Catherine Epstein |
Review of Chad
Bryant, Prague in Black: Nazi Rule and Czech Nationalism.
Cambridge, MA: Harvard Univ. Press, 2007 [pb 2009]. Pp. xvii, 378. ISBN:
978-0-674-02451-9.
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Chad Bryant's fine Prague in Black: Nazi Rule and Czech
Nationalism is the only overarching history of Bohemia and
Moravia under Nazi rule written after the fall of communism. The
book has enjoyed generally positive reviews--and deservedly so,
since it makes important contributions to two burgeoning fields of
research: the forging of national identities in central Europe, and
the remarkable variety of Nazi occupation policies. In the Czech
lands, as in other borderland regions of Europe, these two stories
were deeply intertwined.
Bryant (Univ. of North Carolina) argues that Nazi policies
forever altered the terms of Czech and German nationality politics.
In charting this transformation, he provides a rich, nuanced history
of the Protectorate (the Nazi designation for the core Czech lands).
He treats Munich and the dismemberment of Czechoslovakia, the
various phases of occupation politics in the Protectorate, and the
Final Solution in the Czech lands. He addresses relations between
Edvard Beneš, head of the government-in-exile, and the underground
resistance. He describes daily life in the Protectorate, not least
by relating jokes told at the time, and finally covers the postwar
expulsion of the Germans and how Nazi rule facilitated the
imposition of communism in Czechoslovakia.
Bryant suggests
that, prior to 1939, nationality was a matter of individual choice.
One chose to be Czech or German by individual acts: speaking Czech
or German, participating in Czech or German associational life, or
sending children to Czech or German schools. Some inhabitants of the
Czech lands, however, considered themselves neither Czech nor
German; they were so-called amphibians. Others were bilingual and
could easily pose as Czech or German (often, whichever seemed most
opportune). Bryant argues that the Nazi occupation changed all that.
In their efforts to Germanize the Protectorate, the Nazis insisted
on discriminating Germans from Czechs. Though this process was no
easy matter, "nationality, something once acted out in civil and
political society before the occupation, was now something that the
state affixed to individuals" (252). Although one of the
book's reviewers has questioned the degree of individual choice that
existed in earlier decades,[1]
Nazi
occupation in fact brought a hardening of national identities. This
is hardly surprising: from 1939 to the end of the war and beyond,
Nazi officials and Czech politicians manipulated and heightened the
ethnic rivalry for their own ends.
Throughout the occupation, Prague was ruled by Nazi officials, most
of whom came from the Reich, and a collaborationist regime under the
aging (some would say senile) Emil Hácha. Yet despite Nazi hegemony,
Protectorate Germans (those who had lived in Bohemia and Moravia
prior to 1939) had tense relations with their Reich counterparts
who, in their view, were arrogant and insufficiently anti-Czech. The
first Reich protector, Konstantin von Neurath, eager to assuage the
Czech workforce, initially tolerated Czech displays of national
loyalty, but after war broke out in September 1939, and particularly
after the defeat of France, the Nazis clamped down on the Czech
national movement. Although von Neurath had planned to Germanize the
Protectorate by assimilating half of the Czechs as Germans and
deporting the rest, the more fanatical Reinhard Heydrich, who
replaced him as protector in September 1941, introduced racial
screenings to push forward Germanization. Yet, like Neurath earlier
and others later, he faced a dilemma: pursuing the ideological goal
of Germanization would compromise the pragmatic goal of aiding the
Nazi economy and war machine. In Czech lands, at least, pragmatism
trumped ideology (see below). In June 1942, Heydrich died from
wounds sustained during an assassination attempt by the Czech
underground. The Nazis retaliated with draconian acts of retribution
such as, most (in)famously, the complete obliteration of the village
of Lidice. In the final two years of occupation, Karl Hermann Frank,
a Sudeten German, was the leading Nazi official in the Protectorate.
He detested Czechs but recognized their economic importance for the
Nazi regime.
Meanwhile, as Bryant demonstrates, Czechs were also divided over
policies and goals. Beneš tirelessly aimed to restore the
Czechoslovak state to its pre-1938 borders. Eager to win over the
Allied powers, not least the Soviet Union, the one great power that
had not let the Czechs down at Munich, Beneš encouraged the Czech
underground to pursue dramatic resistance actions, particularly
sabotage in factories and attacks on infrastructure (as well as the
assassination of Heydrich). But the underground knew too well the
futility and the consequences of such actions. Lidice, which Beneš
turned into a great propaganda coup for the cause of Czechoslovak
statehood, was a nightmare for Czechs at home. Beneš also worried
that his support was ebbing, and, indeed, many Czechs felt their exiled
president had no real understanding of the Nazi occupation--the drab
existence of everyday life, the pressures to collaborate, and the
reality of Gestapo surveillance and terror. In addition, while Czech
patriots at home long urged the total expulsion of Germans after the
war, Beneš arrived at this position only late in the war: as a savvy
politician, he eventually recognized that this policy could unite
all Czechs and made the cause his own, with a vengeance that
betrayed the Czech interwar ideals of humanism, freedom, and
democracy.
Why were so many Czechs eager to expel Germans? At first glance,
their zeal might seem odd. Czechs, after all, were spared the worst
excesses of Nazi occupation. Bryant draws apt comparisons between
Czechs and Poles under Nazi rule. Unlike Poles, Czechs had a
government, albeit a collaborationist one; enjoyed a legal
associational life; and neither went hungry during the war nor
endured arbitrary terror. A Czech who was not a targeted victim of
the Nazis--a Jew, a Roma or Sinti, or a political resistor--had
little reason to fear arrest. Bryant and others have argued that
Czechs benefitted from Nazi eagerness to maintain their industries
and workforce for the war effort. Even Hitler came to view Czechs
fairly positively. By 1942, he was praising their work ethic and
claiming that up to half of all Czechs carried Nordic blood. But
their privileged situation only intensified their fury toward the
Germans--a theme Bryant should have emphasized more. For individual
Czechs, unlike Poles, confronted moral quandaries in deciding
whether to collaborate with the Nazis; Poles never even had the
choice. Czechs had to weigh resistance against its consequences,
while Poles had little to lose by resistance. The ethical
ambiguities that Czechs faced led to demoralization and the very
compromises they made with themselves, their countrymen, and the
Nazis fueled their anger toward Germans.
And angry many were. On 5 May 1945, Czechs in Prague and elsewhere
rose up against Nazi rule. They raped, robbed, beat, and murdered
their German neighbors. They placed Germans in nasty interment
camps, and eventually marched them out of the country. Beneš and his
government allowed the violence to continue unchecked. Indeed, the
returned president spent the summer of 1945 winning approval from
the Allies for an "organized" transfer of Germans out of the Czech
lands. At least one reviewer has questioned Bryant's assertion that
Beneš's anti-German policies were the great unifying force in Czech
politics. Recent archival research, he suggests, casts doubt on the
ubiquity of popular violence against Germans; it now seems that
state authorities not only tolerated the abuses, but in many cases
actually initiated them.[2]
Indeed,
although Bryant carefully discloses differences among his historical
subjects, he is surprisingly unnuanced on this point: "Hating the
Germans became the only clear, unambiguous aspect of Czech national
identity that survived the occupation" (220). While anti-Soviet
feeling was rampant in Poland, where the expulsion of Germans was
the only popular policy of the emerging communist regime, in
Czechoslovakia communism enjoyed some genuine support, obviating the
need to generate popular enthusiasm on the basis of anti-German
feeling alone. Nonetheless, many, if not most, Czechs wholeheartedly
supported Beneš's anti-German policies, as their government
confiscated Germans' property, shut down their schools and their university in Prague, and banned
their associational life. Sadly,
Czechs even viewed Jewish survivors of the Holocaust as "German" and treated them as harshly as their alleged countrymen. By 1950,
the census counted 94 percent of Bohemia's population as Czech (3)
and only 165,117 Germans remained in all of Czechoslovakia (250).
Three million Germans had left their former homes in the Czech lands
(256).
In his Conclusion, Bryant shows how the Nazi occupation facilitated
Soviet-style communism in the Czech lands: "Nazi rule had taught an
important lesson: raw power and violence won out over fundamentally
democratic values of negotiation and compromise" (259). But there
was more. Nazi rule brought much greater state intervention into the
economy, making the postwar nationalization of industry easier. The Nazis had also privileged and empowered the working
class; workers were thus that much more confident in their support
of socialism and the Soviet Union. Finally, the Nazis destroyed the
fabric of civil and political society. Moreover, with the expulsion
of the Germans, Czech associational life lost much of its vitality.
After 1945, the old style of civic life, with its emphasis on clubs
and associations, no longer had its raison d'être. Early in
Prague in Black, Bryant notes that "the book is, then, primarily
about loss" (11). In some ways, this may have been for the best:
Czechs and Germans no longer engaged in bitter, frenzied local
disputes. But as this perceptive work shows, far more was forfeited
than gained--along with their German and Jewish populations, Czechs
lost their democratic, humanistic, and moral ideals.
Amherst College
caepstein@amherst.edu
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