Collaboration

It’s 1974. I’m a 22-year-old law student from Levittown, PA, attending a University of Vienna summer program in Austria. Being an amateur flutist, I’ve brought my flute along, because as everyone knows, man does not live by pumpernickel alone.

Two weeks in, I find myself playing Haydn trios with two of my professors from the University of Vienna. My international law professor, a jovial fellow in his mid-50s - let’s call him Dieter - is playing violin. My international economics professor, we’ll call him Herr Professor Dürer, 60-ish, is on cello. I’m playing a violin part on flute.

Although I’m a beginner, I know that playing chamber music is all about collaboration. We must watch each other closely so we can phrase together, breathe together and feel the music together. We are collaborating in service of the music and for me, the results are glorious.

As we’re playing, I notice the front page of Dieter’s sheet music is stamped in faded blue ink: Property U.S. Army. P.O.W. – Ft. Worth, TX.  When we finish playing the piece, I ask him about it.

Dieter explains in his fatherly way that near the end of the Second World War, while a soldier in the German army, American GIs captured him and brought him to the United States as a prisoner of war.  I find this fascinating and ask, “What was it like being a P.O.W.?”

“Oh, the Americans treated us great,” he said. “In Texas, the GI’s gave us hot dogs and taught us baseball. Then after the war was over, they let us work in town and at night go to dances with American girls. They even issued me this music.”

Haltingly, I ask Dieter, “Were you…a Nazi?”

“Sure," he answers. "Those days you had to be.” 

Which sounds reasonable, although I’d always thought some people had been in the Nazi party and some hadn’t. I persist, “But how could you be a Nazi?”

Dieter, a distinguished professor on the faculty of the University of Vienna, says—and I’ll never forget his words—“Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time…. And if we had won, things would be a lot different.” Herr Professor Dürer nods his agreement. Then, they both look at me and smile.

I wonder if they are smiling because they know I’m Jewish or because they don’t know.

I am ashamed to say I did not punch Dieter in the nose or tell him right then to go f*** himself.  I’m afraid I just smiled wanly and continued playing.  Hey, I was only 22.

Had I encountered Dieter and Herr Dürer in this same spot 30 years before, back when they were my age and being a Nazi had seemed like a good idea to them, they would not have played Haydn trios with me. They would probably have done their best to murder me. They might have had me dig my own grave, stand in it, and then shot me. Or they might have jammed me into a cattle car to be gassed and incinerated in a death camp.

At the end of the summer, I got A's in their classes, International Law and International Economics. By remaining silent, I had become a different kind of collaborator. 

I’d like to think that if I were to ever encounter a couple of unrepentant Nazis like these professors again, I’d speak up. Give them a piece of my mind. But that might be wishful thinking.  A couple of months ago when I was leaving a meeting of Orange County Democrats in Tustin, California, I had to pass by a dozen or so angry protestors who had arrived on motorcycles with bull horns and flags, both American and Nazi.  They were yelling and waving their flags and being held back by several units from the Tustin Police.

Instead of exchanging words with these neo-Nazis, I scurried by them and ducked into my Camry. I had a chance to speak up, but once again, I didn’t.  Hey, I’m 74.

Whether you’re 22 or 74, it’s hard not to be a collaborator. Especially these days, when our government is launching illegal wars, conducting brutal mass deportations and building a network of prison camps all over our country, much as the Nazis did in the 1930s.

Some Americans are sticking their necks out. But courage can have a high price. Renée Good and Alex Pretti protested in Minneapolis and were murdered by ICE. Wisconsin Judge Hannah Dugan helped an undocumented man duck out of her courtroom to evade ICE and was recently convicted of felony obstruction.  Former U.S. Army sergeant, Bajun Mavalwalla, II, who served in Afghanistan, felt morally obligated to protest ICE’s deportation of two immigrants, notwithstanding their pending asylum applications. For that act of conscience, he is now being prosecuted by the feds for criminal conspiracy and faces up to six years in prison.

While it’s hard not to be a collaborator, when faced with evil carried out in our name, we must remember our humanity, and though courage can have a high price, we must resist.

Louis B. Jack is a retired attorney and a member of Lawyers Defending American Democracy.