by Kip Wilson
treason to the Reich.
Then he asks
why Christoph gave Hans
the draft they found
in his pocket.
Hans stammers, clears his throat, speaks.
I asked him to write it.
I told him what to say.
But the judge bellows, his voice
reverberating off the walls
as he calls
all of us unworthy traitors,
and my brother trembles and I realize
nothing we say can save
any of us.
AUGUST KLEIN, DEFENSE ATTORNEY
Perhaps
if this boy
takes all the blame
the girl
can
escape
with her life.
MY BROTHER, THE PANZERFAUST
Hans
tries to stand
strong, but his fingers
still tremble.
Judge Freisler assails
my brother, gunning
him down with disgust at
the way we spread treason
against this mighty Reich
which will certainly fall
no matter what any naïve,
misinformed German thinks.
Hans takes
a deep breath, rigid
as a Panzerfaust, ready
to fire everything he’s got
at the enemy tank in front of him.
He levels
his gaze to meet
the judge’s cold, hard eyes.
Today you’ll hang us,
but you
will be next.
The room goes
silent, and for a moment
it feels like
everyone
is
holding
a
collective
breath.
I could not be
prouder of my big brother.
ROLAND FREISLER, JUDGE
Of all the cowardly statements
I’ve heard
in all the proceedings
I’ve had the honor
to govern,
the useless words
falling
from the mouth
of this defendant
who calls himself a soldier
are perhaps
the most cowardly yet.
You’re not
a German, not
a man. You’re
only
a traitor.
Next witness.
I wait for his sister
to stand.
NEXT, ME
I’ve already made
my confession, don’t understand why
we’re here for this farce of a trial, except
to learn our punishment.
Still, the judge calls me
forward after putting
Hans under fire, demanding I explain
my actions, share my
shame with the court. I stand
tall and meet his gaze.
We did nothing
to be ashamed of,
and there’s nothing
more to explain.
If I had to do it
all over again,
I’d do it
exactly the same.
I once loved
my country, but now the only
thing that shames
me is that I’m
German.
AUGUST KLEIN, DEFENSE ATTORNEY
I’ll still
make a case
for a mild punishment
for the girl,
although
it’d be much easier
if she’d just
shut
her
mouth.
SILENCE
Judge Freisler asks
if I have any additional words.
Many others think
the same,
they just don’t say
it.
But someone had to
make a start.
The judge laughs,
a bark from a vicious dog.
I turn, sweep
my gaze over the sea of
uniforms in the courtroom, breathe
in the heady silence, observe
the guilt shrouding
the audience, and I know
it’s true.
Even here,
some do feel the same.
Say it,
I silently beg
my country,
this room full
of Germans.
But no one
says
a word.
ROLAND FREISLER, JUDGE
I’ve had enough
of this aggravating girl with
her accusatory gaze,
her superior tone,
her righteous attitude,
all of this puffing up
of her person as if
she knows
something I do not.
She
knows
nothing.
Next witness!
FINALLY, CHRISTOPH
Judge Freisler calls
Christoph, attacking him
for his own words
in the hastily scribbled draft
meant for only
Hans to see.
How dare you
refer to the Führer
as a military con man
while you call Roosevelt
the strongest man in the world?
The judge bellows, showing
no mercy, and Christoph holds
a hand to his head, whispers,
I’m an unpolitical person.
Judge Freisler brandishes
the paper Hans so valiantly tried
to destroy, patched
back together, a completed
puzzle.
But isn’t this your handwriting?
Eyes blazing, he thrusts
the paper at Christoph,
who has nothing
he can say but
Yes.
FERDINAND SEIDL, DEFENSE ATTORNEY
I wouldn’t choose
to defend
someone like
this young man
but was required
to do so
by order of
the People’s Court.
The process goes
as expected.
The defendant’s
own words
betray him
and there is
nothing
I can do
to save him,
even if
I wanted to.
THE CHILDREN
Christoph tries
to speak, tries
to respond,
and yet I can already see
that his pleas will do
no good.
In the end,
the judge’s words beat him down—
that narrow-minded thug,
clubbing
my friend with
pure National Socialist values.
Pure Scheiße.
In the end,
Christoph’s last defense
is the one
that matters most:
But . . . my children.
ROLAND FREISLER, JUDGE
Probst is a disgusting, sniveling excuse
of a German citizen.
His children are
irrelevant,
his arguments
immaterial.
Probst’s children
are better off
without him.
A muscle twitches in my cheek.
I’m ready
to announce
my verdict.
BEFORE
1935
Rally at Nuremberg
We all watch Hans shoulder
his pack, c
hest puffed up
with enthusiasm as he heads
off to the rally as a flag bearer.
He’s in for
crowds
ranks
tents
parades
speeches.
He’s in for
the time of his life.
Yet a week later, Hans returns
subdued
serious
changed.
For the first time, a flicker of
doubt worms through me.
What if Vati
was right all along?
DISCIPLINED
I watch
my big brother, who’s loved
early-morning hikes
camping with his troop
stolen moments under the stars
all in the fresh air
every bit as much as I have.
He’s grown up in the
shadow of the swastika, has
been one of over a million
on the parade grounds at Nuremberg,
but when he has his squad design
their own special flag to show how
proud they are to be a part of
something so great, the leaders strip
him of his rank, disband
his squad.
Any
individuality
is strictly
forbidden.
NUREMBERG LAWS
September 1935
The Reichstag has unanimously
enacted the following laws.
1. The German Flag Law:
The flag of the German Reich is
red, white, black
with the swastika
of the National Socialist Party.
2. The Reich Citizenship Law:
Only those
of German blood
retain the right to
citizenship.
Jews are subjects of
the Reich and are not
eligible for citizenship.
3. The Law for the Protection of
German Blood and Honor:
Jews are prohibited
from marriage
and sexual intercourse
with citizens of German blood.
These laws go into
effect with this pronouncement.
The Führer and Reich Chancellor
Adolf Hitler
THE ARCHITECT OF IT ALL
One night at dinner Hans asks,
What’s a concentration camp?
We all crane
our necks toward
Vati at the head of the table.
He tells us of people hauled
off to terrible prisons without
standing trial, people
guilty simply for being:
a Communist
a Social Democrat
of a different political opinion.
But the Führer
doesn’t know about them,
does he? Inge asks.
My children,
Vati says,
who do you think
ordered
their construction?
We sit in
silence for the rest of
the meal, pushing
other thoughts out of
our heads.
THE END
VERDICT: FEBRUARY 22, 1943
Roland Freisler, Judge
In the name
of the German people
in the criminal case against
Hans Scholl
Sophie Scholl
Christoph Probst
the People’s Court has determined that
the defendants, by means of treasonous
wartime leaflets,
have called for
sabotage
and the
collapse of the National Socialist
way of life,
propagated
defeatist thoughts,
shamelessly insulted
the Führer, thus favoring
the enemy of the Reich.
They are therefore sentenced
to death.
The accused forever forfeit
their honor as citizens
by their acts
of treason.
They bear the costs
of the proceedings.
Heil Hitler.
THREE TERRIBLE WORDS
Sentenced to death.
The words ring
in my ears, not surprising and
yet still, I shudder.
Sentenced to death.
Ice washes
over me in a bath of
sweat, cold as the Isar in winter.
Christoph.
My brother.
Me.
The three of us.
Sentenced
to
death.
A REALIZATION
Outrage roars
through me that not even
Christoph was spared and
the shock of it reverberates
through the courtroom, spiraling
over Munich, shooting
over Germany, hitting
the rest of the world
with full force.
They
are going to
murder
us.
I stand small in the wake
of this undisputable fact
as it slowly mixes
with a thin, silky ribbon flowing
through my thoughts, getting
bluer and brighter
than a clear sky
after a storm.
Our deaths
will mean
something.
The world will react,
and someday
someone
will punish
the people
who are doing
these terrible things.
The ribbon widens, flooding
my mind
with a river of hope.
AN UNWELCOME GUEST
Soldiers block
the entrance to the courtroom,
where a voice rises,
travels to us.
I’m their father.
Vati. But here his words hold
no weight, useless as paper arrows trying
to besiege a fortress as he attempts
to push forward.
Get him out of here!
the judge bellows.
Soldiers pull him back,
but not before he gets a glimpse
of us, sitting
proud and tall as he taught us.
There is a higher justice!
Vati’s voice echoes
through the corridor
as the doors
slam shut.
ROLAND FREISLER, JUDGE
The impudence of those three youths—
especially that disrespectful, despicable girl—
makes me twitch even now,
as I sit alone in my chambers.
The girl’s words echo through my head,
replaying that moment in the courtroom:
Someone had to
make a start.
Ridiculous.
Loathing rises in me,
and I push back from my desk
in an attempt to escape
the filthiness
of these pitiful prisoners.
By attempting to brainwash other young minds
at one of our finest universities
with their dangerous drivel,
these three enemies of the Reich
have ruined
their reputations and futures.
They will not haunt the purity
of my conscience.
BEFORE
1934
Round and Round
Hans and Vati are
at it again,
raised voices,
stony silences,
e
ach bout more
uncomfortable than the last.
Vati’s convinced
that a much greater evil lurks
in the plans of Herr Hitler
that reach beyond
the bread and freedom
of his campaign posters—
plans of
aggression
war
misery
death.
But Hans is right:
adults
simply don’t understand
Herr Hitler’s
belief
in a country
we couldn’t love more.
Without a doubt,
the youth is the future
of this Reich,
a future that shines
bright as the sun.
MY BIG BROTHER
Every day Hans hangs up
