After we all push
ourselves to duplicate, fold, stuff
the leaflets into
all the envelopes we have,
huge stacks remain.
We stand and survey
the achievement like generals:
Fifteen hundred?
Two thousand?
So many.
It’s a good
problem to have.
And Hans has a solution.
What if we bring
them to the university
while classes are in session?
I can barely control
my excitement about
Hans’s idea,
but the others don’t seem
to agree.
In broad daylight?
Alex says.
Too risky.
Willi frowns, shakes
his head, his face blanching
pale as paper.
Even though the Gestapo must
be looking for us,
I’m so proud
of my brother,
so glad someone else thinks
as I do—
that we can always do more,
that we should always do more.
I for one am ready
to do more.
Leaflets
all around the university
in the bright light of day
for everyone to find
is simply brilliant.
Students will surely rise
and join us in this fight
once they know
the truth about the Vaterland.
The trial will take place
today
with the three of us
Hans
Christoph
me
accused of
treason against
the Reich.
The defense attorney visits
my tiny, stale cell, and
after our first exchange, it’s clear
he has no plans to provide
any useful defense.
Since he’ll be no help in the
courtroom, perhaps he can be
of some help now, answering
the questions burning
through my mind.
If the verdict is the death
penalty, how will they do it?
Hanging, or guillotine?
What? He blanches,
his mouth dropping
like bomb bay doors.
And what about my
brother? As a soldier, he deserves
a firing squad at the very least.
Flustered, shaken, shocked,
the attorney sputters
to his feet, marches
for the door, refuses
to respond.
After I read
my indictment, sign
my life away
on the bottom, I write
a single word—
on the back of the paper.
Across the room, my
cellmate has tears in
her eyes, but I turn
to the window, let
the sunshine warm
my face.
Such a lovely day.
But what does
my death matter
if it means
more students will continue
what we started
if it means
our actions will start
a revolution
if it means
others might live?
The sun still shines.
I open my eyes, take
in the beauty that I know
lies beyond these walls, insert
my spirit into a sunbeam, send
a ray of hope into
this hopeless
world.
When they take Sophie
to stand trial, I wonder
if I’ll ever see her again.
I’m already afraid I won’t.
It was my job
to make sure
she didn’t kill herself,
my job
to pay attention
to each and every word
my job
to gather
any information
that could incriminate
others.
But this young girl showed
such emotion
such conviction
such devotion
to her brother
that I couldn’t imagine
betraying her.
Handcuffed, hauled
down the corridor, treated
like a criminal,
now I have some idea
how it must have felt
to be
Jewish
on Kristallnacht
or anytime since.
Shame burns
through me that we did
nothing
to stop the beginnings of
the ugly wave of
hate.
I stand frozen
as torches light
up the night sky.
I think of Luise and my other
Jewish classmates, thankful
they already left Germany,
but other Jews still live
in Ulm, including
the Einsteins, no longer
in our building, but
not far away.
Right here, right now,
thumping boots fill
the streets with the first smash of
glass, deadly shards, inside and out.
Half of the faces on
the street light
up with glee,
the other half quake
in terror.
I feel only shame
that all I can do
is shudder, shiver, shut
my eyes.
I don’t wait to find
out what’s next to be
smashed, cut, burned.
Only one thought fills
me as I race home:
I
am
such
a
coward.
We don’t do
anything,
not even with
smashing glass
the synagogue burning
people
pushed into the street
beaten, pummeled
dragged to the banks of the Danube
huddling
indoors instead, identical grim
expressions on our faces.
We don’t do
anything
to make it stop.
Vati goes out to check
on the Einsteins,
and I wonder
if there’s something more
we can do.
But I don’t
say
a word.
The interrogation transcripts
enrage me.
These corrupt youths!
These rotten traitors!
These terrible excuses for German citizens!
I will make sure they learn
that this Reich of ours
is no home
for rubbish like them.
They will pay for their impudence.
I enter the courtroom late,
right arm raised.
Heil Hitler.
Guards lead all three of
us into the courtroom, past uniforms,
steely glances, heartlessness, and we take
our seats, pale and shaky.
Will any of us walk
away from this?
The judge of the People’s Court
wastes no time calling
Hans forward, insulting
him for his
choices, his
actions, his
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.
Perhaps
if this boy
takes all the blame
the girl
can
escape
with her life.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
We all watch Hans shoulder
his pack, chest 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?
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Hans and Vati are
at it again,
raised voices,
stony silences,
each 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.
Every day Hans hangs up
the drawing on the wall
in the room he shares with Werner—
Adolf Hitler,
the new leader of the German Reich.
Every day
Vati takes it down,
rolls it up,
and places it
in a drawer.
Vati doesn’t hide
his low opinion of the Führer,
calling him and his men wolves,
deceivers,
liars.
But Hans
wants to make his opinion heard.
Open the drawer,
pull it out,
hang it up.
After months and months
of watching
my siblings go
off on merry adventures
with friends
flags
sports
I’m finally allowed
to join the Bund Deutscher Mädel
even though Vati
doesn’t approve.
I excel
in the fresh air, leading
my own group
in my own way, making
sure we all share
our snacks equally,
though there are some girls
who grumble.
Others protest
when I turn in those who refuse
to attend required meetings.
But
rules
are
rules.
Hans’s daily arguments with Vati
have grown worse.
Hans defends our Führer proudly,
pointing at his promises
to end unemployment,
to build the Autobahn,
to put this great nation
to work.
Vati counters that these aims
will come at a price,
and that price
will be war.
I don’t know
who will win.
Mutti wants
to see me confirmed,
and I go to the church
wearing
my brown uniform
of the Bund Deutscher Mädel
instead of a scratchy black dress.
Filled with pride
in my uniform before
God, I raise
my eyes to the church’s ceiling,
the heavens,
the greatness beyond.
I don’t understand
why my friend Luise can’t
join the BDM
when she has blond hair, blue eyes—
so decidedly Aryan—and I have
brown hair, brown eyes
(just like Herr Hitler).
I stand up
for the rights of my
Jewish classmates
to do as they wish,
though it seems they’d rather
I didn’t.
They tell me I have
visitors—my parents—and I can’t
get down the hall to
them quickly enough.
On my way to the door, Hans is led
out, his eyes glittering
like shiny stones.
Will I ever see him again?
I enter the visiting room, Vati pulls
me into his arms, tells
me what I want to hear.
You will go down in history.
This has to make waves,
I say, animated
by the weight of what we’ve done.
Mutti offers
me cookies, a reminder
of home, telling
me Hans didn’t want any.
We haven’t eaten.
Equal shares of courage and
matter-of-factness fill
my voice as I accept the sweets.
Because I am
courageous and
matter-of-fact
about what I hope
will happen now:
That the world will see
and the world will know
and the world
will
make
them
stop.
I give
my parents
one last embrace, breathing
in the comfort they’ve given
me over all my years.
Mutti releases me,
tears in her eyes as she says,
Remember, Sophie: Jesus,
and I know she wishes
me salvation.
But I also know
my suffering will be
quick while hers
will be
long, so I hold
back my own
tears and tell her,
You too.
Out in the corridor,
the tears I’ve been holding
back stream
down my cheeks as I picture
my family’s dining table at
home in Ulm with
two chairs that will remain
empty
forever.
Herr Mohr passes by, pales
at my tears, but so he doesn’t think
I’m crying over
my own fate, I wipe
my cheeks, raise
my chin, tell him,
My parents.
Back in my cell,
a guard nods, thrusts
paper and pen at me, says,
Your last chance to say
goodbye to anyone else
is now.
I begin
but can’t find the words I seek
other than to tell
him how
proud
I am of what we’ve done
how
insistent
I am that I wouldn’t
change
a thing.
A happy surprise
when the door creaks
open once more: the
guard again, this time ushering
in the best possible gift:
Hans
and
Christoph.
The three of us rush
to embrace,
gasp, cling
to one another,
to our beliefs,
well
worth
this
sacrifice.
You’ve only got
a few minutes.
The guard lights
us a cigarette, closes
the door.
We breathe
the heavy air, drawing
the last life
deep into our lungs.
Hazy plumes of smoke from
the already extinguished cigarette drift
up to the corners of the cell, hanging
there like forgotten cobwebs.
Footsteps, and the
guard announces
my name
from the hallway.
Sophie Scholl.
It’s then I realize
I need only survive
these
last
moments.
The door opens
one last time, revealing
the executioner, dressed
like an undertaker
in a top hat and tails.
Hans and Christoph and I take
one another in one last time,
proud
strong
brave,
and I know
dying will be so easy.
I leave them behind, follow wordlessly
across the courtyard
to
the
blade.
Outside, I force
myself to forget, marveling
instead at the promise of
hope in the fresh February air and
a bird singing in a tree
beyond the wall, defying
winter’s last chill and
the ugliness before me.
The execution room door yawns open then,
a dark, hungry mouth closing
in on me, surrounding
me with wood and metal and
the stench of death.
On the plank, I count
each breath in my mind—
eins, zwei, drei—
until the last one floats
out of my lungs, dispersing
through the room,
and I’m flying.
We’re out
of school for
the summer and
Hans bursts down the hall,
fishing rod and tackle in hand, calling
Freedom!
Another lazy day lounging
beside the Iller with Werner,
swimming
drawing
reading
but something makes
me look skyward
and a lonely falcon soars
high
higher
highest
tipping its wings, reaching
for the heavens.
Majestic bird!
I can only hope
to one day become
such an inspiration.