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Commandant of Auschwitz by Rudolph Hoess
Posted by Michael Sympson on 22/2/2002, 15:40:05
don't just sit there and draw no attention to yourself
Phoenix: Commandant of Auschwitz by Rudolph Hoess, Primo Levi (Introduction),
Constantine Fitzgibbon (Translator), Rudolf Hoess, Joachim Neugroschel
There are many ways to approach this memoir, and let's not fool ourselves, none can be completely "objective." Rudolph Hoess had a strict catholic upbringing, was even expected to join the priesthood, but chose to become one of the Third Reich's most effective mass-murderers. Hoess had no illusions about the ugly character of what he was doing, in fact he also understood that this was not right. But from a screwed up sense of duty or "honor" he agreed with Himmler, that somebody had to do it, so that normal people could find rest in their sleep and nobody be held accountable for the implementation of the Nazi's eugenic laws and doctrines.
At least, that's the perception, for which Hoess himself would have liked to be remembered. This screwed up heroism shouldn't fool anybody, but the truly scary aspect is not the image of the monster, but the perfectly humdrum persona of an average guy and ex-con (Hoess knew the prison system inside out) who since his enlistment in the Kaiser's army, practically never had gotten out of one or the other uniform. The man was intelligent, but obviously not a great thinker; he was an efficient manager and organizer, obviously, and not without moral fibre - just of the wrong kind. In other words, the discerning reader finds himself confronted by an individual, that in different circumstances easily could be the next door neighbor.
In 1881 an enterprising Jewish family had moved from an obscure place, called Birkenau, to Oldenburg in Prussia. Papa Cohn was an enthusiastic believer in emancipation, his wife a great fan of Jean-Jaques Rousseau. They christened their oldest son "Emil." At the age of 19 the young man had made his A-levels, but decided against an academic career. From his tiny inheritance he bought one of those high wheel velocipedes, and pedalled all the way to London. There he rented a 2 room basement flat in Tottenham Court Road, hung up his vehicle in the window and opened a bicycle shop. A few years later we find him associating with a group of enterprising gentlemen who recently had broken Brazil's latex monopoly.
With great personal risk, rubber shoots had been smuggled out from South-America and transplanted to Ceylon and the South of India. For young Cohn this meant he did well in the tire business and his possessions in India earned him a fortune. An early widower, he employed a mail-dating agency to find his second wife and in 1914 he married my grandmother at the registrar's office of his Majesty, King Edward VII. The Empire has long gone since, but the paperwork is still filed away in the cabinets of the Indian Office in London. Had it ever been made available to the German authorities, I probably wouldn't be around. Because after the assassinations in Sarajevo, Emil Cohn chose to be a patriot, gave up all his possessions in India and expatriated himself and his family to Germany and enlisted in the Kaiser's army.
The man was intelligent, but obviously not a great thinker; he was an efficient manager and businessman, obviously, and not without moral fibre. In 1933 it was the Fatherland's turn to repay his patriotic services. Since there had never been papers filed with the German authorities, his crafty Aryan wife and the four surviving children slipped through. But for old Cohn there was a packed boxcar waiting, which in 1942 shipped him back to his place of birth - Auschwitz. The National Railway charged Eichmann's "resettlement department" (Referat IV B44) with the fare. Eichmann's office paid in funds, drawn from the victims' accounts and from their tooth fillings.
After the war 1,200,000 rail workers, who like the rest of the nation had friends and families, protested to have been utterly oblivious to the nocturnal transmigrations of the rolling stock in their charge. Did Commandant Hoess take any notice of my grandfather's arrival? Not likely. Did old Cohn get a glimpse of his murderer? Perhaps, if on that day, Hoess had been present at the selection procedure. But I don't know the day. This is a challenging book. Righteous attitudes and hypocrisy won't do. Not to judge in order not to be judged is no option either. What is needed is courage. Unfortunately this too is a gift; it is almost as rare as talent, and it graces the deserving and undeserving alike.
© - 2/22/2002 - by Michael Sympson - all rights reserved