Post-war lives

Finally, close to my son… It was only in 1968, nearly a quarter of a century later, that a mother from Czech Silesia was able to visit her son’s grave, who had died in a German uniform in France in 1944. Her journey had been blocked by the Iron Curtain, as it was again after a brief period of political thaw in the 1960s. For many decades after the war, remembering the fallen in enemy uniforms, whether privately or publicly, was often met with accusations of Nazi nostalgia.
The issue of numerous local citizens serving with the enemy was often deliberately forgotten. Out of caution and fear of accusations, this memory was frequently suppressed even within immediate families.
Ideology, morality, and politics often deeply affect even the closest families. One Czech Silesian became a SS-guard in a Nazi concentration camp, while his son deserted from the Wehrmacht and joined the Allies. However, many situations fell between these extreme poles. The question of where betrayal begins and what behaviour remains understandable or excusable was complex. The turbulent post-war era was rife with snap judgments…
“Here we cut Scheine!” Scheine were provisional vouchers used by the German forces in place of money. Later, the word was used as a derogatory term for Norwegian girls who had intimate relations with German soldiers. As a widespread act of street justice after the war, their hair was often cut short as punishment. In Norway, Czechoslovakia, and other liberated countries, trials were conducted after the war to address collaborators, war criminals, and traitors. The punishments were sometimes justifiably severe. The strong aversion towards Germany and the contempt for those who had been involved with the occupiers in any capacity were also quite understandable.

Back in uniform! Although they were experienced soldiers, most Wehrmacht veterans were conscripted for compulsory military service in post-war Czechoslovakia. Their previous service with the enemy was disregarded. Overall, they faced distrust and suspicion. They were thoroughly interrogated, constantly monitored, and were denied higher career opportunities and even disability pensions for a long time.

For obvious reasons, former Wehrmacht soldiers in liberated countries were denied to form veterans‘ associations. But historically, such associations have provided a traditional platform where veterans could gather, find support, and work through their traumatic experiences and societal misunderstandings. They had to deal with their traumas alone.

This iconic picture, which for decades symbolized the brotherhood-in-arms between the Soviet and Czechoslovak nations during the Second World War, told only part of the story. At the time, it was concealed that the Czechoslovak lieutenant had previously served in the Wehrmacht. The prevailing narrative of the war had created a much simpler, black-and-white portrayal of heroes and traitors.
DIFICULT RETURNS: UNDER SUSPICION AND SILENCED
While societies developed slowly and steadily during peaceful times, the Second World War transformed European societies in a manner akin to a maelstrom. The all-encompassing conflict forced individuals to adopt extreme political views. In countries that fell victim to occupation, an uncompromising dichotomy between resistance and collaboration emerged, becoming a central element of the official narrative of nationwide resistance against the Nazis.
During the war, inhabitants of occupied countries were forced to make difficult compromises. Everyone faced an ultimate test of personal character, loyalty, and allegiance to the state. Those who failed were subjected to social condemnation after the Allied victory. Those who had directly sided with the enemy were harshly punished as deceitful collaborators.
Residents who had been drafted into the German armed forces feared what awaited them back home, as serving in the enemy army was seen as outright treason and punishable by law. However, the large number of state citizens who had fought alongside the enemy did not fit into the heroic national narrative, raising the difficult question of how to address this situation.
In the Bohemian lands, the issue took on a distinctly regional character, primarily affecting the small area of Czech Silesia, located on the northeastern outskirts of the country, far from the center. In this region, however, it represented the predominant wartime experience for most families.
Since the majority of the population in the region was of Slavic, rather than German, origin, the state authorities treated them with relative leniency, taking into account their difficult situation under Nazi terror. They distinguished between committed supporters of Nazi ideology and those who had been forced into enemy uniforms under threat. Accomplices in war crimes, members of the SS, Nazi Party members, and active supporters of the Nazis faced severe penalties. Others were generally pardoned, though only after thorough investigation and interrogation.
However, the strict condition for that benevolence was complete ‚social silence.‘ Those affected were socially required to avoid speaking about their past or wartime experiences. Veterans understood that they remained under suspicion, and could be punished at any time for having served in German uniform. They were conditionally allowed to live normal lives and even build careers, but they should go along with the prevailing norms and avoid any non-conformist behaviour.
Their stories had to remain buried. Even the legacy of those who had defected from the Wehrmacht to join national or other Allied forces was erased from the public sphere. Public remembrance of those who had fallen in German uniform was also avoided. This was especially painful for the families. Fathers, sons, and brothers often had no names on their tombstones, let alone monuments in their honour.
Within even the closest families, the knowledge of service in the German army was silenced—mainly to prevent children from speaking about it at school or in public. Living for decades in a state of psychological conflict, traumas settled deep within veterans and their families.
In Norway, the situation was more straightforward. There were no doubts whatsoever that volunteering for the enemy’s military and police forces fell under Norwegian criminal law. The celebrating public saw the heterogeneous group traitors as one uniform entity.
Following mass arrests, there is much evidence that atrocities against them occurred in public and behind the prison doors. While waiting in custody for a future trial many were put to forced labour and moved across long distances. An excellent book title representing the situation well, reads: When peace broke out. The danger of a wild purge made the state accelerate the legal settlement.
Around 5000 volunteered Frontkämpfer, including 300 Frontschwester, were prosecuted. Sentences tended to be harder in the early phase of the purges, but the trend was three years in prison and loss of rights for 10 years. The convicts served their sentences with like-minded, so when they were released from prison in the early 1950s, they were a network. They set up informal veteran associations and, in 1954, even a formal organisation to claim war pensions from West Germany. From the 1960s gatherings of commemoration and memorialisation were held.
Nevertheless, in Norwegian society, those veterans and their families were stigmatised and socially degraded, a condition which has weakened but never vanished. This applied to the Frontschwester as well, although they had volunteered for the German Red Cross. Whereas the International Red Cross in 1945 urged to free them from sentence, the Norwegian branch did not support this request. Only in 2014 did Norway’s Red Cross issue a public apology. An equivalent for the SS volunteers remains unthinkable.