Barbara Brix admired her father, a doctor who passed on his love of history and literature. Until she learned years after his passing that he had been part of a Nazi death squad.
“I didn’t meet my father until I was six years old. When he came back from the war, he had lost both his legs,” said Brix, a 79-year-old German pensioner.
“He read Tolstoy, Dickens to me... He was kind of my spiritual mentor,” said the retired history teacher in her small apartment in an alternative district of Hamburg. “My father didn’t talk about it and I didn’t ask any questions, not even this simple question: ‘Dad, how did you lose your legs?’” said Brix.
Photo: AFP
After the 1950s, marked in West Germany by the strong desire to leave the past behind, the 1960s saw a tentative dialogue begin in many families, with young people demanding explanations from their parents.
Brix also mustered the courage to ask questions but did not get straight answers. She continued to believe that her father only worked as a doctor for the Wehrmacht, Germany’s regular wartime army. It was long after her father’s death in 1980 that a corner of the veil over his past lifted.
“It was just before I retired in 2006,” Brix recalled, her throat tight with emotion. “A historian friend, who was researching the Nazis in the Baltics, asked me, ‘Barbara, did you know that your father was a member of the Einsatzgruppen?’ It was naturally a shock,” she said.
Brix knew only bits of her father’s biography: Peter Kroeger, a native of Latvia’s German minority, joined the Nazi party in 1933 at the age of 21.
Having become a doctor, Kroeger entered the party’s military branch, the Waffen-SS, and in June 1941, when Adolf Hitler launched the invasion of the Soviet Union, he left his pregnant wife alone to go to the Eastern front.
‘DENAZIFICATION
The Nuremberg trials of top Nazis, whose 75th anniversary Germany is commemorating this year, marked the country’s first broad social reckoning with the war and its crimes. But most of those responsible for atrocities were never prosecuted in a West Germany at the forefront of the Cold War, the Allies being more concerned about the Soviet threat than past abominations.
Kroeger was questioned as a witness several times in the 1960s, without ever being personally worried about facing consequences, Brix learned from Germany’s Central Office for the Investigation of Nazi Crimes.
In colored filing cabinets, she has stored the documents collected over the years, notably from the federal archives, on Dr Kroeger: a certificate of belonging to the SS, stamped with the eagle and the Nazi swastika, a certificate of “denazification,” which allowed him to continue his profession.
In one photo, her father poses in the black uniform of the SS.
The Nazi death squads he joined were deployed in the wake of the German troops invading the vast territory of the Soviet Union. Four Einsatzgruppen or “task forces” alone would annihilate some 1.5 million Jews, even before the construction of the extermination camps in occupied Poland. The first pogroms committed by Baltic and Ukrainian auxiliaries, supervised by the SS, shot groups of men, women and children and buried them in giant pits. Trucks outfitted with mobile gas chambers were later used to kill more efficiently.
‘FIRST PROOF’
Brix has tried to trace the genocidal journey of Einsatzgruppe C and find out if her own father may have participated in atrocities.
“He must have known about the persecution [of Jews], but I could not imagine that my father, a doctor, could have been present at a mass killing,” she said.
It took a Dutch journalist researching Reinhard Heydrich, one of the architects of the Holocaust, to shed more light.
“He pulled a document in English from his briefcase. Then I saw my father’s full name,” Brix said. “This was the testimony of the commander of Commando 5 of the Einsatzgruppe C, who recounted the first large mass killing in Kiev.
“The commander said he tried to refuse to take part but it was impossible. So he said he called the doctor, my father, to make sure that everything would happen in a ‘hygienic’ and orderly way,” Brix added.
This was how she received the “first proof” that her father attended at least one mass killing. Brix also knows that her father was present in Kiev during the Babi Yar ravine massacre.
More than 33,000 Jews were executed Sept. 29-30, 1941 in the Ukrainian capital in what many historians call the largest single bloodbath of the Holocaust.
However she is unsure if he was at the scene of the crime.
The former teacher has in her twilight years intensified her research on World War II.
She is active in Germany’s “remembrance culture” in which the past is explored as a means of atoning for past crimes and teaching younger generations to learn history’s dark lessons. Brix is also part of a Franco-German association that brings together the descendants of Nazis and resistance fighters to do outreach in schools in the two countries.
In the March 9 edition of the Taipei Times a piece by Ninon Godefroy ran with the headine “The quiet, gentle rhythm of Taiwan.” It started with the line “Taiwan is a small, humble place. There is no Eiffel Tower, no pyramids — no singular attraction that draws the world’s attention.” I laughed out loud at that. This was out of no disrespect for the author or the piece, which made some interesting analogies and good points about how both Din Tai Fung’s and Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Co’s (TSMC, 台積電) meticulous attention to detail and quality are not quite up to
April 28 to May 4 During the Japanese colonial era, a city’s “first” high school typically served Japanese students, while Taiwanese attended the “second” high school. Only in Taichung was this reversed. That’s because when Taichung First High School opened its doors on May 1, 1915 to serve Taiwanese students who were previously barred from secondary education, it was the only high school in town. Former principal Hideo Azukisawa threatened to quit when the government in 1922 attempted to transfer the “first” designation to a new local high school for Japanese students, leading to this unusual situation. Prior to the Taichung First
Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) Chairman Eric Chu (朱立倫) hatched a bold plan to charge forward and seize the initiative when he held a protest in front of the Taipei City Prosecutors’ Office. Though risky, because illegal, its success would help tackle at least six problems facing both himself and the KMT. What he did not see coming was Taipei Mayor Chiang Wan-an (將萬安) tripping him up out of the gate. In spite of Chu being the most consequential and successful KMT chairman since the early 2010s — arguably saving the party from financial ruin and restoring its electoral viability —
The Ministry of Education last month proposed a nationwide ban on mobile devices in schools, aiming to curb concerns over student phone addiction. Under the revised regulation, which will take effect in August, teachers and schools will be required to collect mobile devices — including phones, laptops and wearables devices — for safekeeping during school hours, unless they are being used for educational purposes. For Chang Fong-ching (張鳳琴), the ban will have a positive impact. “It’s a good move,” says the professor in the department of