On Properly Teaching Nazi History

Explaining the ways that the U.S. education system has failed its students in teaching about the rise of fascism in Europe, and giving alternative methods to patch over the gaps.

The old adage says that “history is written by the victors,” but is it? Such a statement implies that there exists one “true” account of history that gets codified into a permanent record, but of course we know this not to be the case. Historical revision has undue negative connotations; the further time passes from historical events, the easier it can be to look at them with objective eyes. Yes, in certain cases there are historical events whose only context we have is the literary accounts of the victors, but even years down the line oral histories of the losing side will live on from surviving generation to generation. If we begin on the impact that archeological sources have had on the story of history as well, there will be no time to broach the larger topic of this essay. “History” has included more sides to the story than just those at the top who win wars as time has gone on. Furthermore, the line between “current events” and “history” has gotten ever more murky as technological advancements have progressed. The decade steeped furthest in this gray area is between the 1930s and 40s. In most American classrooms, European history courses tend to pick up on the topic of WWII after the Anschluss, and debate begins at home over whether to send arms to what we would come to know as the Allied forces. In special cases, better teachers will cover Hindenburg’s election and the Reichstag fire and the Night of the Long Knives as individual events on a timeline, but rarely will there be a full explanation of the Nazi rise to power. The majority of the focus on the period between World War I and the Cold War in our classrooms is on the battles of World War II and the horrors of the Holocaust. Admittedly these are, of course, incredibly important events in the course of human history, but if the purpose of teaching this subject is to avoid the mistakes of the past, then why must we cover the evils of fascism from a post hoc perspective? The practical answer is that patriotism would suffer a grievous blow at the suggestion that we entered the war too late; it’s already difficult to discuss how much of an impact Russia had on the end of the war without someone dressed in full military regalia screaming at you until they’re red in the face. Therefore, instead of presenting a grounded and reasonable approach to covering WWII in the time allotted to the average high school for it, I feel at liberty to present as much information as would fit in a whole semester of classes. This leaves teachers the ability to pick and choose what materials they would feel comfortable using in their classrooms rather than adopting the strategy wholesale.

American high schools have studied The Diary of Anne Frank most often in parallel with their units on the second World War. Even this has become controversial; passages that become too sexual or violent have become abridged for innocent eyes, or sometimes the book is altogether thrown out in favor of something like Lois Lowry’s novel Number the Stars. Yes, these kinds of Holocaust literature detail the ultimate ends of any fascist movement, but for things to spiral out of control to the point where these are the recognizable traits of a government that must be overthrown, thousands of innocent lives will have already been sacrificed. Therefore, Anne Frank’s writings ought to act as the capstone of any study of the Nazi movement, rather than as an introduction.¹ To begin, we ought to start at the beginning. Erich Maria Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front is a novel about the dangers of excessive nationalism and the struggles traumatized soldiers faced returning home after the first World War. Thematically, these things all exist on the surface level of the novel and are therefore easy to understand through a casual reading. Such an opinion on the events of history was so offensive to the Nazis that they listed the novel to be among the first in their book burnings after taking power. This, of course, wasn’t enough for them. They forced Remarque into exile, lied about his German heritage to distance him from the “master race,” and when the war began to turn against them they beheaded his sister on trumped up charges. Beginning with this novel sets the scene of the kind of state that Germany was in to allow fascism to take hold. It’s a common refrain in the modern world to hear factions slur their opponents as “Weimar” for being weak in one way or another irrespective of whether it actually applies in that situation.

On that note, one of the long, unwinnable battles this blog is dedicated to fighting is the one against the overzealous plastering of historical context onto modern events. The worst offenders in recent memory must be the liberals who insist that the upcoming election will be the most important of our lifetime (not to mention how they’ve said the same about every other election of my lifetime). Some go so far as to compare the scenario to the 1932 German election, claiming that in order to stave off the rise of the fascist Hitler (i.e. Trump), we must vote for the more electable, if still conservative Paul von Hindenburg (i.e. Biden). The problems with this metaphor are manifold, but perhaps none are so egregious as the omission of the fact that Hitler gained power even after losing that election to Hindenburg, because Hindenburg was willing to make compromises with the fascists. In essence, Hindenburg did not view the Nazis as a threat to the system as it stood. At worst they were a nuisance, at best they were killing his political opponents in the communist parties, so what was the harm to him? Klaus Mann, son of Thomas Mann,² explored the sorts of ambitious people willing to do business with the Nazi party in exchange for fame and fortune. In his novel Mephisto, the actor Hendrik Höfgen suffers from an overambitious nature. Absolutely everything comes second to his goal of becoming famous; love, friendship, sexual pleasure, and hope for a better future all end up on the chopping block to be made into stepping stones for the benefit of his career. He takes the role of Mephisto in Goethe’s Faust the year before the Nazis take power, and his fame soars to new heights.³ Initially he finds himself blacklisted by the new regime while out of the country, but a friend pulls strings to get him in the good graces of the Ministerpräsident (Göring). He uses this influence to return to acting in his most famous role, as if he also has made a deal with the devil. This fame, though, is hollow: when it comes time to retake the role of Hamlet, it’s clear that his performance has lost a step. This doesn’t stop the Nazis from showering him in praise of course, because insulting the director of the State Theater may as well be insulting Hitler himself. To Mann, the opportunists ought to be the ones to really look out for; yes, Höfgen does make some attempts to comfort or outright free his friends from his previous life, but when push comes to shove his career comes first.