Thoughts on war: “Youth under Fate” – Biographies of young Germans 1946 to 1949 (Werner D.) (Published on 18/05/2025)
In 1950, Christian Wegner Verlag in Hamburg published “Jugend unterm Schicksal – Lebensberichte junger Deutscher 1946 bis 1949” [“Youth under Fate – Life stories of young Germans 1946 to 1949“], edited by Kurt Haß, a collection of excerpts from biographies submitted by young Germans when they registered for their Abitur in said years. In each case, they describe their individual experiences of the Nazi era, the war and the post-war turmoil and the conclusions they drew for themselves and their future. The result is an impressive documentation of the political and social circumstances of the time from a young person’s perspective, which often reveals more between the lines than the mostly neutral language expresses and which is still worth reading when it comes to resisting the beginnings of totalitarianism and war.
Werner D., 19 years old at the time, describes his experiences as follows (from Kurt Haß, Jugend unterm Schicksal – Lebensberichte junger Deutscher 1946 bis 1949 (1950), p. 33 ff. [translation from German language]):
“…marching off to the front! The front? Where was it? The enemy was on the Rhine in Germany. In Germany’s deepest humiliation, I was supposed to dedicate my young life to an idea whose content was completely alien to my nature and whose fanatical ‘pioneers’ disgusted me. I was doing my duty, even more: I was doing something that I despised and could not justify even in my inner being. I stood up for what today I can only feel the deepest disgust. I now saw with my own eyes the madness that I had previously only known from hearsay. The neglect attacked the soldiers like a creeping plague. Weak, uprooted officers, softened by the good life in France, took away my last faith, if I could ever muster such a thing for this cause. Wretchedness and misery on every street: Dead, shredded, wounded, decayed carcasses, ruins, rubble, wreckage and the smell of burning. All this combined into one picture, that was the ‘Field of Honor’. My young mind was shattered by this sight; even today I can still see these images of horror before my eyes, indelible reminders for the future.
Young blood ran in streams, Germany’s best and most expensive human capital was wasting away, driven to their deaths by irresponsible creatures as cannon fodder. Older soldiers recognized the hopeless situation and acted accordingly: they defected or deserted for their homeland. I could see the futility of fighting, but I lacked the courage to speak out to comrades who thought differently, as I would have been pilloried as a coward. I was no longer a thinking person; over time I became a machine that bluntly accepted everything. Orders meant orders, and that was: fight to the last drop of blood, everything for Germany and our ‘Führer’!
And what about camaraderie? I can only say: I hate nothing more than this empty word. What does camaraderie mean anyway, or even more tonally: frontline community? Everyone tried to betray the other. In danger, you were on your own. Nobody helped those in need; in order to save their own lives, they climbed over the corpses of their comrades. Of course, it may have been different in other cases! However, the older ‘comrade’ gave us the best example: only concerned about his own advantage, he disregarded every consideration just to save his own shabby life. What harm was it that we inexperienced young soldiers ran blindly to our deaths! Only occasionally did I experience cases in which comradeship and a willingness to help were more important to people than their own ego, even in the greatest danger. But these shining examples sank into the swamp of villainies.
My eyes were widened in horror as death took its first victims from my comrades. An eerie, heavy burden weighed on my heart. In my nightly half-dreams, I saw ‘Death’ standing in front of me with outstretched arms, clawing at me and never letting go. A terrible awakening followed each time, and with a tormented heart I looked forward to the new day, which could already bring me what I had dreamed. Helpless as I was during this time, I searched for some kind of inner support. I found it in the destructive effect of alcohol. With the help of this numbing and diabolical drink, I got through the most dreadful hours. The humor of the front no longer existed in the sphere of general mental disruption. Later, even alcohol was no longer enough to get me over the impressions that came crashing down on me.
German soil was churned up and soaked with blood. In a furious barrage near I. I wished for death. Shrill cries of pain from comrades who had been hit cut deep into my heart. I didn’t dare move, my breath caught; any moment could bring me death. But it didn’t come. He tortured me terribly in the anxious expectation of my fate. I learned to believe in God and to pray with such fervor that I would never have thought possible before. But my hour of destiny had not yet come. I was allowed to enjoy the life of youth to the full again.
Imprisonment came over me as a burdening disaster. The storm gathered menacingly over me. Completely depressed and resigned to my fate, I staggered into the army of the disarmed gray mass. Morally destroyed, I stumbled through the alleyways of a central German town with my fellow sufferers under guard and my hands raised. My face flushed with shame as I was forced to walk in this miserable condition – moreover, I was splattered with horse blood to boot – under the eyes of the German civilian population. Over the next few days, the shame of these devastating events alternated with a pleasant feeling of security. Like other comrades, I had escaped hell.
But a desolate emptiness rose up in me as I entered the barbed-wire fenced camp to the shouts of abuse from the Belgians. These miserable people saw us as devils who had committed crime after crime against their people. The feeling of guilt, heaped on my weak shoulders, almost overwhelmed me. Then there was the harassment and bullying by my comrades, who, when they were older, believed they could cheat us and kept trying to impose their will on us. They shifted all the blame away from themselves, washed their hands of the whole thing and incited the ‘depraved’ youth wherever they could find the opportunity. Instead of setting a good example for us younger people and giving us the inner support we so desperately needed, they tried to exploit us youngsters and make us look bad in every way. It was a case of ‘the stronger has the right’. Morally and in terms of character, they were weaklings, but they were always strong enough to use deceit and violence. My hatred of humanity as a whole grew from day to day.
Influenced by this bad example, I also believed that I could only live by deceiving my comrades. I did this shameful thing, even more: I did it even though I was aware of my bad character. I was filled with satisfaction when others had to suffer for no reason, but I was doing well. I had become the beast that disregarded the words ‘morality’ and ‘honesty’ and saw the highest good in the well-being of my own self. There were no more comrades, there were only enemies who wanted to deceive me and who I considered my greatest success to be getting ahead of. Like predators, we pounced on the meagre food to get as much as we could so as not to give anything to our comrade who was sleeping to the side.
There was little to eat and we rarely saw fruit and vegetables. Greed took hold of everyone when some of this coveted fruit came into the camp. Fights broke out; no one begrudged the other anything; the younger and weaker ones were carelessly pushed aside. I was overcome with indignation: what I could not achieve by force, I tried to obtain by deceit and cunning. How far had I sunk? Where were human rights here? Who represented them? The sensible, considerate person sank into the pool of hideousness. The word ‘humanity’ – a biting mockery – was trampled underfoot. Old men, fathers of families who had sons our age, became ravening beasts. Young, decent people allowed themselves to be carried away to theft of comrades.
The only excuse I can offer for the general public – it is not intended to justify the acts committed – is that the longed-for journey home was repeatedly delayed. People who were still decent until then – there were very few of them – despaired of their fate. No news from Germany about our relatives. ‘Are they still alive?’ was the eternally anxious question. ‘Or had they sunk into the rage of the unleashed forces?’ We knew nothing about the dreadful end of the war. Sick in body and soul, uncertainty in my heart, I was wasting away. Misdeeds committed shook my soul. Decency broke through again in my pleas to God for forgiveness. But the feeling of remorse brought me sleepless nights, and how often did I cry bitter tears in those hours! It was my great inner cleansing. However, the hatred towards people remained, nothing could tear it out of my soul. I recognize every human being, but nothing more. The suffering of many thousands could no longer shake me. I have become an egoist in the broadest sense of the word. Am I guilty of speaking out? My answer is a flat, inhuman ‘no’. The people I relied on – old and young, clever and simple-minded – have shaken my faith in decency.
For once, the day of freedom beckoned for me too. I left the dull atmosphere of the camp. I breathed freedom like a newborn child. Meadows and fields, towns and villages, mountains and valleys were balm on my bleeding wounds. People became different again. Here and there a joking word, happy chatter began. Yes, were they the beasts I had sat with in the camp? The character of each individual, which had shown itself so openly and bluntly in the past six months, was now covered with the cloak of humanity, honesty and, last but not least, joy. The beast of man put on its cloak of invisibility. But how easy it seems to me today to tear this mask off the face of any man, no matter how good an actor he is, and to recognize his true character! How I hate these people who flatter me, who make me understand their seemingly good opinion of me! In truth, they are disguised and bought figures of unbridled meanness.
I only have one ideal, and that is ‘me’ and everything that goes with it, my work, my health and, last but not least, joy, which develops naturally from the above. The fear of people has not yet left me and will never be completely eradicated from my heart. I have experienced something too terrible for me to simply ignore it. People have become strange to me – I don’t want to say obnoxious. Community has lost its meaning for me, because today I only judge people by their badness.
In Machiavelli’s view, I assume that all people are evil and always follow their evil disposition as soon as they have the opportunity to do so. If this wickedness remains hidden for a while, it is due to a hidden cause, which is usually not recognized until the wickedness is expressed. Then it reveals the time that is called the mother of truth. People only do good things out of distress. But as soon as the distress is eliminated, they do and leave whatever they like and no longer see the difference between bad and good. I would almost say that I see it as a necessary evil to work together with other people. Today, I seek solitude and quiet work more than ever. But then there are days when I can’t manage without other people; I then seek out company, only to turn away from it again all the more sharply afterwards.”
The most powerful means against the repetition of history are remembrance and commemoration.
(Head picture: Barbed wire on a pasture fence,
December 2023)
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