were completed and ful y operational by the spring of 1942.
The idea of systematically murdering the Jews in occupied Poland
gained further impetus when, in March 1942, the SS managed to gain
complete control over anti-Jewish policies in the General Government.
Compromised by a serious corruption scandal in the spring of that year,
General Governor Hans Frank conceded complete authority over all
policing matters and questions of Germanization in the General
Government to the local higher SS and police leader, Friedrich-Wilhelm
Krüger, thus strengthening the hand of the SS vis-à-vis the civilian
authorities. Himmler, Heydrich and their men on the ground – Krüger
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263
and Globocnik – would use their new powers to include Jews from all
parts of occupied Poland in the killing process.203
Shortly before the murders were decisively extended at the beginning of
May 1942, Heydrich and Himmler met seven times in three different places
within the space of a week: their first meetings took place in Berlin on 25,
26 and 27 April, fol owed by long conversations in Munich on 28 and
30 April, and then in Prague on 2 May, a meeting for which Himmler made
a special journey. This series of intense discussions was framed by two longer
meetings between Himmler and Hitler, which took place on 23 April and
3 May. No records of these meetings have survived the war, but the chro-
nology of the events of the fol owing weeks suggests that it was during these
meetings that Hitler, Himmler and Heydrich decided on the framework for
the implementation of a pan-Europan programme of systematic destruction
that was to be carried out from May 1942 onwards.204
Cultural Imperialism
If the realization of the Nazis’ Germanization project was based on a
historically unprecedented programme of racial stock-taking, theft, expul-
sion and murder, Germanization, as understood by Heydrich, meant far
more than racial tests and extermination. Murder and resettlement were
only the preconditions for the creation of a racially ‘purified’ utopia, a
German empire that would dominate the New Europe for the next thou-
sand years. As Heydrich pointed out in mid-December 1941: ‘While
under the blows of Germany and her allies a degenerate world is being
crushed, perishing in the chaos which it has created, a New Order is
appearing behind the fronts of our soldiers, an order whose structures are
already becoming clearly visible.’205
The ful integration of the Protectorate into this New Order required the
complete Germanization of the Protectorate’s cultural life and the eradica-
tion of indigenous Czech and Jewish culture. This was the task of
Department IV of the Reich Protector’s Office, a department designed to
co-ordinate and direct the Protectorate’s cultural life, from theatres and
cinemas to radio programmes and the press.206 The aim of Department IV,
under the leadership of Baron Dr Karl von Gregory, was thus the indoctri-
nation of the Protectorate’s Czech population in order to create a suitably
pro-German atmosphere. In theory, these developments should have
enabled the administration to dominate the Protectorate’s cultural economy
through the imposition of censorship and propaganda. In practice, inter-
agency disputes, personality clashes and a chronic shortage of personnel
meant that these policies were never coherently enforced and cultural
resistance within the Czech population persisted. Until Heydrich’s arrival
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in Prague, Department IV had subordinated cultural Germanization to the
smooth flow of war-related production.207 Once Heydrich took charge, this
policy changed abruptly. Accusing Gregory of being unable to implement
a comprehensive cultural Germanization plan for the Protectorate, Heydrich
replaced him with one of his trusted associates, SS-Sturmbannführer
Martin Paul Wolf, a former high-school teacher and a close friend of
Heydrich’s favourite academic in Prague, Karl Valentin Mül er.208
Heydrich’s cultural imperialism was a fundamental assault on the fertile
cultural world of late Habsburg and interwar Prague, a world of high
international standing in literature, music and the arts. Before the German
invasion, the multicultural city, with its diverse German, Jewish and Czech
influences, had been associated with such acclaimed artists as the expres-
sionist Oskar Kokoschka (who lived in Prague between 1934 and 1938),
the composer Leoš Janáćek (1854–1928), and the novelists Franz Kafka
(1883–1924) and Max Brod (1884–1968), all of whom the Nazis consid-
ered to be prime examples of ‘degenerate’ art. The purging of Prague’s
cultural diversity was a key component of Heydrich’s Germanization
strategy, a strategy that aimed, in Goebbels’s words, at the
Verreichlichung
(incorporation into and adaptation to the Reich) of cultural life in the
Protectorate. Shortly after Heydrich’s arrival in Prague, he and Goebbels
began to negotiate the cultural and propaganda policies in the Protectorate
with the aim of formulating a coherent strategy, while at the same time
securing Heydrich’s right to a final decision on all cultural matters in the
Protectorate.209 Within two weeks, a comprehensive eighteen-page agree-
ment had been elaborated, outlining new initiatives to guarantee total
German control over radio programmes, movie theatres and film produc-
tion companies, as well as a gradual increase of German-speaking
programmes on Czech radio. All of these measures were to be achieved
through the expropriation of the few remaining cultural facilities in Czech
hands as well as by strengthening centralized control by Heydrich’s office
in Prague.210 Furthermore, Heydrich hoped that by conducting cultural
and political affairs exclusively in German, the Czech language would be
‘reduced to the private sphere’ before eventually becoming extinct.211
One of his most important tasks in the Protectorate, Heydrich believed,
was to revive German cultural traditions that had been ‘suppressed’ in the
‘Jewified’ Czechoslovak Republic since its foundation after the Great War.
In order to underscore the idea of Bohemia and Moravia’s historical
affiliation with the Reich, he mined the quarry of the past to ‘prove’ that
the region had enjoyed peace and prosperity only when it aligned with
Germany against the barbarian hordes of the East. One of the historical
reference points most favoured by Heydrich was St Wenceslas, patron
saint of the Czechs, who, he claimed, had turned against the Slav world
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265
and recognized ‘the historical destiny of this area and its eternal involvement
with the Reich’. In his inaugural speech at Prague Castle, Heydrich
argued that the Nazis should ‘increasingly emphasize the idea of St
Wenceslas’ who ‘must not be depicted as a patron saint of the Czechs’, but
as ‘the man who recognized that the Czech people could exist only within
the German space’. He urged his associates to convey this message from
‘the right psychological angle’: ‘When the Czechs celebrate St Wenzel,
then they are demonstrating that he was right. That is what we can exploit
historically.’212 Nazi propaganda, assisted by a large number of collabora-
tionist newspapers, constantly reiterated the centuries-old connections
and interdependencies between Bohemia and the Reich.213
The visit that Heydrich and Hácha paid to the Bohemian Crown Jewels
on 19 November 1941 was very much in line with this policy of historical
appropriation. Soon after his arrival in Prague, Heydrich demanded that
Hácha formally acknowledge that the Protectorate was now an ‘integral
part’ of the Reich through a historically symbolic gesture. The ceremony
took place in the Wenceslas Chapel inside the Cathedral of St Vitus at
Prague Castle, where Hácha handed Heydrich the seven keys to the
Coronation Chamber on a velvet cushion. ‘The Coronation Insignia’,
Hácha declared, ‘are the symbol of Bohemia and Moravia’s loyalty to the
Reich.’ Heydrich accepted the gift and returned three of the seven keys to
Hácha as a ‘token of trust and a reminder of your responsibilty’ as ‘guar-
antor of Bohemia’s loyalty’.214
Heydrich believed that the symbolically charged event in St Vitus’
Cathedral ‘ended centuries-old uncertainties’. After being exposed to
influences and population transfers from both the Slavic and the Germanic
worlds, ‘Wenceslas, recognizing historical necessity, had once and for all
thrown in his lot with the Reich and turned against the East. The rebels
who, under the leadership of his brother Boleslav, took up arms against the
statesmanlike policy of Wenceslas, failed to recognize the historical
destiny of this area and its eternal involvement with the Reich. They over-
threw Wenceslas and his policy, murdered the king and attempted to
establish this space as a bastion against the West.’ But Bohemia’s German
destiny, Heydrich maintained, could not be altered. Hácha’s acceptance of
the establishment of the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia was there-
fore ‘a decision in the true spirit of the Wenceslas tradition’.215
Heydrich’s efforts at rewriting history did not go unnoticed in London,
where intelligence reports commented on his ‘extremely clever historical
argument, purporting to prove that the Czech nation has always been
most prosperous at periods when the German influence was strongest,
and that the Protectorate owing to its geographical position cannot exist
otherwise than as an integral part of the German living space’.216 Heydrich
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also claimed that his actions against the Czech resistance were in line with
the Wenceslas tradition: ‘The rebels against the Reich during the days of
September and October of this year were brought to justice because
they failed to grasp the Wenceslas tradition and reverted to ancient
Eastern habits by stabbing the Reich in the back in order to convert a
bastion against the East once more into a bastion against the West.’ What
they had overlooked, Heydrich argued, was that the leadership of the
Reich and indeed the larger part of the Protectorate’s inhabitants had
learned ‘the lessons of history’. ‘The Wenceslas tradition’, he concluded,
was therefore a permanent reminder that ‘Bohemia and Moravia will only
ever be strong with the Reich, and that it will remain forever weak without
it.’217 The ‘stab in the back’ myth was a recurrent theme in Heydrich’s
speeches. Time and again, he claimed that the Bohemian heartland of the
Reich had ‘plunged a knife into the back’ of German unity – a tradition that
had begun with Marbod, who had refused to participate in Arminius’ ‘war
of liberation’ against the Romans in ad 9, and which had continued through
to the Defenestration of Prague and the Thirty Years’ War in the seven-
teenth century up until the present day when some Czechs, engaged in
il egal resistance activities, were trying ‘to attack the Reich from behind
during its decisive fateful battle against Bolshevism’.218 Only ‘on the day
when the banner of the new Reich was raised on the roof of this house’,
Heydrich declared elsewhere, ‘was the baneful development that ensued in
the days of the Prague defenestration overcome for al time. We are now
entering an era of construction, leaving the centuries that stood in the
shadow of Münster and Osnabrück [the treaties that ended the Thirty Years’
War] behind us like a bad dream . . . Through the events of 1938 and 1939
the terrible condition into which Central Europe had fal en has been
eliminated.’219
Although obviously important from a political point of view, these
historical interpretations were more than propaganda for Heydrich. He
firmly believed that Bohemia and Moravia were historically part of the
Reich – a conviction that he shared with the German deputy mayor of
Prague, Josef Pfitzner, a former professor of medieval and Eastern
European history at the German University of Prague, whose arguments
about Bohemia and Moravia’s long-standing historical ‘connections’ with
the Reich, put forward in his widely read book
Das tausendjährige Prag
(1940), profoundly influenced Heydrich’s historical perceptions.220
Indeed, Heyrich developed a new passion for the history of Bohemia,
often reading popular history books, historical novels and biographies on
his sofa in Jungfern-Breschan until the small hours of the morning.221Apart
from Wenceslas, he was particularly interested in Albrecht von Wallenstein
(1583–1634), the supreme commander of the Imperial army until 1634,
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