On Being German in a Post-WW World

Have you ever undergone a DNA test to determine your genetic lineage? Were there any unexpected results?

A few years ago, I did one, after my daughter’s suggestion. She and her husband were planning their European honeymoon and doing research to track family roots that may exist in their various destinations. I think it’s fairly uncommon, even in my generation, to have only a couple countries (or regions) of origin, in your background. I knew of only two in mine, but I was curious to see what the test results would show. The day finally arrived, and my results were in. Zero surprises awaited me when I opened the email from Ancestry.com. There it was, in black & white, confirmation that I was half German.

Being German, in a post-WW world carries with it an, often unspoken, stigma.

One that non-Germans may not consider is still an identity-complex 75 years after the 2nd World War, but it’s real, at least for me, and, I suspect, for many others. I have often wanted to ask other people of German heritage if they feel the guilt and shame of our ancestors, of the horrible atrocities recorded in history that took place in their motherland and other parts of the world. Yes, I am aware that Germans weren’t the only ones to treat others inhumanely, but they are usually the ones identified with the worst of it.

My grandparents were in Germany during the 1st WW. They hadn’t met yet. That happened on the ship to Canada following that war. My grandmother lost brothers and other relatives during that war. I never did ask her how many she lost, but I know it was multiple. One brother they never heard from again and never learned the details of his death. So much loss on both sides. I am not much of a history buff, nor have I dug into the information that is available to me about my family during this era. I share here only what is in my memory and apologize for any errors in historical records. What I recall very clearly, is seeing my gentle sweet elderly Oma, my little German grandmother, sitting quietly, crying silent tears as she looked through a very old photo album that showed her siblings faces in sepia tones. These faces that were so dear to her, faces she had not seen in decades.  I did not ask to learn more about them, and now I wish I would have. Now that I too have lost brothers. Not to war, but still, to death, and far too young. I’m crying as I write this, just picturing her there, sensing her grief. The magnitude of pain from these wars is overwhelming to fathom.

Now, this is the hardest part - not only did I have great uncles fighting in the 1st WW in Germany, but my own grandfather fought on ‘the other side’. This is no big family secret, it’s common knowledge. They weren’t Nazis or war criminals. They were regular soldiers fighting for their homeland. But it is taking some serious courage for me to write these details and publish them. I’m poking at some dark shadows in my heart. Those shadows may be of my own creating, but I’ll never know unless I put this out to finally learn if others have these shadows too.

Did anyone else sit uncomfortably during every single Remembrance Day service they have ever attended, feeling responsible in some way for the tears and sadness surrounding you?

Did you feel it was inappropriate to mourn the loss of your German relatives who had been the ‘enemy’?

Did you recall the grief you witnessed on your grandmother’s face as she looked at her family pictures and you knew the loss was real on both sides, that soldiers didn’t have a choice whether to serve their countries, yet, what a sickening thought to consider the possibility that it could have been one of your German ancestors that may have faced your best friend’s relative?

I never waded into that territory to ask if my friends were thinking the same thing. It was too awful to contemplate or explore. Maybe they had never considered this possibility and I wanted to avoid creating that vision in their minds, the one that haunted me.

Are we to be held accountable for our forebears’ actions? Will our future generations be held accountable for ours? I believe, in some ways, that yes, it’s unavoidable, but can we speak of it and try to reassure each other that their actions weren’t ours, and that we have all learned from history, no matter who made it.

One of the German cousins, from my Oma’s side, spent her summer vacation with me when she was 16. We did a lot of travelling across Canada and into the US so she could experience as much as possible of N. America in that short time. When we crossed the border into Montana, she was required to fill out some paperwork. The look on her face when she emerged from the office had me concerned. She was very visibly shaken. What could have possibly happened? She explained that there had been questions about her German family’s involvement in the World Wars. Were any of them Nazis? Had they been war criminals? She was very worried that she didn’t know the answers, and didn’t want to misrepresent herself, yet was confused what these details had to do with her crossing into the US. I was speechless. I reassured her eventually that, to the best of my knowledge, she’d answered accurately and there was nothing to be concerned about, yet it stirred up that dark feeling in me, the one of shame at being identified as a German.

My grandparents living in Canada during the 2nd WW were farming and raising livestock and happy to be in Canada, but they must have felt conspicuous as Germans who had been on ‘the other side’. They were required to relinquish any firearms and were monitored to some degree. How I feel about all this pales in comparison to what that must have been like for them. There were undoubtedly experiences of ridicule and shame for their identity. I am forever grateful that they came to Canada, knowing they would face that difficult dilemma. I am so thankful I live in this country, enjoying the freedoms won for us through much sacrifice. I also acknowledge the losses my German family endured, the sacrifices they made to leave a war-torn world, face their once-enemies, humbly accept the hospitality and refuge offered them, and create a new life far from their loved ones.

It helps me find some peace to remember this quote:

“A true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.” – G.K. Chesterton

Poppies are a way we show our support for those who served. Their sacrifice, their family's sacrifice. The blessings we receive because of that are a privilege we have every day, so I've often wondered why we don't honor them in this small way 365 days/year...
With the controversy that brought this practice to the headlines last year, I am putting a voice to this thought.
Let's start a movement for #POPPY365 !
Who's with me? 🙋‍♀️

xo Deena