Gregory's Server@bastianallgeier My grandmother’s family had recently returned to Germany when the war began. They were on the edges, ethnically German, but suspicious enough as outsiders that my slightly darker skinned great-uncle was called Jew, and my bright red-headed grandmother was called gypsy by children their age. Grandma told me that when she was young, she wished she looked like the hitler youth so she would be accepted. Her parents would not let her join because they were against Naziism.
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@bastianallgeier One relative—my great-aunt’s husband—fought as a Nazi and was captured and taken to a Siberian prison camp until after the war. Growing up in the US, although I always heard the strong message from my grandparents and parents that the Nazis were wrong, I also heard my great aunt grumbling about how the Jews caused all the family’s troubles. And one of that great-aunt’s sons—now deceased—grew up and became a neo-Nazi. @bastianallgeier Something really heartbreaking is that in my grandma’s old age, she was swallowed by conservatism. What I remember of her when I was young—her stories that everyone was equal, welcome, and loved. That truth and help could come from anyone, no matter how different we seem. …That person disappeared. Instead she would go on and on about immigrants and racial minority groups abusing this country and its services. (Truly ironic for a first generation immigrant) @bastianallgeier She was whole-heartedly pro-Zionist at the end, convinced that ANYTHING showing Palestinian suffering was propaganda. What I learned from my family is people are not static. We have to work at being pro-justice, anti-racist, anti-war. Our ideas can be shaped and changed for the better or worse throughout the course of our whole life. I’m glad I learned what was good when I was young. I am still grieving that grandma couldn’t hold onto that when she was old. |
@bastianallgeier The family was split up as war started, my grandmother at age 8 going to live and work on the farm of strangers for 3 years. Several of the older family members were sent to work as translators in labor camps. Grandma told me about being shot at by an allied plane in the countryside. And later, hiding in the basement of their apartment building as bombs destroyed the city around them. I grew up feeling there are not clear-cut “good guys.” War is always terrible.