFD und die Freien Deutschen Bewegungen 1943–1948 (Stuttgart: F. Steiner, 1997), pp. 113, 175–9. Congressional Hearings on treatment of Prisoners of War held within the United States. Memo for Gen. Somervell. Brig. Gen. Miles Reber, Chief Legislative and Liaison Div. 9 May 1945. RG389, E459A, B1608, ‘250.1 General’, NARA. Army’s Treatment of Prisoners of War held within the United States. Memo for Record. Col. Robert Cutler. 9 May 1945, p. 1. Attachment to: Congressional Hearings on Treatment of Prisoner of War held within the United States. Memo for Gen. Somervell. Brig. Gen. Miles Reber, Chief Legislative and Liaison Div. 9 May 1945. RG389, E459A, B1608, ‘250.1 General’, NARA. Howard Mumford Jones on 18 July 1945. Robin, Barbed-Wire College, pp. 137–43. Robin, Barbed-Wire College, p. 135. Screening took place between 19 June and 17 August 1945. SPD, Projects II and III, 5. ‘Hier ist wirklich eine asiatische Welle über ein europäisches Land hinweggegangen’, Deutsche Soldatenzeitung 46 (6 October 1944): p. 4. ‘Die Berichte, die spärlich aus Osteuropa eintreffen, melden übereinstimmend, daß mit den Russen nicht Freiheit und Gerechtigkeit eingezogen sind, sondern

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224 • Notes

86.

87. 88.

89.

Not, Terror und Knechtschaft’, Deutsche Soldatenzeitung 47 (13 October 1945), pp. 1–2. McCracken, ‘The POW Re-Education Program’, pp. 137–8. Already at Fort Eustis, a study on the German prisoners’ reaction to the re-education effort commented on the widespread ‘wishful political thinking’ among them that the United States would ‘save them from the tribulations of defeat.’ ‘A Reorientation’, p. 19. McCracken, ‘The POW Re-Education Program’, p. 134. Ehrmann, ‘An Experiment’, p. 315. Ehrmann’s task was to review the re-education’s German language material, and he devised the German history survey course for Fort Eustis. Robin, Barbed-Wire College, p. 51. Ehrmann, ‘An Experiment’, p. 315.

9 Belated Homecomings: Japanese Prisoners of War in Siberia and their Return to Post-war Japan 1. V.V. Karpov, Sutârin no horyotachi: Soren kimitsu shiryô ga kataru zenyô (Plenniki Stalina: Sibirskoe Internirovanie Iapnskioi Armii, 1945–1956 [Stalin’s captives: Siberian internment of Japanese Army, 1945–1956]), trans. Nagase Ryôji (Sapporo: Hokkaidô Shinbunsha, 2001), pp. 82–3. 2. Actually some remained in the Soviet Union for much longer periods for various reasons. For example, Hachiya Yasaburô, who had worked at a weapon factory in North Korea, was sentenced to ten years’ imprisonment for his alleged espionage activities. Although he earned probation and led a life outside of prison after 1953, he was not allowed to return to Japan. Periodic interrogation and surveillance by the Soviet authority continued, and he was not even allowed to leave the city in which he resided. In order to improve his living conditions, he acquired Soviet citizenship, giving up the hope of returning to Japan in the near future. Hachiya eventually retuned to Japan in 1997. 3. Some returnees (particularly members of Zenkoku kyôsei yokuryûsha kyôkai [National Association for Forced Detainees]) strongly insist that they were not prisoners of war in order to dissociate themselves from the negative associations with this designation in Japan. In this chapter, the terms ‘POWs’ and ‘detainees’ are used interchangeably to designate those who were in Soviet custody, following these terms’ historical uses: (1) the terms, horyo and furyo (prisoners of war), have been commonly used in post-war Japan to designate the Soviet POWs as well as the POWs in other Allied Powers’ custodies; (2) to call them simply yokuryûsha (detainees) is to mask their historical ties to the Asia-Pacific War (much like calling the Allied occupation forces shinchûgun [the stationing forces].) This chapter uses the terms ‘detainees’

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4.

5.

6. 7.

8. 9.

10.

11. 12. 13. 14.

and ‘captives’ interchangeably with ‘POWs’ in order to avoid monotonous repetitions. The estimate of the deaths has been a subject of scholarly discussions because of the imperfect Soviet records. Although the Soviet Union offered 62,068 as the official death toll in 1989, the matter is far from being settled. Recently V.V. Karpov arrived at the number 92,053 through his meticulous research at the Soviet archives. According to him, 60,670 deaths occurred in the Soviet territories and Mongolia, while 31,383 died in the camps in North Korea and Liaodong Peninsula, the regions that were under Soviet control. V.V. Karpov, Sutârin no horyotachi: Soren kimitsu shiryô ga kataru zenyô, pp. 21–4. The dearth of cinematic representations of the returnees from Siberian camps is contrasted to the numerous portrayals of ex-soldiers that returned from other regions. For a more detailed discussion of the latter, see Kawamoto Saburô, Ima hitotabi no Nihon eiga (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1994), pp. 36–70. Murase Manabu, Naze ‘oka’ o utau kayôkyoku ga takusan tsukurarete kitanoka (Tokyo: Shunjyûsha, 2002), p. 5. Murase Manabu, Naze ‘oka’ o utau kayôkyoku ga takusan tsukurarete kitanoka, pp. 5–6. On the other hand, in the 1990s, film critic Satô Tadao dismisses the two films that Shin-Tôhô produced (Ikoku no oka and Damoi [Domoi]) in 1949 in one sentence simply as ‘anti-Soviet propaganda’ in his massive four-volume history of Japanese cinema. Satô Tadao, Nihon eigashi 2 (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1995), pp. 207, 227. Maizuru hikiage kinenkan, Maizuru hikiage kinenkan zuroku (Maizuru: Maizuru hikiage kinenkan, 2000), p. 38. Frank Biess, ‘Survivors of Totalitarianism: Returning POWs and the Reconstruction of Masculine Citizenship in West Germany, 1945–1955’, in Hanna Schissler (ed.) The Miracle Years: A Cultural History of West Germany, 1949–1968 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001), pp. 57–82. Frank Biess, ‘“Pioneers of a New Germany”: Returning POWs from the Soviet Union and the Making of East German Citizens, 1945–1950’, Central European History, 32 (1990), pp. 143–80. Ishihara Yoshirô, Ishihara Yoshirô zenshû, vol. 2 (Tokyo: Kashinsha, 1980), p. 167. Ishinomori Takeo, Saihate no nagareboshi (Tokyo: Kindai bungeisha, 1996), p. 10. Fukui Hideo, Seishun no nagai michi (Tokyo: Kyôiku shiryô shuppankai, 1995), p. 174. Kawamura Katsumi, Kuroi tora (Osaka: Fôramu A, 1996), p. 111–12.

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226 • Notes 15. Yamashita Sachio, Hanamo arashimo (Tokyo: Bungeisha, 2001), p. 185. 16. Ôtsuka Shigeru, Damoi no michi wa tôkatta (Tokyo: Kokushokankôkai, 1995), pp. 23–4. 17. Futaba Kaname, who was detained in the Birobidzhan camp in the Amur region, states that the food ration began to improve around March 1946. Due to inadequate transportation his labour battalion did not receive a food supply until the beginning of December 1945. Hence, they were forced to subsist on what they arrived with – twenty days’ worth of provisions – for forty days. Futaba Kaname, Shiberia ni iru Nihonjin horyo no jitsujô (Denver: Saikensha, 1948), pp. 65–7. 18. With the help of a Soviet Communist Party member, Suzuki Shôzô’s battalion successfully purged the Soviet camp supervisor, who had embezzled their food supplies. Consequently their food supply was restored to the officially planned level; and the portion that they missed for about two and half months was added to their ration. Suzuki Shôzô, ‘Râgeru’ no nakano seishun (Tokyo: Akashi shoten, 1999), pp. 30–6. 19. Watanabe Chiguto, Aru igakuto no seishun (Fukuoka: Kaichôsha, 1994), pp. 202–3. 20. Seki Kiyoto, Tsuioku no hibi (Tokyo: Bungeisha, 2001), pp. 45–6. 21. Kariyuki Seiji, ‘Kûfuku no akumu,’ Sôkagakkai hansen seinenbu hansen shuppan iinkai, ed. Namida ni urumu Maizurukô (Tokyo: Daisanbunmeisha, 1979), p. 95. 22. V.V. Karpov, Sutârin no horyotachi, p. 107. 23. There was no rigorous systematic examination of the prisoners’ health conditions. The most common method of assessment was to pinch the skin of their buttocks: skin that lost elasticity was an indication of malnutrition. Morimoto Yoshio, Shiberia furyoki (Tokyo: Shunjûsha, 2001), p. 89. 24. Seno Osamu, Shiberia Yokuryûki (Tokyo: Kôyûsha, 1947), pp. 19–20; Tajima Kyôji, Shiberia no akumu (Tokyo: Tokyo keizai, 1995), pp. 124–5; Suzuki Shôzô, ‘Râgeru’ no nakano seishun, p. 28. 25. V.V. Karpov, Sutârin no horyotachi, p. 105. 26. Kawamura Katsumi, Kuroi tora, pp. 133–4. 27. Hiranuma Gyokutarô, “30 dai to iu jinsei wa nai,” Sôkagakkai hansen seinenbu hansen shuppan iinkai, ed. Namida ni urumu Maizurukô, pp. 38–9. 28. Hiranuma Gyokutarô, ‘30 dai to iu jinsei wa nai,’ p. 43. 29. Ôtsuka Shigeru, Damoi no michi wa tôkatta, p. 255. 30. Ishinomori Takeo, Saihate no nagareboshi (Tokyo: Kindai bungeisha, 1996), p. 111. 31. Kamei Tsutomu, Shiberia yokuryûsha to izokuwa ima (Kyoto: Kamogawa shuppan, 1992), p. 176. 32. Takasugi Ichriô, Kyokkô no kageni (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1991), p. 138.

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Notes • 227 33. Yokota Shôhei, Watashi wa gyokusai shinakatta (Tokyo: Chûôkôronsha, 1999), p. 448. 34. ‘Guamutô senyûkai no ‘hirô Yokoi’ o mirume,’ Shûkan bunshun, 21 Feburary 1972, p. 138. 35. Ishihara Yoshirô, Ishihara Yoshirô zenshû, vol. 2, pp. 56–9. 36. Ishihara Yoshirô, Ishihara Yoshirô zenshû, vol. 2, pp. 207–8. 37. Kamei Tsutomu, Shiberia yokur ûsha to izokuwa ima, pp. 81–2. 38. Victor E. Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning: An Introduction to Logotherapy (New York: Washington Square Press, 1963), p. 7, and Ishihara Yoshirô, Ishihara Yoshirô zenshû, vol. 1 (Tokyo: Kashinsha, 1979), p. 543. 39. Ishihara Yoshirô chose poetry as a means to express his difficult struggles with the past. To him, ‘poetry was almost the only means to accept the confusion as it is.’ Ishihara Yoshirô zenshû, vol. 2, p. 439. 40. For example, Takasugi Ichirô readily admits that he did not have enough courage to defend his friend who was accused of being ‘extremely reactionary’ in a political meeting. He even joined, with self-disgust, the accusers that sang revolutionary songs in order to demonstrate genuine revolutionary spirit for his friend. Takasugi Ichirô, Kyokkô no kageni, pp. 334–5. 41. Ochiai Harurô, Shiberia no ‘Nihon shinbun’ (Tokyo: Sôronsha, 1995), pp. 229–33. 42. Those who experienced American POW camps in general had a much easier time. For example, in 1948, Ôoka Shôhei related his experience at a US POW camp in Leyte in the following terms: ‘In fact, we were first-class POWs who enjoyed clean quarters and clothing, a ration of 2,700 calories a day, and ultimately even distributions of PX goods. Some of the men still refer to the camp as “paradise” and speak of the time they spent there as the best year of their lives.’ Ôoka Shôhei, Taken Captive: A Japanese POW’s Story, trans. Wayne P. Lammers (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1996), p. 149. 43. ‘Hikiage mondai to han So senden,’ Akahata, December 14, 1948, p. 1. 44. Kuwabara Takeo, ‘Setsujitsuna kansô,’ Chûôkôron, January 1954, pp. 108–9. 45. Kuwabara Takeo, ‘Setsujitsuna kansô,’ p. 109. 46. Nakai Yoshiharu, ‘Kôshi no nakakara mita Soren,’ Chûôkôron, January 1954, p. 101. 47. Kuwabara Takeo, ‘Setsujitsuna kansô,’ p. 109. 48. Shimizu Ikutarô, Shimizu Ikutarô chosakushû 14 (Tokyo: Kodansha, 1993), p. 334. 49. Frank Biess observes a similar psychological response in West Germany that cast returning German POWs as the embodiment of the Soviet victory. Frank Biess, ‘Survivors of Totalitarianism’, p. 63. 50. Fukui Hideo, Seishun no nagai michi (Tokyo: Gurûpu Waifu, 1995), pp. 311–2.

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228 • Notes 51. Takasugi Ichirô, Kyokkô no kageni, p. 353. 52. For a more detailed discussion of this narrative, see Yoshikuni Igarashi, Bodies of Memory: Narratives of War in Post-war Japanese Culture, 1945–1970 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000), Chapter 1. 53. According to the 1960 survey conducted by the prime minister’s office, when asked to list three countries that the respondents disliked, they gave the name of the Soviet Union most often (50.4%). South Korea (46.6%) and People’s Republic of China (39.3%) were a close second and third in this survey. However, in the 1996 and 2001 surveys, on the same question, the respondents listed North Korea most often (56.7% and 61.6% respectively). Russia was surpassed by large margins in both years (44.8% and 30.5%). Naikaku sôridaijin kanbô kôhôshitsu, ed. Zenkoku yoron chôsa no genkyô, Shôwa 35 nendo [1960] (Tokyo: Sôrifu, 1961), pp. 160–1; Naikaku sôridaijin kanbô kôhôshitsu, ed. Zenkoku yoron chôsa no genkyô, Heisei 9 nendo [1996] (Tokyo: Sôrifu, 1997), p. 546; Naikaku sôridaijin kanbô kôhôshitsu, ed. Zenkoku yoron chôsa no genkyô, Heisei 14 nendo [2001] (Tokyo: Sôrifu, 2002), p. 527. 54. Growing general interest in publishing one’s life story in recent years also encouraged this trend among the survivors of Siberian camps. The genre of writing is called jibunshi (self-history). For details, see Gerald Figal, ‘How to Jibunshi: Making and Marketing Self-histories of Shôwa among the Masses in Post-war Japan,’ The Journal of Asian Studies, vol. 55, no. 4 (November 1996), pp. 902–903. 55. It is said that more than 2,000 personal accounts have been published. 56. Nishiki Masa’aki, Mugansan ni yoroshiku (Tokyo: Bungeishunjû, 1999).

10 The Internment of Returning Soviet Prisoners of War after 1945 1. Ministry for State Security (Ministerstvo Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti, MGB) decree 00776, 24 December 1951. 2. See its complete text in M.M. Zagorul’ko (ed.) Voennoplennye v SSSR, 1939–1956, Dokumenty I materially (Moscow: Logos, 2000), pp. 60–4, with reference to: GARF (State Archives of the Russian Federation), f.P-3316, opis. 64, delo. 1049, pp. 2, 4–12. 3. GARF, f.P-3316, p. 64, d.1049, p. 1. 4. Sovet Narodnyh Kommisarov (SNK) Decree No. 1798–800cc of 1.07.1941 (GARF, f.P-9401, op.12, d.205, v.14, pp. 237–9). Complete text is reproduced in: Zagorul’ko, Voennoplennye v SSSR, pp. 65–8, GARF, f.P-9401, op.1, d.619, pp. 297–9; RGVA (Russian State Military Archive) f.1/P-, op.37a, d 1, pp. 34–7.

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Notes • 229 5. Obviously its prototype was the TsUPLENBEZh created in 1918. (see GARF, f.P-3333). 6. It is interesting that USSR ratified the third Geneva Agreement on POWs of 12 August 1949 only on 10 May 1954, when the majority of German and Japanese POWs were released. Later still, on 7 March 1955, the USSR joined The Hague Agreements of 1899 and 1907, but with reservations, See: M. Lang, Stalins Strafjustiz gegen deutsche Soldaten: die Massenprozesse gegen deutsche Kriegsgefangenen in den Jahren 1949 und 1950 (Herford: Mittler, 1981), pp. 59–60. 7. So, fighting-men were given ‘medallions of death’ with data on the name and the surname, there were registers of losses and so on. By order of NKO No. 171 in 1940, the Red Army books for rank and file and non-commissioned officers were introduced as the only identifying document. But by the same order these books were annulled for Field Forces, i.e. for wartime. Only on 7 October 1941 by order of the Ministry of Defence of the USSR (Narkomat Oborony SSSR, NKO) No. 330 were the Red Army books with a photograph introduced again, albeit with a great delay. Those who had been killed before that time, died practically anonymously. See, Dmitry Levinsky, My iz sorok pervogo .. ili: Ty- moja zvezda. Avtobiografischeskaya povest (n.p.,1996), pp. 116–17. 8. Compare a statement by A. Kollontay, the Soviet Ambassador in Sweden: ‘The Soviet Union doesn’t recognize any Russian-Soviet POWs; they who yielded themselves prisoners are deserters’, cited in Streit, Keine Kameraden (Bonn: Newausgabe 1991) pp. 236, 402. 9. Directives of deputies NKO No. 97, 10 March 1943. ‘Preludija Kurskoj bitvy. Dokumenty i materialy. 6 dekabra 1942–25 aprela 1943 gg’, Russkij Archiv, Velikaja Otechestvennaja vojna V.15, 4(3), p. 49 cites TsAMO (Russian Federation Ministry of Defence Central Archive), f.203, op.2777, d.70, pp. 258–9. 10. See Izvestiya of TsK KPSS (Proceedings of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union), 1990, No. 9, p. 202. 11. V.V. Zakharov, ‘Stalinskaya nauka voevat’: general Vlasov I tragediya 2-j Udarnoj (Govorjat arhivnye dokumenty)’. In: Materialy po Istorii ROA (1999) Vol. 4, p. 44, cites RGVA, f.4, op.12, d.98, pp. 617–22. This first appeared in VIJ (Military-historical Journal), 1988, No. 9, pp. 26–8, and for the first time in German in Voennyi Vestnik (Military Bulletin), Moscow, No. 17, September 1988, p. 1. See also: ‘Der Befehl Nummer 270’, Osteuropa, Heft 11/12 (1989), pp. 1035–8. This order was confirmed on 12 May, 1943 by Headquarters instruction No. 30126, which informed forces of the desertion to the enemy of former high-ranking Soviet servicemen: the Commander of the Twenty-eighth Army, Lieutenant-General V.M. Kachalov the Commander

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230 • Notes

12.

13.

14. 15.

16.

17.

18.

19. 20.

21.

of the Second Shock Army, Lieutenant-General A.A. Vlasov the Commander of the Twelth Army, Major-General P.G. Ponedelin, and the Chief of Staff of the Nineteenth Army; Major-General V.F. Malyshkin. (Later it turned out that Kachalov was killed in the course of action and Ponedelin, though he was taken prisoner, did not associate himself with Vlasov. However, this did not prevent him being sentenced to death for high treason in 1950.) Deputy Chief of the Board of Special Departments of NKVD Commissar Milstein to Narkom Berya, Russian State Archive of Modern History (Rossiyskij gosudarstvennyj arhiv noveyshey istorii, RGANI), F. 89, op.18, d.8, pp. 1–3. So for three and a half months NKVD executed nearly as many Soviet citizens as there were criminals in the whole of the country, whose sentences to death were not carried out (10,645 persons) RGANI, f.89, op.18, d.9, pp. 1–4. Organy Gosudarstvennoj Bezopastnosti SSR v Velikoj Otechestvennoj Vojne. V. 2. Book 2 : The Beginning: 1 September–31 December 1941 (Moscow, 2000), p. 35–36, with reference to Central Archive FSB of Russia. On 6 December 1941 directives were issued about measures against deserters, settling and penetrating to rear regions (in the same place). GKO Resolution No. 1069cc, 27 December 1941. The order No. 001735 of 28 December 1941 ‘The creation of special camps for former servicemen of the Red Army, having been in captivity and encircled by the enemy’ (RGVA, f.1n, op.37, d.2, pp. 1–3; RGANI, f.89, op.40, d.1, pp. 1–6). Additions to this order are in the orders of the NKVD under Nos 00117, 00161, 00452 and 00520 of 1942 and 001144 of 1943. See the order of NKO USSR No. 0521 of 29 December 1941. The Statute of Assembly deportation points (ADP) was approved on the same day. See the report of the Chief of ADP of the Twenty-eighth Army, Captain Partolin, TsAMO, f.28A, op.8482, d.23, pp. 93–9. By the order of NKVD No. 0087 of 13 January 1942 signed by Serov. Provisional instructions on registration and captivity in special camps of NKVD of former the Red Army servicemen, having been in captivity and encircled by the enemy. RGVA, f.1n, op.37, d.2, pp. 1–12. The Joint order of the NKVD, NKGB and the Procurator’s Office of the USSR of 28 June 1941 ‘About the procedure of making traitors and members of their families answerable’ and the joint order of NKVD and NKGB ‘Procedure to exile of family members of traitors to remote northern regions of the USSR’. GKO Resolution No. 92cc ‘About family members of traitors’, 24 June 1942. E.A. Zaitsev, Sbornik zakonodatelnyh I normativnyh aktov o repressijah I reabilitazii zhertv politicheskih repressij (Moscow: Respublika, 1993), pp. 93–95. See M.A. Vyltsan, ‘Deportazia Marodov v jody Velikoj Otechestvennoj vojne’, Etnogrspicheskoje Obozrenije, 1995, No. 3, p. 28, with reference to

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Notes • 231

22. 23.

24. 25.

26. 27. 28.

29. 30. 31.

32.

33. 34.

Russian State Archive for Social and Political History (Rossijsky gosudarstvennyj arhiv sozialno-politicheskoy istorii, RGASPI), f.664, op.1, d.63, p. 146. See also Zaitsev, Sbornik zakonodatelnyh, pp. 96–7. GKO Resolution No. 2401cc, 11 October 1942. See Zakharov, ‘Stalinskaya nauka voevat’, pp. 46–7. For the first time: A Samsonov, ‘Stalingrad. Ni shagu nazad’, Moskovskije novosti, 7 February 1988. See also Military-Historical Journal, No. 8, 1988, pp. 26–8. GKO resolution No. 2779, 21 January 1943. G.N. Ivanova, GULAG v sisteme totalitarnogo gosudarstva (Moscow: Mosbouskij obschestennyj nauchnyj fond, 1997), p. 53. The author emphasizes that the introduction of penal servitude in the Gulag in that period was not by chance as it coincided with the expansion of the Uranium project. The Decree of PVS, No. 43, 19 April 1943. G. Wagenlehner, ‘Die Willkürjustiz der Stalin-Ära – der Ukas 43’, Der Heimkehrer, Bonn, 15 May 1992. In addition the same decree distinguishes between two categories of such citizens – between ‘traitors’ and ‘accomplices of the enemy’. Among the traitors were reputed employees of the Gestapo, persons who held leading administration posts (burgomasters, commandants, chiefs of the police), persons who revealed military or state secrets, betrayed or victimized partisans or Red Army soldiers, murderers, robbers and violent criminals, as well as deserters. Accomplices included people who carried out German directions on collecting forage and foodstuffs or rendered other assistance that was not considered ‘high treason’. But that decree was deemed imperfect, so interpretations of the Plenum of the Supreme Court of the USSR of 25 November 1943 and 23 March 1944 further classified actions of Soviet citizens in rendering assistance to the enemy during the period of occupation. GKO Resolution No. 6884c, 4 November 1944. Zakharov, ‘Stalinskaya nauka voevat’, pp. 49–50. In spring a special ‘F’ department was established in the NKVD system (headed by General P. Sudoplatov). It was responsible for all screening of Soviet and foreign repatriates. Head Office of Counterespionage (Glavnoe Upravlenie kontrrazvedki), Russian abbreviation GUKR SMERSh (SMERSh was abbreviated from Russian Smert’ shpionam!, meaning Death to the spies!), headed by V. Abakumov. Officially SMERSh was responsible for political screening, registration and further distribution of prisoners of war (initially the ‘vlasovtsy’ and other collaborators), but cases are known where civilians were also dealt with by SMERSh. Commander for the Rear Areas of the Army (Nachalnik Tyla Krasnoj Armii). Numbers 1/1240645c and 1/1240646c. GARF, f.9526, op.4a, d.2, 1.44–49.

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232 • Notes 35. GARF. f.P-9526. op.4a. d.1. 1.226–227. 36. Viktor Zemskov, ‘K.voprosu repatriazil sovetskych grajdan 1944–1951’ Istoria SSSR (1990) No. 4, pp. 26–41, see especially p. 36. 37. See: RGVA, f.1P., op.37?, d.4, l.5. Obviously the instruction of Council of Ministers No. 668-pc dated 21 February 1948, on the transfer of repatriation affairs to the MVD (Ministry of Internal Affairs) the files of personal registration for repatriated Soviet Prisoners of war. 38. GARF, f.P-9526, op.1, d.1.1.106–108. According to the data of L. Reshin, many more people (1,230,000) were drafted to special reserve army units. 39. Thus their knowledge of German language was handy (Report-1, p. 107). 40. Decree of the State Defence Committee, No 9871c, 18 August 1945 ‘On sending to industry Red Army Servicemen, liberated from German captivity, and repatriates of call-up age’. 41. Decree No. 2220 of the USSR Council of Ministers of 30 September 1946. ‘The regulating of employment of repatriates, former prisoners of war and those subject to call-up in the construction industry and in transportation, and the extension of benefits for those demobilized to these categories’. 42. GARF, f.P-9526, op.1, d.66, l.103–105 (from response to Terekhov Ilya Nikolaevich, Molotov region, Kizel City, Kospash Settlement, ‘Kospahugol’ trust, labour batallion). 43. Decree No. 2220 of 30 September, 1946. 44. Zemskov, ‘K. voprosu repatriazil sovetskych grajdan 1944–1951’ pp. 29–30. 45. The total number of men in special contingents among the repatriates amounted to 227,266 on 1 January 1946. Of these, 120,292 were held in 29 screening camps (hereinafter PFL – from Russian Proverochno-Filtratsionnye Lagerya), and 106,974 persons in 11 correctional labour camps (hereinafter ITL – from Russian Ispravitel’no-Trudovye Lagerya) of the Gulag. Screened contingents were transferred to the permanent staff of industry (in particular 122,412 persons in 1945) or to labour battalions of the NKVD (their staff included 31,163 persons on 1 January 1946,) RGANI, f.89, op.40, d.3, l.1–3. 46. GARF, f.P-9526, op.1, d.1.1.226. 47. RGANI, f.89, op.40, d.3, l.1–3. 48. Viktor Zemskov, ‘Spezposelenzy (1930–1959)’ in: Naselenie Rossii v 1920–1950-e gody: chislennost’, poteri migiazii (Moscow 1994) pp. 145–94. see especially p. 161. 49. Respective Decrees of Council of Ministers and of Presidium of Supreme Soviet were approved in October 1951. ‘Punished nations’ were also designated for permanent settlement as well as the people engaged in production of atomic and missile weapons. 50. V.P. Naumov and L.E. Reschin, ‘Nezakonchennoje Srajenie Maischala Zhukova. Ô reabilitazii sovetskih voennoplennyh 1954–1956’, Istoricheskii

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51. 52. 53. 54.

55.

56.

57.

58.

59.

60.

61. 62.

archiv 1995 nr. 2, pp. 108–26; pp. 113–20, cites APRF (Arhiv Presidenta Rossijskoj Federazii), f.3, op.50, d.510, l.10. Naumov and Reschin 1995, pp. 113–20, cites APRF, f.3, op.50, d.511, l.23–32. See its full text in Naumov and Reschin 1995, pp. 120–3, cites APRF, f.3, op.50, d.511, l.17–22. No. 898–490c. Naumov and Reschin 1995, pp. 120–3. USSR Ministry of Defence fulfilling the decree of 29 June issued its directive on 23 June 1956. See Directive of Deputy Defence Minister of the USSR No. 52690 of 23 July 1956. The respective instructions of the USSR General Public Prosecutor No. 14/89 dated 4 August 1956, and joint instruction of the USSR General Public Prosecutor and USSR Minister of Internal Affairs, No. 288c / 161c, of 14 September 1957. See Zaitsev, Sbornik zakonodatelnyh, pp. 142–6. For their origins and early operation, see Pavel Polian, Zhertvy dvuh diktatur: zhizn’, trud unizhenije i smert’ sovetskih voennoplennyh I ostarbaiterov na chuyhbine i na rodine (Moscow: Rosspen, 2002), pp. 626–71. A statement by the Russian ‘Statute of Foundation’ that some citizens had ‘committed crimes against the Motherland’, was a vivid reminder of the times when prisoners of war were considered in just this way by the USSR. Letter of V.A. Knyazev to participants of a meeting at Schloss Holte Stuckenbrock of 25 May 1994. See: Pavel Polian, Zhertuy duuh diktatur: ostarbeitery I voeunoplennye I in kepatiazija (Moskva: Vash Vybor, 1996), pp. 402–403). Nearly exact quotation from the FRG Ministry of Foreign Affairs response to G.A. Holny of 22 December 1993 and response of the FRG Embassy in Moscow to the Chairman of RF President Commission for prisoners of war, internees and those missing without trace, General V.A. Zolotarev of 4 March 1998 (G.A. Holny Archive). See, for example, Christian Streit, ‘Deutsche und sowjetische Kriegsgefangene’ in: W. Wette and G. Überschär (eds) Kriegsverbrechen im 20. Jahrhundert (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft 2001), pp. 178–92. However a statement relating to the compensation German prisoners of war by the Soviet side would appear to be much more correct and less hypocritical than the so-called ‘zero option’. See for example the response of veteran V. Smirnov to RF President decree of 24 January 1995. Nearly exact quotation from the letter by A. Yakovlev and D. Volkogonov, chairmen of two RF Presidential Commissions (for rehabilitation of political repression victims and for prisoners of war, interned and disappeared without trace), to G.A. Holny (G.A. Holny Archive, date not later than mid-1993). A

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234 • Notes

63.

64. 65.

66.

67.

68.

69.

70. 71.

kind of blackmail was voiced by the then RF Minister of Foreign Affairs, namely ‘if we involve prisoners of war as well, we’ll violate an agreement of 30 March 1993 and Germans will not transfer the third tranche!’ See for example, the decisions of the session of international union of former juvenile prisoners of fascism, held in Bendery on 5–6 September 1996 Sud’ba (The Fate) No. 9 (31) pp. 1–3 (Ulan-Ude, 1996). Reported by the Deputy Chairman of the Byelorussian foundation ‘Mutual Understanding and reconciliation’ K. Prohorenko. According to Item 5 of the Decree, its action is not extended to former Soviet prisoners of war and civilians, who served in combatant forces and special units of German fascist troops, police and other persons not subject to rehabilitation under the RF law ‘On the rehabilitation of victims of political repression’. Somewhat earlier (in 1991) this status was extended to ‘Soviet citizens participating in military actions against fascist Germany and its allies during World War II in the territory of foreign states, in partisan detachments, underground groups and other anti-fascist groups’ (Decree of USSR Cabinet of Ministers No. 567, 5 August 1991 and Order of the USSR Minister of Defence, 13 August 1991). ‘Sovetskie voennoplennye: spravedlivost’ obretena, no kto zhe ob etom znaet?’ (Soviet prisoners of war: they got justice, but who knows about it?) Rossiyskie vesti, 3 February 1995. From the letter by T.P. Kazaturova, Depute Head of Department for Affairs of Veterans and Elderly People of the Ministry of Social Protection to G.A. Holny, 29 February 1996 (G.A. Holny Archive). Most probably Boris Yeltsin himself was not offended by such a response to his decree, as it was for ornamentation purposes only, and even when the RF Presidential Commission for prisoners of war, interned and disappeared without trace was established, he did not indicate anything specific associated with former Second World War prisoners of war as the Commission’s objective. The Commission was established by President’s Decree No. 133 of 27 February 1997 and headed by the Head of Military History Institute, ColonelGeneral Zolotarev dealt almost exclusively with the fates of participants in the Russia-Chechnya conflict, and partially with members of ‘limited contingent of Soviet troops in Afghanistan’. Bundestag-Drucksache 14/3206, 13 April 2000, p. 16. The date from which legal eligibility of claimants for such compensation is counted.

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Notes • 235

11 Coping in Britain and France: A Comparison of Family Issues affecting the Homecoming of Prisoners of War following World War II 1. R. Hill, Families Under Stress: Adjustment to the Crises of War Separation and Reunion (New York: Harper & Bros, 1949). Examples of work in relation to separation problems of American service families include: K.P. O’Bierne, ‘Waiting Wives’ U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings, 1976, pp. 29–37; H. Macintosh, ‘Separation Problems in Military Wives’ American Journal of Psychiatry, 125 (2 August 1968), pp. 156–61; D. R. Bey, and J. Lange, ‘Waiting Wives: Women under stress’ American Journal of Psychiatry, 131 (3 March 1974), pp. 283–6; R. Hill, Families under stress: Adjustment to the Crises of War Separation and Reunion. (New York: Harper & Bros, 1949). 2. H.I. McCubbin, B.B. Dahl, G.R. Lester, D. Benson, and M.L. Robertson, ‘Coping Repertoires of Families Adapting to Prolonged War-induced Separations’, Journal of Marriage and the Family, August (1976), pp. 461–71 and H.I. McCubbin, E.J. Hunter and B.B. Dahl, ‘Residuals of War: Families of Prisoners of War and Servicemen Missing in Action’, Journal of Social Studies 31, Number 4 (1975), pp. 95–109. 3. In their 1976 article in the Journal of Marriage and the Family, McCubbin et al. actually suggest that ‘findings derived from previous studies may be classified within the framework of these six patterns. McCubbin et al. ‘Coping Repertoires of Families Adapting to Prolonged War-induced Separation’, p. 468. 4. Sarah Fishman, We Will Wait. Wives of French Prisoners of War, 1940–1945 (New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 1991), p. 30. 5. Figures taken from B.M. Gordon, ‘The Countryside and the City: Some Notes on the Collaboration Model during the Vichy Period’, in S. Fishman, L.L. Downs, I. Sinanoglou, L.V. Smith, and R. Zaretsky (eds) France at War. Vichy and the Historians (Oxford & New York: Berg, 2000), p. 149. Ian Ousby, Occupation. The Ordeal of France 1940–1944 (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1997), p. 248. 6. Ousby, Occupation, p. 248. 7. See, for example: Ousby, Occupation, p. 111; Fishman, We Will Wait, p. 27. 8. Fishman, We Will Wait, p. 29. 9. In common with British government policy of the time, the term ‘soldier’ is used to cover all servicemen including sailors & air force personnel. 10. McCubbin et al., ‘Residuals of War’, p. 100. 11. D. Butler and G. Butler, British Political Facts, 1900–1994 (London: Macmillan, 1994), p. 383. 12. Central Statistical Office, Fighting With Figures (London: HMSO, 1995)

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236 • Notes

13. 14. 15. 16.

17.

18. 19. 20. 21. 22.

23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28.

29. 30.

31. 32. 33.

34.

Table 12.5 ‘Average Weekly Wages in Certain Industries’, p. 237. Fishman, We Will Wait, p. 47. Fishman, We Will Wait, p. 49. Minute Sheet 1. 20 July 42. PRO/WO32/10477. Woman’s Own 10 December 43, quoted in J. Waller and M. Vaughan-Rees, Women in Wartime. The Role of Women’s Magazines, 1939–45 (London: Macdonald, 1987), p. 75. According to the magazine, the line here was ‘not even allowing a kiss’. Woman’s Own, 7 July 1943, quoted in Waller and Vaughan-Rees Women in Wartime, p. 75. Fishman. We Will Wait, p. 108. B. Turner and T. Rennell, When Daddy Came Home. How family life changed for ever in 1945 (London: Hutchinson, 1995), pp. 147–8. Fishman, We Will Wait, p. 130. Fishman, We Will Wait, p. 63. McCubbin et al., ‘Residuals of War’, p. 100. In August 1941, three local associations from Lyons, Roanne & St. Etienne formed a federation. By October, thirty local associations had joined. After the total occupation of France in November 1942, the federation formed links with the northern Service des femmes des prisonniers and the two groups worked together until the liberation when they joined completely under one overall committee. Waller and Vaughan-Rees, Women in Wartime, p. 76. Army Morale Reports, January 1942–October 1948. PRO/WO32/15772. Fishman, We Will Wait, p. 132. ‘The Prisoner of War’ May 1942. British Red Cross Archive. Fishman, We Will Wait, p. 81. Letter Iris Strange. 19 December 1941. Iris Strange Collection, University of Stafford. All Iris Strange’s letters were returned to her after the end of the war marked ‘it is regretted that this item could not be delivered at the address stated’. Robert Strange had died in March 1943 when the ship in which he was being transported was sunk off the Shortland Islands. Fishman, We Will Wait, p. 134. S.M. Hartmann, ‘Prescriptions for Penelope: Literature on Women’s Obligations to Returning WWII Veterans’, Women’s Studies, 5 (1978), pp. 223–39. Fishman, We Will Wait, p. 165. Fishman, We Will Wait, p. 164. Research from the Centre for Prisoner of War Studies, suggests that, in fact, most families prepared for both possibilities. McCubbin et al., ‘Residuals of War’, p. 105. Minute Sheet. 04 October 44. PRO/WO32/11125.

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Notes • 237 35. Minute Sheet. 16 October 44. PRO/WO32/11125. 36. Report on giving advice to the next-of-kin of prisoners of war in Germany. November 44. PRO/WO32/11125. 37. Report on giving advice to the next-of-kin of prisoners of war in Germany. November 44. PRO/WO32/11125. 38. Report on giving advice to the next-of-kin of prisoners of war in Germany. November 44. PRO/WO32/11125 and Council Minutes. 10 April 46. SSAFA Archive. 39. P. Reese, Homecoming Heroes (London: Cooper, 1992), p. 210. 40. See for example: Fishman, We Will Wait, pp. 156–65; Turner and Rennell, When Daddy Came Home, Chapter 6; D.R. Bey and J. Lange, ‘Waiting Wives’. 41. Quoted in J. Segal, E.J. Hunter and Z. Segal, ‘Universal Consequences of Captivity: Stress reactions among divergent populations of prisoners of war and their families’, Institute of Social Sciences Journal, 28 (1976), pp. 593–609. 42. Fishman, We Will Wait, p. 69. 43. Hartmann, ‘Prescriptions for Penelope’, p. 231. 44. McCubbin et al., ‘Residuals of War’, p. 104. 45. Hill, Families under Stress, quoted in McCubbin et al., ‘Residuals of War’, p. 108.

12 After the Burma-Thailand Railway: The ‘Homecoming’ of Dutch Prisoners of War 1. The history of the Burma-Thailand Railway has been extensively analysed by historians. See, for example Hank Nelson, Prisoners of War: Australians under Nippon (Sydney: ABC Enterprises, 1985); Robert S. La Forte and Ronald E Marcello (eds), Building the Death Railway: The Ordeal of American POWs in Burma, 1942–1945 (Wilmington DE: Scholarly Resources, 1993); Gavan Daws, Prisoners of the Japanese (New York: Morrow, 1994); Sibylla Jane Flower, ‘Captors and Captives on the BurmaThailand Railway’, in Bob Moore and Kent Fedorowich (eds) Prisoners of War and their Captors in World War II (Oxford: Berg, 1996), pp. 227–53; Mariska Heijmans-van Bruggen, De Japanse bezetting in dagboeken. De Birma-Siam spoorlijn (Amsterdam: Bakker, 2001); Clifford Kinvig, River Kwai Railway. the story of the Burma-Siam Railroad (London: Brassey’s, 1992); H.L. Leffelaar and E. van Witsen, Werkers aan de Burmaspoorweg (Franeker: Wever, 1982). 2. Hugh V. Clarke, A life for every sleeper. A pictorial record of the Burma-Thai Railway (Sydney/London: Allen and Unwin, 1986), p. 78.

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238 • Notes 3. Netherlands Institute for War Documentation (NIOD), Indies Collection (IC), Collection 401, Netherlands Indies Diaries, Diary 228, 94. 4. NIOD, IC, Coll. 401, Diary 97, envelop 3, 120. 5. NIOD, IC, Coll. 401, Diary 160, 25–26. 6. NIOD, IC, Coll. 401, Diary 198, 58. 7. NIOD, IC, Coll. 401, Diary 168, 57. 8. See, for example, Peter Dennis, Troubled Days of Peace: Mountbatten and South East Asia Command (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1987). 9. NIOD, IC, Coll. 401, Diary 228, 309. 10. NIOD, IC, Coll. 401, Diary 168, 60. 11. NIOD, IC, Coll. 401, Diary 168, 58. 12. NIOD, IC 081843, 157. 13. NIOD, IC, Coll. 401, Diary 228, 301. 14. Petra Groen, ‘Prisoners of War, Prisoners of Peace. De opvang en repatriëring van de krijgsgevangenen van het KNIL, augustus 1945 – augustus 1946’ in: Elly Touwen-Bouwsma and Petra Groen (eds), Tussen Banzai en Bersiap. De afwikkeling van de Tweede Wereldoorlog in Nederlands-Indië (The Hague: SDU, 1996), pp. 43–58, 54. 15. Hans Meijer and Thijs Brocades Zaalberg, ‘De verloren slag om het moederland, De ervaringen van KNIL-militairen 1944 – 1951’ in: H. Piersma (ed.), Mensenheugenis. Terugkeer en opvang na de Tweede Wereldoorlog. Getuigenissen (Amsterdam: Bakker, 2001), pp. 229–56, 233. 16. Royal Netherlands Institute of Southeast Asian and Caribbean Studies (KITLV), Foundation for Oral History of Indonesia (SMGI), interview 1050.1, track 15, 1473.1, track 8 and 1187.1, track 12. 17. Steven Derix, ‘“Redelijk inzetbaar”. Overlevenden van de Jappenkampen moesten meteen weer vechten’, NRC Handelsblad 3 October 1998, section Z, 5. 18. NIOD, IC, Coll. 401, Diary 270, 90. 19. Meijer & Brocades Zaalberg, ‘De verloren slag’ p. 234. 20. Joop Hulsbus, Verborgen Dageraad. Nederlands-Indië en Zuidoost-Azië na de Japanse capitulatie, 1945–1947 (Baarn: Hollandia, 1988), p. 76. 21. Ruud O. Spangenberg, ‘Gadja Merah Document’ (Utrecht, 1994), p. 22. 22. Groen, ‘Prisoners of War, Prisoners of Peace’, p. 54. 23. NIOD, IC, Coll. 401, Diary 94, envelop 6, 228–229. 24. NIOD, IC, Coll. 401, Diary 139, 126. 25. Thijs Brocades Zaalberg and Wim Willems, ‘Onmacht, ontkenning en onderschatting. De evacuatie van Nederlanders uit Zuidoost-Azië na de Tweede Wereldoorlog’, in Conny Kristel (ed.), Binnenskamers. Terugkeer en opvang na de Tweede Wereldoorlog. Besluitvorming (Amsterdam: Bakker, 2002), pp. 63–92 (76–7).

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Notes • 239 26. NIOD, IC, Coll. 401, Diary 168, 62. 27. Research is being performed by Arno Ooms under the working title ‘Siamese brides’. 28. Brocades Zaalberg & Willems, ‘Onmacht, ontkenning en onderschatting’, p. 88. 29. Groen, ‘Prisoners of War, Prisoners of Peace’, p. 56. 30. Groen, ‘Prisoners of War, Prisoners of Peace’, pp. 56–7. 31. Hulsbus, Verborgen Dageraad, p. 89. 32. Hulsbus, Verborgen Dageraad, pp. 96–7. 33. Groen, ‘Prisoners of War, Prisoners of Peace’, p. 56. 34. KITLV, SMGI, interview 1118.2a, track 12. 35. KITLV, SMGI, interview 1168.1, track 14 and 1050.2, track 7. 36. Spangenberg, ‘Gadja Merah Document’, p. 36. 37. NIOD, API, T46, NIBEG Nieuws 3 (1), 11. 38. Meijer & Brocades Zaalberg, ‘De verloren slag’, p. 237. 39. NIOD, API, T46, NIBEG Nieuws 11 (1). 40. Brocades Zaalberg & Willems, ‘Onmacht, ontkenning en onderschatting’, p. 90. 41. KITLV, SMGI, interview 1019.1, track 12. 42. KITLV, SMGI, interview 1118.2b, track 3.

13 Languages of Memory: German Prisoners of War and their Violent Pasts in Post-war West Germany, 1945–56 1. This chapter forms part of an ongoing research project on ‘Present Pasts. War Veterans and Psychiatry in West Germany, 1945–1970’. I should like to thank the Alexander von Humboldt-Stiftung for their generous financial support. 2. See, among others, Ulrike Weckel, ‘Die Mörder sind unter uns oder: Vom Verschwinden der Opfer’, WerkstattGeschichte 25 (2000), pp. 105–15; also U. Weckel, ‘The Mitläufer in Two German Postwar Films: Representation on Critical Reception’, History & Memory 15 (2003), pp. 64–93; Robert G. Moeller, ‘Heimat, Barbed Wire and “Papa’s Kino”: Expellees and POWs at the Movies’, in R.G. Moeller, War Stories. The Search for a Usable Past in the Federal Republic of Germany (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001), pp. 123–70; R.G. Moeller, ‘Geschichten aus der “Stacheldrahtuniversität”: Kriegsgefangene im Opferdiskurs der Bundesrepublik’, WerkstattGeschichte 26 (2000), pp. 23–46; Heide Fehrenbach, Cinema in Democratizing Germany: Reconstructing National Identity After Hitler (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1995). 3. See Robert G. Moeller, ‘Deutsche Opfer, Opfer der Deutschen. Kriegsgefangene, Vertriebene, NS-Verfolgte: Opferausgleich als Identitätspolitik’,

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240 • Notes

4.

5.

6. 7. 8. 9.

10.

11.

12.

13.

14.

in Klaus Naumann (ed.), Nachkrieg in Deutschland (Hamburg: Hamburger Edition, 2001), pp. 29–58, esp. pp. 48–50. See Moeller, War Stories; Frank Biess, ‘The Protracted War. Returning POWs and the Making of East and West German Citizens, 1945–1955’ (Ph.D. Diss., Brown University, 2000); F. Biess, ‘Vom Opfer zum Überlebenden des Totalitarismus: Westdeutsche Reaktionen auf die Rückkehr der Kriegsgefangenen in der Sowjetunion, 1945–1955’, in Günter Bischof and Rüdiger Overmans (eds), Kriegsgefangenschaft. Eine vergleichende Perspektive (Ternitz-Potschach: Verlag Gerhad Höller, 1999), pp. 365–98. Hannah Arendt, ‘Die Nachwirkungen des Naziregimes – Bericht aus Deutschland’, in H. Arendt, In der Gegenwart. Übungen im politischen Denken II (München: Pieper, 2000), pp. 38–63, all quotes p. 39. See, among others, Moeller, War Stories. See, e.g., Moeller, ‘Deutsche Opfer’, esp. pp. 48–54, quote p. 52. See Norbert Frei, Adenauer’s Germany and the Nazi Past. The Politics of Amnesty and Integration (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002). Peter Fritzsche, ‘Volkstümliche Erinnerung und deutsche Identität nach dem Zweiten Weltkrieg’, in Konrad H. Jarausch and Martin Sabrow (eds), Verletztes Gedächtnis. Erinnerungskultur und Zeitgeschichte im Konflikt (Frankfurt am Main: Campus, 2002), pp. 75–98, quote p. 82. See Fritzsche, ‘Volkstümliche Erinnerung’ p. 86.; see also Steven T. Ostovich, ‘Epilogue: Dangerous Memories’, in Alon Confino and Peter Fritzsche (eds), The Work of Memory. New Directions in the Study of German Society in Culture (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2002), pp. 239–56. Michael Geyer, ‘Das Stigma der Gewalt und das Problem der nationalen Identität’, in Christian Jansen, Lutz Niethamner and Bernd Weisbrod (eds), Von der Aufgabe der Freiheit. Politische Verantwortung und bürgerliche Gesellschaft im 19. u. 20. Jahrhundert (Bonn: Akademie-Verlag, 1995), pp. 673–705, quote p. 682. For some thoughtful reflections on this problem see Neil Gregor, ‘“Is he still alive, or long since dead?” Loss, Absence and Remembrance in Nuremberg, 1945–1956’, in German History 21 (2003), pp. 183–203. Vera Neumann, Nicht der Rede wert. Die Privatisierung der Kriegsfolgen in der frühen Bundesrepublik. Lebensgeschichtliche Erinnerungen (Münster: Westfälisches Dampfboot, 1999); see also Elizabeth Heinemann, What Difference Does a Husband Make? Women and Marital Status in Nazi and Postwar Germany (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999). See Dorothee Wierling, ‘Nationalsozialismus und Krieg in den Lebensgeschichten der ersten Nachkriegsgeneration der DDR’, in: Elisabeth Domansky and Harald Welzer (eds), Eine offene Geschichte. Zur kommunikativen Tradierung der nationalsozialistischen Vergangenheit (Tübingen:

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Notes • 241

15.

16.

17.

18.

19.

20. 21. 22. 23. 24.

25.

Edition Discord, 1999), pp. 35–56, with some hints on ‘war stories’ in postwar West Germany; see also Harald Welzer, ‘Krieg der Generationen. Zur Tradierung von NS-Vergangenheit und Krieg in deutschen Familien’, in Klaus Naumann (ed.), Nachkrieg in Deutschland (Hamburg: Hamburger Edition, 2001), pp. 552–71. See Jörg Echternkamp, ‘Mit dem Krieg seinen Frieden schließen – Wehrmacht und Weltkrieg in der Veteranenkultur 1945–1960’, in Thomas Kühne (ed.), Von der Kriegskultur zur Friedenskultur? (Hamburg: Lit Verlag 2000), pp. 78–93; Thomas Kühne, ‘Zwischen Vernichtungskrieg und Freizeitgesellschaft. Die Veteranenkultur der Bundesrepublik (1945-1995)’, in Naumann (ed.), Nachkrieg in Deutschland, pp. 90–113. For a thought-provoking article on the investigation of ‘memory’ see Alon Confino and Peter Fritzsche, ‘Introduction: Noises of the Past’, in Confino and Fritzsche (eds), The Work of Memory, pp. 1–21. This situation only changed gradually when more and more returnees from Soviet POW camps with physical and psychological complaints had to be treated. For an overview on the transformation of West German Psychiatry after the Second World War, see Svenja Goltermann, ‘Psychisches Leid und herrschende Lehre. Der Wissenschaftswandel in der Psychiatrie der Nachkriegszeit’, in Bernd Weisbrod (ed.), Akademische Vergangenheitspolitik. Beiträge zur Wissenschaftskultur der Nachkriegszeit (Göttingen: Wallstein Verlag, 2002), pp. 263–80. A similar argument is made by Greg Eghigian, ‘Der Kalte Krieg im Kopf: Ein Fall von Schizophrenie und die Geschichte des Selbst in der sowjetischen Besatzungszone’, Historische Anthropologie 11 (2003), pp. 101–22, who offers a thoughtful discussion of the intricate reading of psychiatric files. Reinhart Koselleck, ‘Terror und Traum. Methodologische Anmerkungen zu Zeiterfahrungen im Dritten Reich’, in R. Koselleck, Vergangene Zukunft. Zur Semantik geschichtlicher Zeiten (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1992), pp. 278–299, p. 287. Moeller, War Stories. Lawrence L. Langer, Holocaust Testimonies: The Ruins of Memory (New Haven: Yale UP, 1991). Hauptarchiv der von Bodelschwinghschen Anstalten Bethel (=HBA), Bestand Morija, Reg. Nr. 3959. HBA, Bestand Morija, Reg. Nr. 4596. See Reinhart Koselleck, ‘Vielerlei Abschied vom Krieg’, in Brigitte Sauzay and Rudolf von Thadden (eds), Vom Vergessen – vom Gedenken: Erinnerungen und Erwartungen in Europa zum 8. Mai 1945 (Göttingen: Wallstein, 1995): esp. p. 22. HBA, Bestand Morija, Reg. Nr. 4473.

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242 • Notes 26. See, e.g., HBA, Bestand Morija, Reg. Nr. 4560. 27. HBA, Bestand Morija, Reg. Nr. 4524. 28. See Norbert Frei, ‘Von deutscher Erfindungskraft oder: Die Kollektivschuldthese in der Nachkriegszeit’, in Gary Smith (ed.), Hannah Arendt Revisited: “Eichmann in Jerusalem“ und die Folgen (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 2000), pp. 163–76; Habbo Knoch, Die Tat als Bild (Hamburg: Hamburger Edition, 2001). 29. Frei, ‘Erfindungskraft’, pp. 163–4. 30. Geyer, ‘Das Stigma der Gewalt’ p. 682. 31. HBA, Bestand Morija, Reg. Nr. 4946. 32. Langer, Holocaust Testimonies, p. 50. 33. HBA, Bestand Morija, Reg. 4946. 34. HBA, Bestand Morija, Reg. 4946. 35. See Moeller, War Stories; Biess, ‘Vom Opfer zum Überlebenden des Totalitarismus’; Atina Grossman, ‘A Question of Silence: The Rape of German Women by Occupation Soldiers’, in Robert G. Moeller (ed.), West Germany under Construction (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1997), pp. 33–52. 36. See, e.g., Wolfgang Benz, ‘Postwar Society and National Socialism: Remembrance, Amnesia, Rejection’, Tel Aviver Jahrbücher für deutsche Geschichte 19 (1990), pp. 1–12. 37. HBA, Bestand Morija, Reg. Nr. 4749. 38. See the criticism of Langer’s concept in Ostovich, ‘Epilogue: Dangerous Memories’. 39. See Svenja Goltermann, ‘The Imagination of Disaster. Death and Survival in post-war West Germany’, in Paul Betts, Alon Confino and Dirk Schumann (eds), Death in Modern Germany (forthcoming).

14 Retaining Integrity? Sex, Race and Gender in Narratives of Western Women Detained by the Japanese in World War II 1. Paradise Road (1997), Fox Searchlight Pictures, directed by Bruce Beresford. Sections of this chapter appeared in earlier form in Christina Twomey, ‘Captive Women and Audiences: Internment in the Asia-Pacific in World War II’, Meanjin, 58, no. 1 (1999), pp. 45–57. 2. ‘Paradise Road – The Story’, http://www.foxsearchlight.com/paradise. index.html. 3. Joan Beaumont, Gull Force: Survival and Leadership in Captivity 1941–45 (Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1988); Gavan McCormack and Hank Nelson (eds), The Burma-Thailand Railway: Memory and History (St Leonards: Allen & Unwin, 1993); Stephen Garton, The Cost of War: Australians Return

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Notes • 243 (Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1996). 4. Van Waterford, Prisoners of the Japanese in World War II: Statistical History, Personal Narratives, and Memorials concerning POWs in Camps and on Hellships, Civilian Internees, Slave Laborers, and Others Captured in the Pacific Theatre (Jefferson NC: McFarland, 1994). 5. Agnes Newton Keith, Three Came Home (Boston: Little Brown & Co., 1947); Three Came Home (1950), 20th Century Fox, directed by Jean Negulesco. 6. Nevil Shute, A Town Like Alice (London: William Heinemann, 1950); A Town Like Alice (1956), directed by Jack Lee III, Rank Film Organization and Vic Films, UK. 7. Statistics cited in New York Times, Section 2, 4 October 1981, p. 31; The Bulletin, 2 February 1982, p. 62; Sydney Morning Herald, 19 December 1981, p. 32. 8. Empire of the Sun (1987), directed by Stephen Spielberg, Ambin Entertainment, Warner Brothers, USA. 9. John Misto, The Shoe-Horn Sonata (Paddington NSW: Currency Press, 1996). 10. For an analysis of films about military POWs in the Second World War see Elliott Gruner, Prisoners of Culture: Representing the Vietnam POW (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1993), pp. 7–12. 11. Lavinia Warner and John Sandilands, Women beyond the wire (1982) (London: Arrow Books, 1997), p. 15. 12. Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence (1983), directed by Nagisa Oshima. The film was based on the novel by Laurens van der Post, The Seed and the Sower (1982) (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1987). 13. For example see the telemovie Women of Valour (1986) directed by Buzz Kulik. For further discussion about rape in female POW films see Elliott Gruner, ‘Rape and Captivity’, Jump Cut., no. 39, pp. 53–4. 14. Nevil Shute, A Town Like Alice (1950) (Reader’s Digest Edition, 1996), p. 65. 15. See for example Christopher Castiglia, Bound and Determined: Captivity, Culture Crossing and White Womanhood from Mary Rowlandson to Patty Hearst (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996) and Robert C. Doyle, Voices from Captivity: Interpreting the American POW Narrative (Lawrence KA: University Press of Kansas, 1994). 16. John W. Dower, War Without Mercy: Race and Power in the Pacific War (New York: Pantheon Books, 1986) and John W. Dower, ‘Race, Language and War in Two Cultures: World War II in Asia’, in Lewis A. Erenberg and Susan E. Hirsch (eds), The War in American Culture: Society and Consciousness during World War II (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996), pp. 169–201. 17. Castiglia, Bound and Determined, p. 3.

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244 • Notes 18. Memoirs of Miss E. Gander, Typescript book, No date, p. 14, Imperial War Museum, 86/44/1. 19. Alice M. Bowman, Not Now Tomorrow: ima nai ashita (Bangalow NSW: Daisy Press 1996), p. 69. 20. Ustinia Dolgopol, ‘Pragmatism, International Law and Women’s Bodies’, Australian Feminist Studies, 11, no. 24 (1996), pp. 227–42; Watanabe Kazuko, ‘Militarism, Colonialism and the Trafficking of Women: “Comfort Women” Forced into Sexual Labour for the Japanese’ in Joe Moore (ed.), The Other Japan: Conflict, Compromise and Resistance since 1945 (New York: M.E. Sharpe, 1997), pp. 305–19; Hyun Sook Kim, ‘History and Memory: The “Comfort Women” Controversy’, Positions: East Asia Cultures Critique, 5, no. 1 (Spring 1997), pp. 73–106. 21. Jeanne O’Herne, ‘Cry of the Raped’ in The Executive Committee International Public Hearing, War Victimization and Japan: International Public Hearing Report (Toho Shuppan, Osaka-Shi, Japan, 1993), pp. 68–71. Jan Ruff-O’Herne, 50 Years of Silence (Sydney: Editions Tom Thompson, 1994). 22. Gary Hughes, ‘POWs fight comfort women rumours’, Weekend Australian, 25–26 July 1992, p. 1. 23. Jessie Elizabeth Simons, While History Passed: The Story of Australian Nurses who were Prisoners of the Japanese for Three and a Half Years (Melbourne: William Heinemann, 1954), pp. 35–9, 51, 63, 109; Betty Jeffrey, White Coolies (1954) (Sydney: Angus and Robertson, 1957), pp. 20–1, 30–3, 162. 24. Jan Ruff-O’Herne, 50 Years of Silence, p. 115. 25. Fien in Ned Lander, Carol Ruff and James Bradley, 50 Years of Silence: The Story of Jan Ruff-O’Herne, Ronin Films, Australia, 1994.

15 Prisoners of War in Australian National Memory 1. This statement is based on a decade’s experience of teaching university undergraduates the history of Australia’s involvement in the First and Second World Wars. 2. Full data can be found in Joan Beaumont (ed.), Australian Defence: Sources and Statistics, vol. VI of The Australian Centenary History of Defence (Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 2001), p. 345. 3. Beaumont, Australian Defence, p. 349. 4. Gavin Long, The Final Campaigns, series 1. vol. VII of Australia in the War of 1939–1945 (Canberra: Australian War Memorial, 1963), p. 634. 5. T.G. Ashplant, Graham Dawson and Michael Roper, The Politics of War Memory and Commemoration (London: Routledge, 2000), p. 7. 6. An introduction to the literature on Bean can be found in Joan Beaumont

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Notes • 245 (ed.), Australia’s War 1914–18 (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1995), pp. 149–57. 7. Henry Russo, The Vichy Syndrome: History and Memory in France since 1944 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991), pp. 219–21. 8. John Monash, The Australian Victories in France in 1918 (London: Hutchinson, 1920), pp. 290–4. 9. See Beaumont, Australia’s War, pp. 149–52. 10. The Story of Anzac, vol. I (St Lucia, Queensland: University of Queensland Press, 1981, first published, Sydney, 1921), p. 6. 11. To quote Robin Gerster, Australian war literature in the inter-war years was dominated by a heroic tradition, ‘based on one fundamental premiss: that Australians excel, even revel, in battle’, Big-Noting: The Heroic Theme in Australian War Writing (Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 1987), p. 2. 12. For a discussion of POW concerns about the stigma attached to surrender see Michael McKernan, This War Never Ends: The Pain of Separation and Return (St Lucia, Queensland: University of Queensland Press, 2001), pp. 77–8. 13. McKernan, This War Never Ends, pp. 117–21. 14. Stephen Garton, The Cost of War: Australians Return (Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1996); Janette Bomford, Fractured Lives: Australian prisoners of war of the Japanese and their families, 1941–2001 (PhD thesis, Deakin University, 2001). 15. Behind Bamboo: An Inside Story of the Japanese Prison Camps (Sydney: Angus & Robertson, 1946). 16. Slaves of the Samurai: An Australian odyssey, which gives an account of the life and thoughts of a slave of the Samurai, during his three years and seven months as a prisoner of war in the hands of the Japanese (Melbourne: Oxford University Press, c. 1946). 17. Slaves of the Sons of Heaven: The personal story of an Australian prisoner of the Japanese during the years 1942–1945 (Sydney: Dymock’s, 1951). 18. Russell Braddon, The Naked Island (London: Werner Laurie, 1952). 19. Betty Jeffrey, White Coolies (Sydney, Angus & Robertson, 1954). 20. Jessie Simons, While History Passed (Melbourne: William Heinemann, 1954). 21. Joan Beaumont, Gull Force: Survival and Leadership in Captivity, 1941–1945 (Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1988), p. 2. 22. See Don Wall, Sandakan under Nippon: The Last March (Sydney: self-published, 1988). 23. These included Jack Chalker, whose sketches were included in Rivett’s Behind Bamboo and, in the 1980s, the best-selling diaries of Sir Edward (Weary) Dunlop The War Diaries of Weary Dunlop: Java and the Burma–Thailand Railway (Melbourne: Nelson, 1986); Ronald Serle, whose drawings were published in Braddon’s The Naked Island; Ray Parkin who published a trilogy of captivity, Out of the Smoke, Into the Smother, and The

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246 • Notes

24. 25. 26. 27.

28. 29. 30.

31. 32. 33.

34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40.

Sword and the Blossom (London: Hogarth Press, 1960, 1963, 1968); George Aspinall whose remarkable photographs were published in many places including Changi Photographer (Sydney: Australian Broadcasting Corporation, 2001); and Murray Griffin whose drawings have been used extensively, including in Hugh Clarke, Colin Burgess and Russell Braddon, Australians at War: Prisoners of War (Sydney: Time-Life Australia, 1988). A selection of the collection of photographs held in the Australian War Memorial was published in Hugh V. Clarke, A Life for Every Sleeper: A Pictorial Record of the Burma–Thailand Railway (Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1986). Department of Veterans’ Affairs (DVA) files consulted under special access provisions of the Archives Act. Paul Fussell, The Great War and Modern Memory (New York and London: Oxford University Press, 1977, first published 1975), p. ix. Slaves of the Samurai, p. 82. Dunlop, The War Diaries, p. 346. Dunlop did not originally intend to publish his diaries; so unlike Rivett’s memoirs they are not transparently self-conscious. Unpublished memoir by William Webb, Australian War Memorial, PR87/183, p. 28. Beaumont, Gull Force, pp. 143–9, 181–5. Jan-Werner Müller, ‘Introduction: the power of memory, the memory of power and the power over memory’ in Müller (ed.), Memory and Power in Post-War Europe: Studies in the Presence of the Past (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), pp. 13–14. Ashplant, Dawson and Roper, The Politics of War Memory, p. 4. Hank Nelson, P. O.W. Prisoners of war: Australians under Nippon (Sydney: Australian Broadcasting Corporation, Sydney, 1985). Don Wall, Sandakan under Nippon; Don Wall, Abandoned: Australians at Sandakan, 1945 (Mona Vale, NSW: self-published, c. 1990); Don Wall, Kill the Prisoners (Sydney: self-published, 1996); Lynette Ramsey Silver, Sandakan: A conspiracy of silence (Burra Creek, NSW: Sally Milner Publishing, 1998). K.S. Inglis, Sacred Places: War Memorials in the Australian Landscape (Melbourne: Miegunyah Press, 1998), pp. 370–1. DVA files consulted under special access provisions of the Archives Act. Ibid. Quoted in DVA file. The Story of Anzac, p. 606. Quoted in DVA file. Richard Jebb, Studies in Colonial Nationalism (1905) quoted in James

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41.

42. 43.

44. 45.

Bennett, ‘“Massey’s Sunday School Picnic Party”: “The Other Anzacs” or Honorary Australians?’ War & Society, 21, no. 2 (Oct. 2003), p. 35. Gallipoli also saw the beginning of another element of the anti-British strain of Anzac, the disparaging of the British soldier’s performance. See Dale James Blair, ‘“Those Miserable Tommies”: Anti-British Sentiment in the Australian Imperial Force, 1915–1918’, War & Society, 19, no. 1 (May 2001), pp. 71–92. For similarly negative views of the British held by New Zealand soldiers, see Bennett, ‘“Massey’s Sunday School Picnic Party”’, pp. 29, 46–8. The view that the Australian soldier was superior to the British is also part of the POW mythology; where it is often asserted that Australians survived at a higher rate on the Burma-Thailand railway, than did the British. To use the term popularized in the 1960s by the British historian, Alan Clark, The Donkeys (London: Hutchinson, 1961). This term originated with a notorious telegram that the Australian government sent to the British government in late January 1942, warning them that an evacuation of Singapore would constitute an ‘inexcusable betrayal’ of Australia. The Great Betrayal formed the title of a 1988 study of Australian wartime diplomacy and strategy by historian David Day. In 1992 Prime Minister Paul Keating (himself of Irish-Catholic extraction) resurrected the notion of British betrayal – and caused an international furore – at the time of the fiftieth anniversary of the fall of Singapore (see Don Watson, Recollections of a Bleeding Heart: A Portrait of Paul Keating PM (Sydney: Random House, 2002), pp. 120–2). Kristin Ann Hass, Carried to the Wall: American Memory and the Vietnam Veterans Memorial (Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1998), p. 15. Catherine Moriarty, ‘British First World War Memorials’, in Martin Evans and Ken Lunn (eds), War and Memory in the Twentieth Century (Oxford: Berg, 1997), p. 139.

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Abakumov, V.S. 132 ABC (Australian Broadcasting Corporation) 192 Abyssinia 26, 32 Ackermann, Anton 69 Adams, Sir Ronald Forbes 149 Adenauer, Konrad 73 African theatres of war Italian POWs taken by British 25 see also North Africa agriculture effect of war on Soviet systems 110 Italian POWs used for labour in UK 29, 30 Aka Island, Japan 54 Alliance of Families of Soldiers Missing in Russia 79 Allied forces 18 Japanese POWs taken by 51 Allied powers denazification procedures 171 plans for post-war security 92–3 regrouping after Japanese surrender 153 sources of POW labour 31–2 Allied POWs interned by Japanese 4, 175–6 most famous escape 16 Ambarawa, Central Java, internment camp 153, 155 Ambon, internment camp 188, 189, 190 American citizens, commemorated on Heiwa no Ishiji monument 58 American Civil War 12 American Government and Democracy School Programme 91

American Military Government of Germany 96, 99 American POWs evacuated from Thailand 156 heroes’ welcome home 20 images of returnees from Japan 11 interned by Japanese 176 release of by Red Army 19 study of wives 141, 143, 145 American servicemen, in wartime Britain 35, 147 Americanization 93, 100 Amery, Leo 29 anti-communism in American society 101 German POWs in USA 101–2 West Germany 73–4 anti-Fascist movement, career of POW re-educated by Soviets 72–3 anti-Fascist propaganda British re-education of Italian POWs 27–8, 37–8 directed at Italian POWs in USSR 77, 78, 81–7 POW camp in Warsaw 45–6 Soviet programmes for German POWs 69, 71–2, 74 anti-Nazi resistance movement, Soviet POWs 124 ‘anti-Soviet activities’, Japanese POWs 114, 115 Antifa schools 6, 46, 71, 74 ANZAC (Australian and National Army Corps) 9, 186 Anzac mythology 186–7, 189–91, 193–4

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250 • Index archives 78, 79–80, 85 Arendt, Hannah 165–6 Armia Krajova 17 armies, nationalities 18–19 ARMIR (Italian Army in Russia) 77, 79, 80, 83, 88 armistice Geneva Convention on Prisoners of War 14 terms regarding French POWs 142 treaties 12 Army Morale Report 146 artists, recording construction of BurmaThailand 188–9 Ashmead-Bartlett, Ellis 186 Asia-Pacific theatre of war Allied POWs 175–6 Australians captured by Japanese 185–6 civilian internees 12 ending of conflict 151, 153 Heiwa no Ishiji monument commemorating 58 long process of liberation 16 numbers of POWs in Japanese custody 18, 176 Pacific war 161 post-war images of Japanese soldiers 120 assistance and support, from Poles towards German POWs 41, 42–3, 46 Association of Former Soviet Prisoners 135, 137 Astor, Gerald 51 atomic bombs 6, 7, 101 Auschwitz 114 Australia blame of Britain for war 194 fear of Japanese invasion 180 loss of lives in bombings 185 national memory of World Wars 9, 185–6, 191, 192–4 participation in museum project 189 plays about women interned by Japanese 176, 177

POWs deported from UK to 26, 28 viewing of A Town Like Alice 176 The Australian 181 Australian POWs accounts of men captured by Japanese 188, 189–90 accounts of women captured by Japanese 8–9, 179–80 in Australian national memory 185–6, 187–8, 192–4 cultural memory and images of 189 deaths in captivity during wars 185–6 evacuated from Thailand 156 forced into slave labour by Japanese 175 forced labour on Burma-Thailand Railway 9, 188, 190–1 homecoming 187–8 military nurses interned by Japanese 176, 180, 181, 188 resurgence of interest in late twentieth century 191 Australian soldiers, Anzac mythology 186–7, 189–91 Australian-Thai Chamber of Commerce 193 Australian War Memorial, Canberra 19, 186, 189 Austrian POWs 61, 66 Austro-Hungary 20 autobiographies Australian men’s accounts of captivity 188 women’s experiences in Japanese captivity 180, 181–2, 182, 183 Axis alliance 27 Italy’s post-war legacy 78–9 Axis soldiers, re-education 6–7 Badoglio, Marshal 25, 30–1, 31, 38 Bali 159, 160 Ballantine Books 176 Ballard, J.G., Empire of the Sun 176 Baltic republics 123

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Index • 251 Bamler, Rudolf 73 Bangkok 158, 158–9 Bardia 27 Batavia 152–3, 154, 155 BBC Home Service 149 Bean, C.E.W. 186–7, 193 Beaulieu, Monique 145 Beaumont, Joan 9 Behind Bamboo (Rivett) 188 Belgium, German POWs 16, 98 Beria, Lavrenty 64, 66, 85, 127, 132 beriberi 158, 189 Bianco, Vincenzo 81–2, 83–4, 84–5 Biess, Frank 107 Blank, Alexander 70 Boeitai units (Japanese Home Defence Units) 52–5, 57 Boers 15 Bom, Anton 152–3, 158 bombings loss of Australian lives to 185 see also atomic bombs Bomford, Janette 188 Borneo 176, 188 Bosnia-Herzegovina conflict 180 Boulle, Pierre see The Bridge Over the River Kwai Bowden, Tim 192 Braddon, Russell, The Naked Island 188 Brest-Litovsk peace treaty (1918) 13 The Bridge Over the River Kwai (Boulle), and film 188 Britain attitude towards returning POWs 20 blamed by Australians for military defeats 194 perceptions of Italian captives 5, 25–39 political re-education for Italian POWs 16, 36–8 POW wives and families compared with French 7–8, 141–50 US tranferral of German POWs to 95, 98 viewing figures for A Town Like Alice (mini-series) 176

British citizens, commemorated on Heiwa no Ishiji monument 58 British Dominions 144 British Empire, Italian POWs across 25, 28, 29, 31 British forces German returnee’s delusion about 169, 170 in Netherlands East Indies 153–4, 154, 156 British government and issue of POWs’ imminent return 149 payment of allowances to POW wives 7–8, 143 perceptions of Italians 27–32 British POWs civilians interned by Japanese 175–6 delays in notification of families 142–3 evacuated from Thailand 156 heroes’ welcome home 20 release of by Red Army 19 servicemen captured by Germany and Italy 142 servicemen captured by Japanese 142 women captured by Japanese troops 8–9 British Red Cross (BRC) 147, 149 Bryan, General Blackshear M. 93 Buck, Pearl 180 Bulganin, N. 132 Burma 153, 154, 156, 193 Burma-Thailand Railway 8, 9, 151, 188–9, 190–1 museum at Hell Fire Pass 189, 193 Bury Times 36 Byelorussia, Humanitarian Settlement 134–5, 136 Cadogan, Alexander 29 cadres, Soviet re-education programmes 69, 70–3 Cairo 28 Calder, Angus 26 Camp Grant, Illinois, USA 101

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252 • Index Camp Shanks, New York 97 Camp Van Etten, New York, and the Factory 93–4, 96 Canada only German POW to escape from 151–6 POWs deported from UK to 26, 28 Canberra, Australian War Memorial 186, 192 captivity Australian national memory of war 189–90, 191, 194 changing of concept 12 consequences on post-war societies 9–10 experience of 3, 4–5, 9 international law and compensation issue 135, 138 memories haunting former German POWs 167 narratives of male Australian POWs 189–91, 194 narratives of women captured by Japanese 178, 179, 183 and sex, race and gender in film and fiction 175, 177–8 Soviet decrees on 124–8, 132 Carabinieri units 38, 39 Carnegie Medal 36 cartoons, portrayal of Italians 26, 32 cemeteries, Thailand and Burma 193 censorship in American re-education programme 93 attempt in Japan regarding Okinawa 57 Ceylon 158 Changi (television series) 192 Changi internment camp, Singapore 188, 189 Chateau Tocqueville 98 Chelm prison camp, Poland 43 Chevalier, Jacques 144 children, in internment camps in Java 155, 158 China, Guandong Army 108–9

Chinese POWs, after Korean War 22 cholera 151, 189 Chonbury, Thailand 156–7 Chungkai internment camp, Thailand 190 Chûôkôron 117 Churchill, Winston 28, 29, 37, 194 CIS (Commonwealth of Independent States) 139 civil rights Soviet POWs’ lack of 124, 133, 137 see also human rights civilian employment, offered to POWs 5, 16–17 civilian internees 11 fiction and films about Japanese camps 176–7 in Japanese captivity 4, 175–6, 181 Netherlands East Indies 153, 154, 175 Pacific theatre of war 12 civilian members of armed forces 11, 176 Clay, General 96 coal agreement (Poland and Soviet Union) 42 coal miners, German POWs in Poland 5, 42, 43, 44–5 code of honour, Japanese refusal to surrender 6 codes of honourable warfare 3 Colbert, Claudette 176 Cold War 20, 74 end of 107–8, 191–2 Coldstream Guards 27 collaboration accusations among Italian POWs 7, 87 former Soviet POWs suspected of 129, 131, 131–2 collective guilt German people 171 German POWs in US camps 94–5 collective memories 192 collective narratives, experience of captivity 5, 9–10 ‘comfort women’ 9, 180–1 commemoration Australian events 192, 193

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Index • 253 Heiwa no Ishiji monument 58 Commissariat Général aux Prisonniers de Guerre Rapatriés et aux familles de prisonniers de guerre (CGPGR) 143 Commonwealth War Graves Commission 193 communism in post-war Japan 107, 115–16 as potential threat in liberated Italy 38 propaganda 83 see also German Communist Party; Italian Communist Party; Japan Communist Party; Soviet Communist Party communist countries, attitude towards returning POWs 20 communists French Resistance POW wives’ group 145–6 receiving Soviet re-education 71, 72, 73–4 compensation negotiations for Humanitarian Settlement 134–9 political debates in West Germany 166 question of former Soviet POWs 124, 134, 135, 139 concentration camps collective guilt of German POWs 94–5 ‘deep memories’ of survivors 168 disappearance of guards towards end of war 16 exchange of Jews for material aid 15 former Soviet prisoners of 124, 135, 139 narratives of survival 114, 149 see also Auschwitz conscription, Japanese units 52–4, 55, 109 consumer culture, in USA 100, 102 conventional wars 11 cooperators German POWs in US special camps 93–4 Italian POWs in Britain 31, 35, 38 Kaschisten in Soviet camps 45

Cossacks 11, 20 courage Anzac quality 193–4 women in captivity narratives 179 women’s accounts of sexual slavery 181 CPSU see Soviet Communist Party cultural attitudes, in captivity narratives 178, 179, 183 cultural memory interface between private and public 189, 192, 193 Okinawa Peace Museum 58 Czech legion (Russia) 17 Czechoslovakia 46, 47, 62 D-Day landings 31 Dabrowa Basin prison camp, Poland 43, 44 Dahl, B.B. 150 Daily Express 29, 32 Dalton, Hugh 37 Dardanelles campaign 194 Darlan, Admiral François 144 Davis, Maxine 148 death of POWs 17 see also executions; mortality rates; murders Declaration of Brussels (1874) 12 ‘deep memories’ 168, 171, 173 de-fascistization 37, 78 defectors, Soviet 131, 133 de-Germanization, of Silesia 42–3 Dekker (POW) 158 demobilization and Dutch POWs in Netherlands East Indies 156, 160 Italian POWs 31 Soviet soldiers 7, 130 democracy, in American re-education programme 96, 99, 100, 102 democratization movement, Japanese POWs in Siberia 115 Den Hague Rules of Land Warfare (1907) 12–13, 13, 14

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254 • Index Den Pasar 159 denazification 96, 171 Denmark 14 Department of Veteran Affairs, Australia 192 Depok massacre 155 deportation of citizens by Nazis 123, 133 of Italians from Britain 26, 28 deserters 58 Japanese during Battle of Okinawa 5–6, 49, 51, 53–5, 57, 58 Soviet POWs seen as 126, 127 de-Stalinization 7 detaining powers 18–19 diaries Australian POWs in Japanese captivity 190–1 Dutch POWs along Burma-Thailand Railway 152–3 Dutch POWs awaiting return home 154–5, 156, 157, 158, 159 Mass Observation project 32, 33 Dieppe 15 Dimitrov, Georgi 67, 81 diseases deaths of Italian POWs during transfer 80 POWs on Burma-Thailand Railway 151 divorce 4, 145, 147, 159 Don, River see River Don, Battle of D’Onofrio, Edoardo 81, 84–5, 87–8 Duff Cooper, Alfred 27 Dunkirk 142, 145 Dunlop, Sir Edward (‘Weary’) 190 Dutch colonial army 8 Dutch POWs delay in homecoming from Burma and Thailand 8, 151, 152, 153–61 homecoming 161–2 and Indonesian independence struggle 8, 18 released by Germans 15 women captured by Japanese troops 8–9, 181

working on Burma-Thailand Railway 151, 152–3 dysentery 151 East Germany German POWs 66, 71–3 reintegration of returning POWs 107 Soviet-educated cadres 74–5 views of in US prison camps 101 Eastern European countries (Soviet allies) 134 Eastern Prussia 168 economic factors early post-war period 46–7 impact of capture of French farm workers 142 Russian decree on Soviet POWs 138 Soviet policy towards German POWs 65 Eden, Anthony 28 education see political re-education Egypt 27, 28, 37 Ehrenburg, Ilya 63 Ehrmann, Henry W. 102 Eisenhower, Dwight 31 Elabuga 110 Emendörfer, Max 73 Empire of the Sun (film) 176 engineering industry, Italian POW labour in UK 36 Enlightenment 12, 13 Entente POWs (World War I) 13 Erler, G. 135 escape 5, 12, 15–16, 17, 42 Eurasians, in Netherlands East Indies 152, 153, 154, 155 European and Mediterranean theatres of war 185, 186 exchange of POWs 5, 12, 14, 15 executions of German POWs 42, 63, 80 of recaptured escapees from Stalag Luft II 16 Soviet decrees affecting former POWs 125, 126, 127, 128

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Index • 255 of Soviet POWs in German captivity 4, 123 expulsions, in Soviet programme of resettlement 62 FAFP (Fédération des associations de femmes de prisonniers) 143, 146, 147–8, 150 families 3, 4 coping on home front in Britain and France 7–8, 141–50 of psychologically damaged German veterans 167, 168–9 of Soviet POWs 126, 127 Famille du Prisonnier 147 Fascism and Italian POWs 27–8, 31, 37, 38, 39 Mussolini’s regime 26, 28 Federal Republic of Germany see West Germany Feikema, Martinus 152 Femmes des prisonniers 144 Festung Königstein 16 films about women interned by Japanese 9, 175, 176, 177, 179, 182 popular German narratives of 1950s 8, 165 portraying male POWs 178 finance concerns of British and French POW wives 7–8, 141, 143–4, 146, 147 issue of back-pay for Dutch POWs 161–2 see also compensation; pensions Finch, Peter 176 Finland 129 Fishman, Sarah 142, 145, 147, 148, 149 Fluiter, Hendrik de 152, 154–5, 156, 161 food rations in Indonesian internment camps 154 Japanese POWs in Siberia 110–11, 111–12, 114 POWs on Burma-Thailand Railway 151

forced labour 11 Allied soldiers in Japanese captivity 4, 175 Burma-Thailand Railway 8, 9 German POWs in Soviet captivity 63, 64–5 Nazi practice of 133 Soviet POWs in Germany 124, 138, 139 see also labour; labour camps forced repatriation 7, 22, 123, 128–9 Foreign Office 37, 37–8 ‘former servicemen’ of the Red Army 125–6, 126–7, 128 former Soviet Union 192 Formosa (Taiwan) 188 Formosan POWs 51 Fort Banning, Georgia, USA 91 Fort Eustis, Virginia, USA 95, 97, 101 Fort Getty, Rhode Island, USA 96, 97, 101 Fort Lewis, Washington, USA 95 Fort Wetherill, Rhode Island, USA 96, 98, 101 Foundation Institute Gramsci, Rome 78 France attempt to ‘convert’ POW labour force 16 attitude towards returning POWs 11, 20 deprivation in early post-war years 46 fall of 27 POW wives and families compared with British 7–8, 141–50 US transferral of German POWs to 95, 97, 98 see also Légion étrangère Franco-Prussian War 13 Frankl, Victor E. 114, 149 fraternization British women and German POWs 34 Poles and German POWs 41, 44 Free Germany movement 67, 68, 71, 73 Free Italy movement 37 Frei, Norbert 171 French POWs

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256 • Index numbers of POWs captured by Germans 142 offered civilian employment by German Reich 16 reception as returnees 11, 20 release of World War I veterans by Hitler 15 successful escapees 16 French Revolution period 12 Fritzsche, Peter 166 Fukuchi Hiroaki 57 Fukui Hideo 109–10, 119 Fussell, Paul, The Great War and Memory 189 Gadja Merah (Netherlands East Indies Army) 157–8, 159, 159–60 Gallipoli campaign 186, 187, 192, 193, 194 Gander, Miss E. 180 Ganpeki no haha (popular song) 107 Garibaldi, Giuseppe 26 Garton, Stephen 188 gender captivity stories about woman POWs 9, 175, 178, 179, 183 roles after World War II 4 Geneva Convention on Prisoners of War (1929) 3, 5, 13–14, 15, 21, 22, 31, 35, 45, 142 Churchill’s flouting of 28 Japan’s failure to observe 189 Poland’s ignoring of before 1948 47 and Soviet Union 78, 124, 136 genocide and fading of public memory in Germany 165 Nazi policy towards Soviet POWs 139 Soviet refusal to recognize plight of its Jews 134 German Attitude Scale (GAS) 97 German Communist Party 73 German forces, nationalities 18 German Officers’ Association (BDO) 67

German POWs in Britain 31, 32, 36, 39 comparison with Soviet POWs 135–6 delays in liberation of 16, 19 homecoming after World Wars 20 mass conviction of by Soviet Union 128 mental disorders and expression of memories 8, 167–73 nationalities 18–19 numbers in World War II 17–18 in Poland 5, 41–7 re-education in USA 6, 91–102 repatriation from USSR 80, 107 Soviet political re-education programme 61–75 taken by Red Army 61–2, 63 used as labour by Allies 31 in World War I 13 German Reich 19, 167 British servicemen taken in Greece 142 policy towards Soviet POWs 123, 139 release of Entente POWs 13 release on parole of Dutch soldiers 15 German-Soviet Agreement on population transfer 19 Germans British perceptions of 28 post-war relations with Poles 41, 43, 46 Germany American Military Government 96, 99 attack on Soviet Union 61 avoidance of compensation for POWs 138 humanitarian settlement with CIS states 134–9 poor post-war economic conditions 47, 102 reconstruction 6 retreat in last stages of World War II 16 Soviet POWs in 124 Sovietization of 71 unconditional surrender 95, 99 see also East Germany; West Germany Geyer, Michael 166–7

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Index • 257 Giraud, General 16 Giusti, Maria Teresa 6–7 GKO decrees (State Committee of Defence, Soviet Union) 126, 126–7, 127, 128, 130 Gliwice/Gleiwtz 42, 43 Goebbels, Joseph 67–8, 146 Goltermann, Svenja 8 Gorbachev, Mikhail 75 Gort, W.H.E. 28 Graziani, Marshal 27 The Great War and Memory (Fussell) 189 Greece 14 Greek mythology, in Slaves of the Samurai 189–90 Greek POWs 15 Grodziec prison camp 44 Guam, Battle of 113 Guandong Army 108–9, 113, 120 guilt arguments in post-war Germany 165 see also collective guilt Guinness, Alec 188 Gulag 64, 65, 73, 125 repatriated Soviet POWs sent to 7, 124, 131 Gullion, General Allen 92 GUPVI (Central Administration for POW and Internee Affairs) 61–2, 65, 67, 70, 81, 127 Gurkhas 157 Hadermann, Ernst 72–3, 73 The Hague 18, 161 Haig, General Sir Douglas 194 Hainan Island 188, 191 Halle University 73 Halloran Hospital Camp, New York 97 Hately-Broad, Barbara 7–8 Hatta, Mohammed 154 Hayashi, Hirofumi 5–6 Heijmans-van-Bruggen, Mariska 8 Heim, Max 72 Hell Fire Pass (Burma-Thailand Railway) museum project 189, 193

Herbert, A.P. 26, 39 heroes/heroism Australian POWs’ welcome home 187–8 post-war portrayal of German soldiers 165 status of French Resistance fighters 11, 20 hi-kokumin (traitor/betrayer), Okinawans 57–8 Hill, Rueben 141 Hiranuma Gyokutarô 111, 112 Hiroshima 6, 7, 120 history capturing of total war in 9–10 war and Australian national identity 186 Hitler, Adolf/‘Führer’ 15, 139, 170 Holland 159, 160 reception of returnee Dutch POWs 161, 182 see also Netherlands Hollywood films 175, 176, 177 Holnyi, G.A. 135, 137 Holocaust 191, 192 Home Defence (Security) Executive (HD(S)E) 29–30 Home Office 32 homecoming 3, 7, 14 and American re-education of German POWs 95 Australian POWs 187–8 contrasts in German and Soviet experiences 136 delay for Dutch POWs in Netherlands East Indies 8, 18, 154–6 Dutch POWs’ imaginings along Burma-Thailand Railway 152, 162 Dutch POWs’ return 161 modalities 5, 11, 18–21 return as right of POWs 21–2 see also repatriation Hong Kong 175–6 horrors of war, memories of German veterans 168–73, 173

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258 • Index Howard, John 193–4 Huddersfield POW Committee 146, 150 Huggard, W.C. 29 Hull, Cordell 92–3 Hulsbus, Joop 158 human rights Okinawans deprived of 56 Soviet violations against former POWs 137 UN Declaration 22 see also civil rights; Geneva Convention on Prisoners of War (1929) Humanitarian Settlement between Germany and CIS states 134–9 Hungarian POWs, in Soviet captivity 62, 63, 65, 80 Hunter, E.J. 150 ideology as constraining war memories 191–2 role in World War II 3–4 Igarashi, Yokushini 7 Ikoku no oka (popular song) 106, 121 India 37, 39 Indo-China 151 Indonesia struggle for independence 8, 153, 154, 155, 156, 161, 162 see also under names of islands infidelity see marital infidelity Instructions for the Battlefield (Japanese) 112–13, 113 international law 3, 12 German line on compensation claims 135, 138 ignored by Poles before 1948 45, 46, 47 and Soviet leadership 63, 136 see also Geneva Convention on Prisoners of War (1929) International Red Cross 21, 43, 45, 136 International Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA) 92 Ishihara Yoshirô 112, 114, 119

Ishimori Takeo 112 Italian Communist Party and question of POWs in Soviet camps 77, 79, 88–9 and re-education of Italian POWs 6, 81, 84–6, 87–8 Italian POWs in Allies’ camps 19, 25, 80 British perceptions of 5, 25–39 given civilian employment by German Reich 16 mortality rates in Soviet camps 62, 79–81 political re-education in Soviet captivity 6–7, 66, 77, 81–7 repatriated from Soviet Union 77–8, 80, 87 successful escapees 16 taken by Red Army 78–9 taken in North Africa 25, 27 used as labour in Britain 29–32 Italians British perceptions of during war 32 British perceptions of pre-1940 25–6 Italy declaration of war on Britain 26, 27 disputes over POW question 87 importance of POW question to foreign policy 77, 78–9 potential role of anti-fascist former POWs 89 Russian campaign 79 Iwamoto Masumi 112 Japan American occupation 6 betrayal of Okinawans 49, 56, 58 censorship of Okinawan experiences 57 Dutch POWs working in 151 failure to observe Geneva Convention 189 internment of Allied nationals 175–6 issue of POW returnees from Siberia 107–8

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Index • 259 occupation of Netherlands East Indies 154, 161 post-war difficulties of former POWs 105–6, 115–21 Potsdam Declaration 105, 109 return of Okinawa to 49, 56 Soviet declaration of war on 108 surrender to Allied powers 153–4, 154 use of POWs to build Burma-Thailand Railway 8, 9, 151 see also Okinawa, Battle of Japan Communist Party 116, 118 Japanese civilians Okinawan POWs 50, 51, 57 in Soviet labour camps 7, 109 Japanese military Battle of Okinawa 50, 52 brutal treatment of Allied POWs 4, 191 command system used in Soviet camps 111 cruel treatment of Okinawans 57, 58 desertions during Battle of Okinawa 5–6, 49 Guandong Army at Soviet declaration of war 108–9 portrayal in captivity narratives 178 post-war perception of 119–20 and sexual slavery of ‘comfort women’ 180–1 soldiers repatriated from Thailand 156 Japanese POWs Battle of Okinawa 49, 51–5 deaths in Soviet camps 62, 105, 108 homecoming and reception 7 idea of as fighting to the death 49, 54, 58, 120–1 in labour camps in Siberia 7, 105, 106–7, 108, 109–15, 118–19, 120 lasting effects of camp experiences 112–15 numbers taken by Allies 51 post-war difficulties in Japan 105–6, 108, 112, 115–21 under Soviet political re-education programme 65, 66

Japanese propaganda 51–2, 53–4 Japanization, and Okinawans 56, 57–8 Java 151, 152, 153, 157, 159, 160 Indonesian nationalist uprising 155, 156, 158 Kramat internment camp 181–2 Jaworzno prison camps, Poland 44–5, 47 Jeffrey, Betty, White Coolies 179–80, 188 Jews fate of Soviet POWs 123, 134 as largest group of victims of Nazism 139 released from German concentration camps 15 Jung, Hermann 92 Jung-Spartakusbund 73 Kaliningrad 62 Kalisosok prison, Java 155 Kamei Tsutomu 114 Kameradenschinder trials 73–4 kamikaze pilots 119, 121 Kanchanaburi camp, Thailand 152 Kanchanburi War Cemetery, Thailand 193–4 Kariyuki Seiji 110–11 Kaschisten (cooperators in Soviet camps) 45 Katyn massacre 63 Kawamura Katsumi 111 Keating, Paul 193 Keith, Agnes 176 Kent Hughes, Wilfred 190 Slaves of the Samurai 188, 189–90 Keßler, Heinz 73 Khrulev, T. 129 Khrushchev, N. 132 Kiev 61, 123, 134–5 KNIL (Royal Netherlands East Indies Army) 151, 154, 161 Knyazev, V.A. 135 Kochanowski, Jerzy 5 Kohl, Helmut 134 Kolyma 7, 123, 131 Korean War 22, 186

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260 • Index Koreans disclosures of ‘comfort women’ 180–1 taken by US forces 51, 54 Koselleck, Reinhart 167 Kostylev 87 Kramat camp, Java 181–2 Krasnogorsk, anti-fascist school at Camp 27/B 85, 86, 88 Krasnov 128 Kruglov, Sergei 66–7, 69 Kuwabara Takeo 117, 118 Kyoto 107 labour 5 Burma-Thailand Railway 151, 189 German POWs in American custody 94, 95 Italian POWs in Anglo-American custody 5, 19, 29–32, 33–5, 38 Japanese Boeitai units 52–3 Japanese POWs in Siberia 7, 105, 109–10, 111 see also coal miners; forced labour; working battalions labour camps repatriated Soviet POWs sent to 124 Soviet political education of POWs 69 see also Gulag Lagiewniki mine, Upper Silesia 46 Lake Baikal 110 Lamprecht, Gerhard 165 Langer, Lawrence 168, 171 Lauban 42 Leeds Evening News 146 Légion étrangère 17, 21 Leningrad 123 Lerch, General Archer L. 95, 101 letters about mentally disturbed German war veterans 173 assistance for German POWs in Silesia 42 British and French POWs and wives 141, 147

Dutch POWs in Netherlands East Indies 154–5 Liaodong peninsula 105 liberation, different forms in World War II 14–16 Libya 27, 36 Lin Yu Tang 180 literature on war and memory 186, 189–90 see also novels; plays living conditions civilian internees in Netherlands East Indies 154 German POWs in US camps 94, 98–9 hardships of German POWs in Soviet captivity 64 Italian POWs in Soviet camps 80, 87 Japanese POWs in Siberia 7, 110–12 post-war Germany 102 regulations applying to German POWs in Poland 43–4 Lombok 159 London, use of Italian POWs 35–6 London Agreement on Debts (1953) 133–4 love and marriage, in internment camps in Thailand 158–9 Low, David 26 Lublin prison camp, Poland 43 McCubbin, H.I. 143, 144–5, 145, 150 McKenna, Virginia 176 McKernan, Michael 188 magazines, issues concerning POW wives 144, 145 Maizuru Port, Japan 107 malaria 151, 152 Malaya 175–6, 187 male bonding 5 male identity/masculinity Anzac myth 186 post-war crisis 4 male POWs, fiction and films about 176, 177, 178 Manchester 36

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Index • 261 Manchester City Football Club 21 Manchuria 105, 109, 110, 188 Manuil’skii, Dmitri 67, 81, 84 Margesson, David 29 marital infidelity POW wives in Britain and France 8, 144, 146, 147 servicemen 145 marriage see love and marriage Marxism-Leninism, Soviet re-education programmes 70, 83, 85, 86 Masayasu, Oshiro 57 masculinity see male identity/masculinity Masefield, John 186 Mass Observation project 32–3 Matayoshi, Sergeant 53 mateship, in Australian memory of war 187, 189, 191, 193–4 Mazzini Society 37 media Australian commemoration of wars 192 personal narratives of German veterans 165 post-war German reconstruction of the war 166 see also press; radio broadcasts medical examination, Dutch POWs in Thailand 157 medical records, memories of German veterans 167–73 Mediterranean see European and Mediterranean theatres of war Melbourne 187 memoirs former German POWs in USSR 69–70 former Italian POWs 78 personal accounts of Japanese POWs 121 women’s experiences in Japanese captivity 179–81, 181–2, 182, 183 memories Japanese narratives 6, 106, 108 Okinawan narratives 49, 56 personal narratives from German medical records 165, 167–73

private and national/public in Australia 186, 189, 192, 193, 194 and public discourse on German victimization 166–7 ‘unfreezing’ of with end of Cold War 191–2 see also collective memories; national memory; popular memory ‘Memory, Responsibility and Future’ (German Foundation) 124, 138 mental/psychiatric problems Dutch POWs in Netherlands East Indies 157, 160 former German POWs 8, 167–73 Menzies, Robert 188 Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence (film) 177 Messe, General Giovanni 88 Mexico, war with USA (1846–8) 15 Mietkowski, General M. 43 military nurses, in Japanese camps 176, 179, 180, 181, 188 Minnesota 99 Minsk 134–5, 136 ‘missing in action’, British 8 Misto, John 176 Mitropolsky, Colonel 130 Modoo, Mrs Adriana 153 Moeller, Robert 166 Moldavia 123 Molotov, Vyacheslav Mikhailovich 66, 67 Molotov region 131 Monash, General Sir John 186 Mongolia 113, 114 Moore, Bob 5 morale and concerns about POW wives 146–7, 147–8 Gadja Merah unit in Dutch East Indies 160 morality and addressing sexual violence 183 debates on British POW wives 144 ‘good’ and ‘bad’ women in Japanese camps 181

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262 • Index mortality rates Australians in World War I 186 Australians in World War II 185–6, 188 civilians in Netherlands East Indies 154 Germans in Soviet captivity 62, 64, 136 Italians in Soviet camps 78, 79, 79–82, 87 Japanese in Soviet camps 105, 108, 111 POWs on Burma-Thailand Railway 151 Soviets in German captivity 123, 136 see also death of POWs Moscow 61, 123 ‘Mutual Understanding and Reconciliation’ foundation 134–5 Soviet administration 62, 64, 66, 68, 71 Moulton, William G. 96, 102 Mountbatten, Louis, 1st Earl Mountbatten of Burma 157 Muller (POW) 155, 158 Müller, Jan-Werner 192 Münster and Osnabrück peace treaty (1648) 12 Murase Manabu 106 murders Europeans in Java 155 Soviet POWs in German captivity 4, 123 museums and cultural memory 189, 192 Hell Fire Pass (Burma-Thailand Railway) 189, 193 Okinawa 58 Mussolini, Benito 26, 27, 31, 83, 84 ‘Mutual Understanding and Reconciliation’ foundations 134–8 Nagasaki 6, 7, 120 Nakai Yoshiharu 117–18 The Naked Island (Braddon) 188 nation building Australian national memory 186 in former Soviet empire 192 national identity Anzac myth and Australian POWs 186

and national memory of war 186, 192 Okinawans’ struggle for 49, 56, 58 national memory Australian 9, 185–6, 191, 192–3, 194 and nation building 186, 192 see also memories; popular memory National Socialism 41, 74, 169 see also Nazism National Union of Former POWs in Russia (UNIRR) 79, 87 nationalism Australian 187, 192 Indonesian 153, 155 nationality and Heiwa no Ishiji monument 58 issues for returning POWs 20–1 varied nature of armies 18–19 naturalizations 62 Nazism 44, 99 atrocities remembered by German veterans 169, 172 in British perceptions of Germans 28 crimes in post-war German memory 165, 166 in delusions of German returnee 170–1, 173 practice of deportations for forced labour 123, 133 racism 3–4 Soviet victims of 134, 135, 136–7, 138, 139 see also concentration camps Nelson, Hank 192 Netherlands 8, 14, 161–2 see also Holland Netherlands East Indies Australian experience of defeat 187 civilian internees 153, 175 and Indonesian struggle 152 and issue of back-pay of Dutch POWs 161–2 Japanese occupation of 154, 161 under British after Japan’s surrender 153–4, 156 Neuhammer 42

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Index • 263 Neumann, Vera 167 New Guinea 180 newsreels 28 NIBEG News 160–1 Nietzsche, Friedrich 149 Nishiki Masa’aki 121 NKFD (National Committee for a Free Germany) 67, 68, 69, 73 NKID (People’s Commissariat of Foreign Affairs) 128 NKVD (People’s Commissariat of Internal Affairs) 42, 64, 65, 68, 80, 81, 125, 126, 132 special camps for ‘former servicemen’ 127, 129, 131 Nomonhan Incident 113 Norilsk 131 Normandy 31 North Africa 32, 38 North Korea 105, 109 North Korean citizens, commemorated on Heiwa no Ishiji monument 58 North Korean POWs 22 Norway 14, 28 Norwegian POWs 15 Nosov, V.I. 126 notification of POW status, Britain and France compared 142–3, 148 Notre Coeur 145 novels about ordeal of women interned by Japanese 9, 175, 176, 177–8, 179, 183 popular German narratives of 1950s 8 Nuremberg Tribunal 133 Obmänner 45, 46 Odessa 19, 87 Office of Australian War Graves 189 Office Responsible for Repatriation, Soviet Union 130 official contacts (mutual representatives) 45–6 Ogimi village, Okinawa 53 Okinawa

occupation by US military 49, 55–6 returned to Japan 49, 56 spirit of 58 US bases remaining in 56, 58 Okinawa, Battle of 5–6, 49, 50, 53, 55 Boeitai units 52–4, 57 desertions and surrender during 49, 51, 53–5, 57, 58 Okinawan losses 50 post-war narrative 55–8 Okinawa Prefectural History 56–7, 57 Okinawa Prefectural Peace Memorial Museum 58 Okinawans repression of by US military occupation 56 sufferings and struggle for national identity 49, 56, 57, 58 Oranki 85 Otsuka Shigeru 105 Otten, Wim 157 Ousby, Ian 142 Overmans, Rüdiger 5 Pacific see Asia-Pacific theatre of war Pages des responsables 144 Paradise Road (film) 175, 177, 182 Paris 27, 145 Paulus, Friedrich von 68 peace treaties 12, 12–13 Pechora coalfields 131 pemuda (Indonesian nationalist youth) 155, 160 penal units, Soviet Union 125, 126, 127 pensions, POW widows 147 personal narratives see autobiographies; memoirs; memories Petrov, General Ivan 64, 82 Pfeffer, General 61 Philippines 176 photographers, recording construction of Burma-Thailand 188–9 Pieck, Wilhelm 69

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264 • Index Pinot, Maurice 144 plays, about ordeal of women interned by Japanese 175, 176, 177 poetry, Slaves of the Samurai 189–90 Poland attitude towards compensation claims 134 German POWs 5, 41–7 ignoring of international law before 1948 45, 46, 47 post-war expulsions from by Soviets 62 Soviet invasion under German-Soviet Pact 63 Polian, Pavel 7 Polish POWs 16, 17, 19, 138 Polish United Workers Party 46 political re-education 3 American programmes for German POWs 6, 91–102 of German POWs 5, 6, 65–75 of Italian POWs by British 25, 36–8 Soviet propaganda directed at Italian POWs 6–7, 77, 81–7 Political Warfare Executive (PWE) 31, 34, 37, 38 popular culture, portrayal of Japanese 178 popular memory Australian POWs 191 captivity of women by Japanese troops 8–9 images about Japanese POWs in Siberia 106–7 selective nature in post-war Germany 8, 166, 171, 173 see also memories; national memory post-traumatic stress disorder 173 Potsdam Declaration 105, 109 POWRA (Prisoner of War Relatives’ Association) 146, 148–9, 150 POWs 3, 58 apotheosis of 191–2 different categories 11–12 numbers released in World War II 17–18

portrayal of 4 status of returnees in different countries 20 Poznan 45 press British wartime 32 German newspapers in US prison camps 100, 101 Mass Observation project 32 recent accounts of woman POWs in Japanese captivity 181 see also media Primorsky Kray 111 The Prisoner of War (periodical) 147, 149 ‘prisoners of peace’ 160 prisoners of war see POWs prostitution accounts of woman POWs in Japanese captivity 181, 182 films and fiction about women interned by Japanese 9, 177 and POW wives in Britain and France 144 protected personnel 11, 12 psychiatric problems see mental/psychiatric problems race, captivity stories about woman POWs 175, 178, 179, 179–80, 183 racism 3–4, 37 radio broadcasts 149, 155 rape issues raised over last decade 180–1 of male POWs not addressed 177 as threat to woman POWs in narratives 9, 177, 179–80, 180 Rape of Malaya (film) 177 RAPWI-teams (Recovery of Allied Prisoners of War and Internment) 156 rationing 149, 161 re-education see political re-education reconstruction 38 British mobilization of Italian POWs 5 German 6, 107 Soviet Union 69

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Index • 265 Red Army 7, 13, 19, 42, 68, 125, 126, 130 defeat of Guandong Army 109, 120 German POWs taken by 61–2, 63, 64, 67 Italian POWs taken by 78–80 political administration in front schools 71 PURKKA 67, 81, 83, 89 remobilization of Soviet POWs into 123, 129 view of captured soldiers 128 Red Cross see British Red Cross (BRC); International Red Cross refugees, German 166 rehabilitation German POWs 41, 107 Soviet POWs 131, 136 Soviet Union after death of Stalin 124 Reichsdeutsche 62 reintegration British and French POWs 141, 148, 149–50 in debates on German war veterans 166 Reiss, Matthias 6 release of POWs 5, 11, 12–13, 15, 16, 21 remilitarization/remobilization Dutch POWs in Netherlands East Indies 8, 156–7, 160–1 former Soviet POWs 123 reparation and German line on POW compensation claims 135 London Agreement 133–4 Soviet avoidance of 130–1, 134–5, 135 and Soviet education for German POWs 69, 71 repatriation 11–12, 14–18 before World War II 12–14 bodies of dead Western Allied POWs 17 British government’s attitude 149 Carabinieri units 38, 39 Geneva Convention rules 13–14, 21 German citizens of non-German nationality 62

German POWs from USA 95, 96–7, 101 German POWs in Poland 5 German POWs in Soviet captivity 70, 80 Italian POWs from Soviet Union 77–8, 80, 87 Japanese POWs from Siberia 107, 112, 117–18 outlook since World War II 21–2 POW wives’ adjustment to 150 Soviet POWs 19, 123–4 see also forced repatriation; homecoming Resistance 11, 20, 146 responsibility and addressing sexual violence 183 arguments in post-war Germany 165, 166 Returned Services League (RSL) 193 Rhode Island 96 River Don, Battle of 79 Rivett, Rohan 190 Behind Bamboo 188, 189, 190 Robin, Ron 92 Robotti, Paolo 81, 88, 88–9 Romania 62 Romanian POWs 62, 63, 65, 66, 80 romusha (Asian labourers) 151 Der Ruf 93–4, 94, 95, 100 Ruff-O’Herne, Fien 182 Ruff-O’Herne, Jan 181, 181–2, 182 Russia Czech legion 17 negotiations for Humanitarian Settlement 134–5, 137 relationship with Japan post Cold War 107–8 see also Soviet Union Russian Federation 137–8 Russian Foundation for Mutual Understanding and Reconciliation 135, 138 Russian POWs, World War I 13

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266 • Index Russo, Henry 186 Ryukyu Islands 50, 55–6 see also Okinawa, Battle of saboteurs, Soviet POWs categorized as 126, 127 Sagan 16, 42 Sainfoin (steamship) 157–8 Sandakan internment camp, Borneo 189, 192–3 Schreiber, Walter 71 Schroeder, Gerhard 135 SEAC (South East Asia Command) 153–4 Seki Kiyoto 110 self-determination 22 self-government, German POWs in Poland 45–6 ‘self-indoctrination’, American re-education programmme 93 self-preservation, Japanese POWs in Siberia 114–15 Semenov 72 Serov, Ivan 62 sex/sexuality anxieties and issues of responsibility 183 captivity stories about woman POWs 9, 175, 177, 179–80, 182, 183 contact between Italian POWs and British women 34, 36 in press accounts of women interned by Japanese 181 sexual slavery disclosures by women 180–1, 181–2, 182–3 see also ‘comfort women’ Seydlitz, General von 67, 68, 69 Shanghai 180 Shcherbakov, Aleksandr 67 Shiki (theatre group) 121 Shimizu Ikutarô 118 Shin Tôhô 106 The Shoe-Horn Sonata (Misto) 176, 177 Shute, Nevil 176

Shuzewiec prison camp, Warsaw 44 Siberia German POWs returned from 107 Japanese POWs and post-war experience 7, 105, 106–7, 108, 109–15, 118–19, 120, 121 Sicily 31 Silesian mines 41, 42–3, 46 Simon, Jessie, While History Passed 188 Singapore 147, 151, 175–6, 187, 188, 189 Slaves of the Samurai (Kent Hughes) 188, 189–90 Slaves of the Sons of Heaven (Whitecross) 188 SMERSH (Soviet counterespionage service) 129, 132 Smit, Private 160 social contact between Italian POWs and local women 34 groups for POW wives in Britain and France 145–6 social impact, absence of men in wartime 4 Socialist Unity Party of Germany (SED) 70, 71–2, 73, 107 Society for German-Soviet Friendship 73–4 soldiers changing ideas of 12, 13 popular portrayal in post-war Germany 165 Soldiers, Sailors and Air Force Association (SSAFA) 149 Somewhere in Berlin (film) 165 Soprunenko 64 South Africa 31 South African War 15 Soviet citizens 123, 134, 138 Soviet Communist Party (CPSU) 85–6, 86–7 Central Committee decrees on POWs 131–2, 132–3

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Index • 267 repression against repatriated citizens 137 Soviet military, crimes and violations against German POWs 62–3 Soviet POWs captured by Germans 123 comparison with German POWs 135–6 excluded from compensation 124, 134, 135–6, 139 forced repatriation of 5, 7, 21–2, 128–34 in German army 18–19 hostile reception on return home 136 humanitarian settlement between Germany and CIS states 134–9 murder of in German captivity 4, 123 offered civilian employment by German Reich 16 officially declared participants of war 137 reduced rights after repatriation 123–4, 133, 137 Soviet government’s condemnation of 20, 62 and Soviet regulations about captivity 124–8, 132 successful escapees 16 see also Red Army Soviet State Defence Committee 42, 129 Soviet Union agreement to release US POWs 19 anti-German war propaganda 63 attitude towards repatriation after Korean war 22 coal agreement with Poland 42 and Geneva Convention 78, 124, 136 German POWs held by 18, 61–2 Italian POWs 6–7, 62, 66, 77–8, 79–87 Japanese post-war impressions of 107–8, 116–18, 119 Japanese POWs see Siberia policy towards POWs 63–5, 77, 128–34, 137

and political re-education of German POWs 65–75, 101 and post-war East Germany 107 post-war Italian government policy towards 78–9 refusal to accept repatriates 19–20 repatriation of Italian POWs 77–8, 80, 87 rise in status during World War II 65 start of negotiations on Humanitarian settlement 134 views of US-educated German POWs 101 see also Cossacks; former Soviet Union; Red Army; Russia Sovietization, of Germany 71 Spanish Civil War 26 spetscontingent and spetsposelenie 123, 130, 131 Spielberg, Steven 176 spies careers of communist POWs held by Soviets 72, 73 Italian POWs’ accusations against officers 87 Soviet POWs categorized as 126, 127 Springer, F. 158 SS (Schutzstaffel) 43, 44, 128, 169 SS Arandora Star 26 Stalag Luft III (Sagan) 16 Stalag VIIC 147 Stalin, Jakob 20 Stalin, Joseph 66, 67, 69, 74, 81, 85, 115, 124, 127, 129 refusal to sign Geneva Convention 78 system for dealing with POWs 61, 62, 63, 65, 68, 126, 132, 139 Stalingrad 70 Battle of 64 Stalinism in Soviet re-education programmes 70, 72 Soviet victims of 136–7 Stalowa Wola 45 ‘The Statute of POWs’ 124–5

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268 • Index Stavka 63 Stimson, Henry L. 92 Strange, Iris 147 strikes German POW labour in Poland 43 Italian POW labour in Britain 36 Stuckenbrock Appeal (1994) 135 suicide attacks, Japanese 57, 58 Sukarno, Achmad 154 Sumatra 151, 156, 160, 176 Australian women interned on 157, 179, 188 Surabaya 155, 159, 161 surrender during Battle of Okinawa 5–6, 49, 54, 57 Soviet rules for dealing with 125 survival ‘Aussie battler’ 191 Frankl’s summarizing of tactics 149 idea of home imagined by Dutch POWs 152 Japanese POWs in Siberian camps 113–15 POWs and wives’ common goal 150 Suzdal Camp 160 86 Sverslovsk 110 Switzerland, internment of POWs during World War I 14 Sydney 187, 193 Taiwanese commemorated on Heiwa no Ishiji monument 58 see also Formosan POWs Takasugi Ichirô 112–13, 119 Taliza anti-fascist school 85, 86 television Australian POW narratives 192 dramas about women interned by Japanese 9, 175, 176 Tenko (TV series) 176, 177 Terescenko, Nikolaj 84, 88 Thailand Dutch POWs awaiting return home 151, 152, 153, 154, 155–7, 158–9

evacuation 156 government participation in museum project 189 see also Burma-Thailand Railway Thirty Years War 12 Three Came Home (Keith) 176, 179 The Times 32 Tjakkes-Grein, Mia 158 Tobruk 27 Togliatti, Palmiro 77, 81, 81–2, 84, 87 Tôjô Hideki 112–13 Tokyo, International Public Hearing on Japanese abuse of women 181 torture 63 total war 3, 9–10, 13 A Town Like Alice (Shute novel) 176, 177–8 film 177, 179 trade unions 19, 36 traitors Okinawans 57–8 Soviet POWs treated as 123, 125, 126, 127, 128 traumatic war experience 8, 173 Trautmann, Bernd (Bert) 21 treatment conditions, German POWs in Poland 43–4 Treaty of Bern (1917) 14 trials 68, 73–4, 87–8 TsUPLENBEZh (Central Managing Department of Captives and Refugees) 125 TUC (Trade Union Congress) 36 Twomey, Christina 8–9 Uhta 131 Ukraine 134–5 Ukranian civilians 47 Ulbricht, Walter 69 UN forces, Korean war 22 L’Unità 88 United Nations (UN) see UN forces United States of America (USA) attitude towards returning POWs 20

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Index • 269 German POWs and re-education 6, 91–102 German POWs and repatriation 18–19 Italy’s request for help with POW question 79 post-war Japanese attitudes towards 118, 119 POW wives’ attitudes 148 pressure for repatriation of POWs 16, 22, 101 shortage of labour during Pacific campaign 95 success of A Town Like Alice (mini-series) 176 war with Mexico (1846–8) 15 see also American POWs; US Army; US military United States Civil Administration of the Ryukyu Islands (USCAR) 55–6 Universal Declaration on Human Rights (1948) 22 Upper Silesia see Silesian mines UPVI (Administration for POW and Internee Affairs) 61–2, 63, 64, 67 Ural Mountains region 110–11 US Army, studies on American re-education efforts 91, 93 US military bases remaining in Okinawa 56, 58 Battle of Okinawa 50, 51–2, 54 Japanese propaganda about 51–2, 53–4 long occupation of Okinawa 6, 49, 55–6 rates of pay compared with British 144 Tenth Army G2 reports 51, 54 Ushijima, Lieutenant General 50 USSR see Soviet Union Vansittart, Robert, Lord 146 Verde, Santo 36 Versailles Peace Treaty (1920) 13 Vichy government attitude towards imminent return of POWs 142, 149

payment of allowances to POW wives 7–8, 143 victimization discourse, West Germany 166–7, 173 Vietnam War 186 study of American POW wives 141, 143, 145 violence British protests about Italian POWs 35 Indonesian nationalists 155, 161 memories of German veterans 8, 168, 169, 171–3 Poles’ brutal treatment of German POWs 41–2, 43, 44, 47 Vladivostock 110 Vlasov, General 17, 128, 130, 131 vlasovtsy 129, 131 Volksdeutsche 62 Wagenlehner, G. 128 war crimes committed by Germans 166, 171 committed by Soviets against German POWs 62–3 Japanese POWs accused of 7, 105 memories haunting former German POWs 167, 169, 171–3 war criminals German captives seen as 5, 28 Soviet trials of German prisoners 68 war economy 13 war effort British mobilization of Italian POWs 5, 37 construction of Burma-Thailand Railway 189 Japanese military and government 58 war memorials Australian 186, 189, 192, 193 Heiwa no Ishiji (Cornerstone of Peace) 58 war memory see memories; national memory; popular memory War Office 34, 149

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270 • Index ‘War for People’s Extermination in 1941–1945’ conference (1997) 137 war veterans Australian 189, 192, 193 French World War I soldiers 15 German 165, 166–7, 173 returnee organizations in Germany 165 and war memory 192 Warsaw 44, 45 uprising (1944) 17 Watanbe Chiguto 110 Wavell, General Archibald Percival 27, 29 Wehrmacht 17, 20, 27, 43, 61, 62, 67, 128 American re-education programmes for 6 POWs in Soviet captivity 61, 62, 72, 73 surrender 94 Werra, Leutnant Franz von 15–16 West Germany aspirations for ‘good living’ 100 attitude towards returning POWs 20 German POWs 66 images of returnees from Siberian camps 107 public discourse and memories 8, 166–7, 171, 173 reparation law and negotiations 133, 134 Soviet-educated cadres 73–4 Western allies, detention of war criminals 5 While History Passed (Simon) 188 White Coolies (Jeffrey) 179–80, 188 Whitecross, Roy, Slaves of the Sons of Heaven 188 Wildt, Michael 100 witnesses, surviving Australian POWs 190 Woman and Beauty 146 Woman’s Own 144 women awaiting return of Japanese POWs 106–7 effect of mobilization of 29

films and novels about female POWs in Japanese camps 8–9, 175, 176, 176–9, 182 fraternization with Italian POWs in Britain 34 in internment camps in Java 153, 155, 158, 181–2 memoirs and accounts of women in Japanese camps 179–81, 181–2, 182, 183 POW wives’ experiences in Britain and France 141–50 Women’s Land Army 33–4 working battalions, repatriated Soviet POWs 123, 130–1, 132–3 working conditions POWs on Burma-Thailand Railway 151 regulations applying to German POWs in Poland 43–4 World War I Australian national memory 185, 186, 193, 194 effect on British perceptions of Axis powers 28, 29 internment of sick and wounded POWs 14 Italians as allies to Britain 26 repatriation of POWs 13 transfer of POWs into direct service of captor power 17 wounded prisoners 15 Württemberg-Baden 99 Yalta agreement 123, 128 Yangchow Civilian Assembly Centre 180 Yeltsin, Boris 134, 137 YMCA (Young Men’s Christian Association) 92 Yokota Shôhei 113 Young, Wilma 181 Yugoslavia 168 Zhukov, Marshal Georgy 124, 132