The Art of Occupation. Thomas J. Kehoe
years ago, which means that many people added constructively to my thinking or helped me bring this to completion in some other fashion. From the very beginning of my graduate studies at the University of Sydney in 2010 I was interested in occupation, though my curiosity extended beyond analyzing such events purely as military exercises. No matter the duration, a period of occupation is profound in the histories of the occupied and the occupiers alike. Allied control of Germany after World War II is an excellent case in point. It affected nearly every facet of daily life for people in Germany, including the social and political order as well as the economy.
There has been a great deal written on this history, and it took me significant time to find an avenue for this book. It is therefore a credit to my various instructors that I could ultimately contribute to our knowledge of this history. I have my supervisors from the University of Sydney, Professors A. Dirk Moses and Robert Aldrich, to thank for first pushing me to think creatively about craft, narrative, argument, and the current relevance of the past. My doctoral supervisors at the University of Melbourne, Dr. Steven Welch and Professor Barbara Keys, in equal measure gave me the freedom and constraint that allowed me chart an interdisciplinary approach to writing histories of crime and governance, which ultimately became the basis of this book. They pointed me toward new sources of data and a new way of thinking about the interactions between social and intellectual history. I credit both of them with forcing me to adopt the sort of focus necessary for completing a doctoral dissertation and pursuing a career in research. The subsequent advice of the doctoral examiners they selected to review my thesis, Professors Adam Seipp (Texas A&M) and Petra Goedde (Temple University), was instrumental to shaping this quite-different book that grew from my doctoral thesis. For that, I also have to thank the editorial team at Ohio University Press and the reviewers for offering constructive ideas that pushed me to refine my thinking.
This book would not have been possible without a number of benefactors. The aid of a research fellowship from the German Academic Exchange Service (Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst, DAAD) was crucial. In 2013, the DAAD funded my primary research in Germany. I thank Dr. Margit Szöllösi-Janze at the Ludwig Maximilian University of Munich for sponsoring me to travel to Germany and the Geyer family who hosted me in Munich. (Herr Geyer often very patiently listened to me as I rambled about my day’s research, gently correcting my German, asking intriguing questions, and sharing his favorite drinks.) Nor would this project have come to fruition if my first post-PhD employer, Professor Michael Wilmore at Swinburne University of Technology, had not supported my continued pursuit of historical research, despite its not explicitly being part of my role. I wrote the first book proposal while in that position.
The award of a postdoctoral research fellowship by the University of New England was critical. It allowed me the time and financial security to spend hours rethinking, redrafting, and ultimately honing the work that follows. For that position, I have to thank Professor Richard Scully for shepherding the application through its various stages. He has also proved an excellent sounding board during my tenure in the department. Thank you to Professors Klaus Neumann, Adam Seipp, and A. Dirk Moses for reading drafts of the book proposal and offering valuable constructive criticism.
There are many personal relationships that influenced my work. My father helped me photograph documents, and he ultimately constructed some of the statistical characterizations of crime that are referenced in this book. My mother was always encouraging of higher-degree study and first suggested an academic career long before I ever considered the option seriously. But most importantly, I have to thank my wife, Dr. Elizabeth Greenhalgh, who shared with me the challenges and excitements of pursuing graduate studies. She has been an invaluable source of support, a sounding board, and an excellent writing partner on a number of occasions. She also tolerated my working long hours as I endeavored to finish this book. For that sacrifice and all the many other ways that she has shown her support, I will be eternally grateful.
Introduction
Friedrich Wilhelm had just broken a US Army telephone wire when American soldiers happened on him outside of Nuremberg in early May 1945. Classified as an act of sabotage under the US martial law governing occupied Germany, it was a serious offense. If convicted by an American military court, Wilhelm faced the potential sentences of any fine, term of imprisonment, or even death. Making things worse for him, heavier punishments were more likely because the Allies feared resistance. Though nearing an end, the war was still ongoing, and the Americans were on alert for Nazi partisans, especially around Nuremberg, which had been significant to Hitler’s movement and was only captured two weeks earlier following an unexpectedly difficult battle.1 So it astonished the American soldiers who arrested Wilhelm that he repeatedly told them freely that he “broke the wire by twisting.” They relayed their surprise at the trial on 4 May in the Nuremberg US Military Government (MG) Court. The city’s American commander Major Clarence E. Hamilton sat as judge, and though it was a formal affair—Wilhelm had a German defense attorney and testimony was duly given—it was brief. Hamilton barely deliberated before handing down a conviction and a fine of 10,000 reichsmarks (RM), with failure to pay resulting in one thousand days in prison.2
The sentence was lenient, effectively amounting to time served because the amount equaled Wilhelm’s bond, which was “applied to the … fine.” Despite committing a deliberate attack on the US army in wartime, he spent less than a week in jail. Information that is now unavailable may have swayed Hamilton, including Wilhelm’s defense, age, or personal circumstances. More likely, Hamilton did not see him as a threat and moved on to other concerns. As MG commander, he was responsible for every aspect of city governance, and his small detachment of military government officers (MGOs) was struggling with problems ranging from extensive combat damage and housing to scarce rations and thousands of displaced and dispossessed people. Ensuring order was their first priority as disorder remained a major obstacle to administration. At Hamilton’s orders, American soldiers and local German police were busy rounding up all offenders, major and minor, and, in accordance with MG practice, referred every one of them for trial by him. On that day, Wilhelm’s was the first of forty-three cases Hamilton heard, all of which required a hearing. Many more people languished in the city’s jails waiting for their day in court. One of the cases was serious and involved a woman charged with firearm possession. She was acquitted. The other forty-one cases were those of curfew violators, the majority of whom received 50 RM fines, equivalent to five days’ imprisonment.3
The events of 4 May illustrate the challenge that MG field commanders faced as they balanced enforcing public order and the careful rule of law. These events also highlight the prominence that a nuanced analysis of crime and policing should take in histories of the Allied occupation. MG was not unduly oppressive, at least in Nuremberg. Although the military courts were swamped with people swept up by soldiers and police who exercised little discretion, defendants received due process and the punishments were not overly severe. This picture of assertive American-led law enforcement and the rather fair dispensation of criminal justice, contrasts markedly with many of the existing narratives of occupied Germany, which assert a “law and order gap,” “massive” and “colossal” crime waves, and “profound violence” as the natural accompaniment to the physical destruction and psychological trauma resulting from the war.4 Tony Judt reflects a significant consensus when he writes that “to live normally in Europe meant breaking the law” and that “violence became a daily part of life.” Despite its frequency, this narrative has not been well problematized or explored. Instead, for the most part, social disorder and criminality exist as a literary turn illustrating the ordeals of war and the struggles of the postwar recovery.5
But social disorder, crime, and policing have far greater explanatory power. Exploring them provides a new avenue into the nature of the occupation and for charting the course of Germany’s postwar history. Social disorder and crime exist on a spectrum of behaviors that are socially, culturally, historically, and—of course—legally contextualized.6 Understanding the specific contexts surrounding historic definitions of deviance and disorder exposes dominant perceptions and cultural assessments as much as it does actual crimes and criminals, and therefore it illuminates cultural forces at work during the occupation years. As sociological phenomena, disorder and crime span the real and the imaginary, and fear is the dominant emotion.