BY: SCOTT SACKETT, JANDOLI SCHOOL LECTURER
Photo Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
In a visit to the Dachau concentration camp near Munich, Germany last week, U.S. Vice President JD Vance solemnly addressed a group of dignitaries after meeting a survivor. Beneath a dank gray sky reflecting the emotional undertones of the occasion, Vance said, “I’ve read a lot about the Holocaust in books, but being here, and seeing it up close in person, really drives home what unspeakable evil was committed and why we should be committed to ensuring that it never happens again.”
The following day in Munich, Vance endorsed the far-right Alternative for Germany as a political partner. The irony of supporting a political party that has used Nazi slogans, anti-democratic rhetoric and xenophobic language — whose members have been accused of whitewashing Nazi crimes and rewriting German history — is deeply troubling.
Before joining the Jandoli School faculty in 2023, I taught German, Italian and communication at SUNY Niagara. In my world languages classes, I incorporated cinema to teach 20th-century history and culture. Among the films I screened were the influential 1920 silent horror movie “The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari” which eerily appears to anticipate Hitler’s rise to power; the 2005 historical drama “Sophie Scholl: The Final Days” about the German biology and philosophy student who was convicted of high treason by a Nazi court in 1943 for distributing anti-war leaflets at the University of Munich and summarily executed by guillotine; the landmark 1948 Italian neorealist film “Bicycle Thieves” about a working-class family’s struggles in the chaos of post-Fascist Italy; and the 1997 Foreign Language Oscar-winning tragicomedy “Life is Beautiful” about an Italian Jewish family living under Fascism then sent to a Nazi death camp.
Of course, we had fun, light activities too, but I felt a responsibility to offer my students more than, “Can you please tell me the way to the museum” and “Let’s go for a gelato.”
What I hoped students might take away seems more relevant today.
In the 19th century, “Nazi” was a nickname for Ignaz. The German form of Ignatius was a popular Catholic name in Austria and Southern Germany including the state of Bavaria and the region of Swabia. The diminutive “Nazi” has a ring to it that’s akin to the English diminutive “Iggy.” It sounds funny. A 1901 “Swabian Dictionary” lists the term “Nazi” as a mocking expression for “stupid, clumsy fellow.”
In 1923, the Austrian-born Bavarian Army veteran and political party leader Adolf Hitler attempted a clumsy but violent military coup to overthrow the German Republic. It was called the Munich Putsch for the Bavarian state capital where it was staged. It is also called the Beer Hall Putsch because it started in a Munich beer hall. Sixteen of Hitler’s followers and four police officers were killed.
Hitler was convicted of high treason and received a light five-year prison sentence. He was released after serving nine months (Recall Sophie Scholl’s sentence for high treason). While incarcerated, Hitler wrote “Mein Kampf” or “My Struggle.” It is a rambling, repetitious, turgid rant with unsubstantiated claims and lapses in logic that reflect the mind of an angry, half-educated racist.
The term “Nazi” would be used pejoratively for Hitler’s followers, the National Socialist German Workers’ Party. In Southern Germany, the home of the political movement, the abbreviation of the party name, “Nationalsozialisten,” pronounced nah-tzee, and parody of the common nickname for a clumsy dimwit, Nazi was an easy dig. Who in 1923 could imagine the crazy-looking and ludicrous-sounding Adolf Hitler as chancellor?
Hitler did. He thought the coup would mirror Benito Mussolini’s rise to power in 1922 when the Italian dictator had led his National Fascist Party’s march on Rome.
Mussolini’s followers wore black shirts. Hitler’s followers adopted brown shirts.
Mussolini’s followers used the Roman salute. Hitler loyalists used that too and Germanified it with “Heil Hitler” meaning “Hail, Hitler.”
There’s nothing funny about the word “Fascist.” The capitalized term refers to a member of the Italian political organization founded by Mussolini in 1919 and the one-party state he created. The name derives from the Italian term “fascio” which means “bundle.” It was used in the 19th century for labor and agrarian unions. It also recalls the pre-Republican Roman symbol of a monarch’s supreme power and absolute dominion in the Roman Kingdom beginning in the 8th century B.C.
Italian Fascists called themselves Fascists. Members of the National Socialist German Workers’ Party called themselves National Socialists and referred to their party by the German acronym, NSDAP. “Nazi” was not part of their vocabulary. It’s what others would call them.
In 1928, the “hillbilly” National Socialists won support outside the southern state of Bavaria for the first time. In the northeast German capital of Berlin, a cosmopolitan hub of sass and sophistication, cabaret audiences laughed at the song “She Has A Big Fat Nazi.” The lyrics, penned by the Austrian Jewish comedian and cabaret star Fritz Grünbaum, tell of a lady who prefers Nazis big and small to cultured city gents.
Nazis might have appeared ridiculous to some despite their violent past, but that would soon change.
In 1932, the Nazis became the largest elected party in the German parliament. In 1933, Hitler became chancellor of Germany. In 1934, he declared himself as “Führer” meaning “leader” — the absolute dictator of Germany.
Over 10 years, the Nazi Party had evolved from a small, paramilitary group set on overthrowing the republic through violent force to a political machine that gained power through language, propaganda and messaging that resonated with a plurality of the German electorate. Through political maneuvering and alliances, Hitler became chancellor. Then, the Nazis rewrote Germany’s law to consolidate Hitler’s dictatorial control, remove opposition and dismantle the democratic foundations of the republic.
That included outlawing anti-Nazi remarks and jokes. What of the cabaret artist who ridiculed the Nazis? After the Gestapo caught him in 1938, the Nazi party newspaper ran the headline, “We’ve got Grünbaum!”
He was sent to the Dachau concentration camp near Munich. There, he continued to stage entertainments to lift the spirits of prisoners until he died in 1941.
The similarities between the trends of the 1920s and 30s and today are striking. But so are the differences. “Nazi” and “fascist” are problematic labels, and the terms may be best reserved for academic discourse. What we need in public dialogue is language that portrays current dynamics, counters factually inaccurate information and calls out acts aimed at consolidating power and dismantling the foundations of democratic societies.
Germany’s political turmoil will not end after this Sunday’s snap election in which voters will decide who will run their next government. That American democracy is currently facing an existential crisis is also evident. One of the greatest threats now may be disengagement — especially among Gen Z.
