Choosing to speak out
A conversation between granddaughters
“Some choices are not so free,” said a psychologist who, unbeknownst to me, was invited to comment on my story of family discovery in a recently released two-part podcast (see the end of this article for the link). There was a fundamental truth in this comment that was both liberating and jarring. If you’ve read The Pendulum, you’ll know I often hesitated to pursue the past against my family’s wishes. Sometimes, I still wonder whether I could have handled it differently, and I was relieved to hear that maybe there was no other way if I wanted to keep my integrity (and sanity). At the same time, I struggle with the idea of predestination and don’t want to part with its opposite, the idea of agency, namely that each individual has the power to decide, break away from harmful patterns, and contribute to a positive transformational force that will benefit themselves and others.
If there is anyone I know who can understand my divided reaction to this comment, it is Friderica Magdalena Wächter-Stanfel, an art therapist, psychological adviser, and painter who also bears a family past more challenging than most. During WWII, her grandfather, Freiherr Otto von Wächter, was responsible for the deaths of more than half a million people as Governor of Galicia and a high-ranking member of the SS.
In 2015, international law professor Philippe Sands made a documentary film, My Nazi Legacy, with her father, Horst von Wächter, and Niklas Frank, the son of another high-ranking Nazi, Hans Frank, who was also indicted for murder at Nuremberg (Frank’s father was executed while Horst’s escaped). In contrast to Niklas, Horst refuses to acknowledge his father’s responsibility. Philippe Sands became a best-selling author with East-West Street, and, once again, in 2021 with the publication of The Ratline, which exposed the deep engagement of Otto von Wächter and his wife in Nazism and set out to solve the mystery of his post-war disappearance.
Friderica is the only member of her extended family to acknowledge facts and endorse Philippe’s work, sometimes appearing with him in speaking engagements (we take the liberty of calling Professor Sands “Philippe” in this article as he is a mutual friend and, by thoughtfully introducing us, responsible for our friendship). In her native Austria, she has become a vocal public figure in her own right.
The conversation that follows is part of a series entitled Voices Between -- The Creative Conversations, an initiative established to give rise to a force for peace by building a global network of established authors and artists whose life stories, work, and commitments demonstrate and engage the impact of intolerance, extremism, and war. It reflects a belief that we can make a difference through the arts and the rigorous and honest practice of conversation.
Please note that throughout this long-read article, you’ll be experiencing a gallery of Friderica’s paintings and lithographies. So, please find a comfortable seat and enjoy!
JULIE: Welcome, Friderica. I’m delighted to be in conversation with you at The Tendril.
Let’s start from the very beginning. Both of us were born in places far away from our family origins in the shadow of our grandfather’s legacies. In your case, you were born in New Zealand in extraordinary circumstances.
Can you tell us about this?
FRIDERICA: Yes, my father said that he wanted to serve a Jew to deal with his guilt. This person turned out to be the painter Friedensreich Hundertwasser, who hired him as a secretary and assistant without my father accepting any payment. On Hundertwasser's behalf, he purchased the small ship "Regentag" where he met my mother. Hoping to start a new life far away from Europe, he sailed the ship with her from Venice to New Zealand, with Hundertwasser visiting them along the way. I spent my first six months in New Zealand, and Hundertwasser became my godfather. I was baptized as a Catholic on the North Island in Kawakawa, where my parents worked.
Ultimately, however, my parents came to understand that a person's history travels with them wherever they go.
JULIE: Though your father didn’t eventually accept Philippe’s findings about his father, it is interesting that he took on this assignment with Hundertwasser to deal with his own guilt and to get as far away as possible from Europe, where his father committed war crimes.
Can you explain this seemingly divided stance?
FRIDERICA: I believe that deep down, my father knows that his father was a mass murderer. He must feel the guilt in his soul even more than I – and I felt it deeply for a long time. His mother was and still is the most important person in his life. His mission seems to be to fulfill her legacy by glorifying his father. He barely remembers his father, but because of his love for his mother, who only spoke fondly of her husband, he is unwilling to see the evil things both did.
If we take the generation that came before us, I believe it is tough for the children of perpetrators to differentiate their parents’ actions. For the grandchildren, it is easier because they are more distant from their grandparents than their parents. On the other hand, they are still close enough to them to be directly affected: often, they still knew their grandparents personally, as both you and I did in the case of our grandmothers. It is a heavy burden to have ancestors with such a history, especially when it affects so many victims.
At first, it might be much easier to avoid asking further questions and maintain the belief that one’s ancestors were good people—no one wants to have bad people in their family. That is why so many descendants of perpetrators find excuses for their ancestors.
JULIE: I am familiar with this complicated stance of a parent unable to accept the reality of their parents’ complicity in the Third Reich and the Holocaust while being deeply wounded by it. I also know from my own experience of being the granddaughter of a perpetrator that tracing the beginning of one’s feelings of guilt and shame and explaining how they came about is an elusive quest.
When would you say you became aware of your feelings, and how did they develop?
FRIDERICA: Since early childhood, I felt a dark burden upon me, which I could not describe exactly, and I didn´t know where it came from. For a long time, I didn't know much about my grandfather. I only knew that he had been a Nazi and a governor and that, according to the family, he was “an important man.” I didn't want to hear my father's views since he idealized his parents. I was aware that what he said couldn't be true because I had also learned about the Nazi era at school. I still vividly remember watching Schindler's List for the first time when I was sixteen. It left me deeply depressed. Twenty years later, I learned that my grandfather ordered the establishment of the Cracow ghetto portrayed in the film.
The first time my father spoke openly about his father, Otto, was when I was around seventeen years old. He insisted he was a good man, which made me angry because I couldn't believe him. How could a high-ranking Nazi be a good person? The result was massive emotions of guilt.
It all culminated when I turned eighteen, and I became severely mentally ill for the first time in my life. Subsequently, I had to be hospitalized on multiple occasions. It took me a lot of therapy to find out that my illness was connected to the deeds of my grandparents.
JULIE: When you were young, your situation must have been made even more difficult because your parents separated when you were five, and you ended up spending years in the Austrian castle, Schloss Haggenberg in Austria, which your father purchased with the inheritance he received from his mother.
Did you have any influences that could provide a counterbalance?
FRIDERICA: My mother, Jacqueline, was the daughter of a well-known Swedish journalist, Gösta Ollén, who wrote for the daily newspaper, “Expressen.” For some years, he worked personally for the Bonnier family as a correspondent in Berlin. The Bonnier family is of Jewish descent and has a strong anti-fascist stance. To this day, it owns “Expressen.” In Berlin, my Swedish grandfather befriended Willy Brandt, who lived in exile in Norway during the war and later became the first Chancellor of West Germany to express remorse for Nazi crimes publicly. Early on, I learned from my mother that my grandmother was a Nazi. She was ashamed of being part of such a family and didn't want to know or talk much about it.
My mother became increasingly uncomfortable after moving to my grandmother's Tyrolean farmhouse in Austria. When she realized how much her mother-in-law, Charlotte, still adhered to Nazi ideology, she became depressed. As a result, my parents moved to Italy, where I spent a few carefree years in kindergarten. This move was liberating for my mother, but my father had an overly symbiotic relationship with his mother and couldn't stay away from her for long, spending most of his time in Tyrol with her. This was one of the reasons for my parents' divorce. Charlotte even wanted to seek custody of me and kept me away from my mother for half a year when I had to live with her in Tyrol. She locked me in the toilet “to save me” when my mother came to the house from Italy to retrieve me. Charlotte still had the attitude of a general’s wife and insisted on being addressed as “Frau Baronin.”
After my mother got custody, we stayed in the Salzburg region for my first school year. After that, we moved to Italy again with her then-Italian husband. But because of their eventual breakup (we fled from him), we moved from Italy to Stockholm, where we stayed for half a year. From this period, I learned what it means to be on the run because we literally lived on the streets for two weeks until we reached Stockholm.
My father purchased Schloss Hagenberg with his inheritance, which may partly have consisted of funds obtained through looted art. My mother and I moved there when I was ten after we left Sweden.
When I was fifteen, my mother attempted to break free from my father one last time and once again fled to Stockholm with me. We shared a room in a hotel. The state paid for us—we had very little money. As my mother was not doing well mentally, this was not easy. I became depressed there: I had no friends and felt lonely in my puberty. I couldn't bring myself to start over somewhere else with new friends, so I fled from Sweden back to my father, whom I loved. I knew very little about my grandfather then and didn’t like living in the big city—I had always lived in the countryside and found life in the big city superficial.
My mother did not want to live in Sweden without me, so she finally returned to Austria. I lived at Schloss Hagenberg until I came of age.
JULIE: So, like me, you were surrounded by the ghosts of Nazism in your childhood and formative years, but how did you eventually learn about the details of your grandfather’s role, and what did you learn?
FRIDERICA: After his death, through her connections, Charlotte managed to erase her deceased husband from history. This served her well, as, until Philippe’s book, The Ratline, in 2021, only specific historians knew the significance of Otto von Wächter.
The story is complex, so bear with me. It shows in how many fields my grandparents influenced so many in a bad way. Each time I explain it, I realize how hard it was for a grandchild to get along in life without falling out of personal balance.
I need to return to my great-grandfather, Josef Wächter, a son of landowners in the Sudetenland, the former German part of today’s Czech Republic, which belonged to Austria before WWI. He pursued a career as a high-ranking Austro-Hungarian military officer and politician and was granted the noble title “Freiherr” due to his participation in military campaigns in present-day Ukraine. After WWI, He was appointed Minister of Defence in the young Republic of Austria. As the sole male heir, I think Otto faced an impossible challenge: a father figure he tried to live up to throughout his life.
As a committed Nazi from the very beginning, my grandfather took part in anti-Semitic attacks for which he was arrested. He became an early member of the Nazi party and a chief training leader at the "Reich Leadership School" in Munich, where he met Hitler long before he took power.
In contrast to Germany, Austria did not undergo a direct transition from democracy to dictatorship. Instead, for five years, there was a Catholic-fascist dictatorship that has not been thoroughly addressed to this day. In this atmosphere, Josef and Otto became leading members of a conspiratorial organization called “Der Deutsche Club” (The German Club), a think tank of German nationalistic intellectuals and people who had long been connected in political Catholic circles. As an attorney for the Nazi party, my grandfather was deeply involved and became the main organizer of the coup against the then Catholic-fascistic dictator, Dollfuß, who was murdered. His early death led to a kind of saint worship, and Otto fled to Berlin, where he worked at the Security Service of the Reichsführer-SS. This was a paramilitary organization and intelligence agency under the leadership of Heinrich Himmler, responsible for intelligence gathering, espionage, and surveillance. There, he came into close contact with people who eventually became the masterminds behind the Holocaust, such as Heydrich, Eichmann, and others.
My grandparents stood right behind Hitler when he delivered his speech at the “Heldenplatz.” Otto became State Secretary to Seyss-Inquart, the man who organized the Nazi coup of Austria and was also subsequently appointed Prime Minister. Seyss-Inquart became my father’s godfather, from whom Otto even got his second name, “Arthur.” My grandparents gave one another what each wanted. My grandmother, Charlotte, came from the steel magnate family Bleckmann from Mürzzuschlag in the Austrian Alps. She obtained a coveted noble title through her marriage, and Otto gained wealth and connections that advanced his career.
In his new role, Otto removed officials from the Austrian government apparatus who were not considered reliable by the Nazi regime, including all officials declared Jews. These dismissals doomed many of those affected directly to concentration camps and death. Around 15,000 people lost their jobs, income, or even worse.
As part of the occupation of Poland, my grandfather was appointed the Governor of the Cracow District. There, he oversaw the execution of fifty Polish hostages as a retaliatory action for a lethal attack on two German soldiers by the Polish resistance in Bochnia. This execution, which took place on the personal orders of Hitler, was the first of its kind and set a precedent for all such subsequent hostage executions by the Nazis in the occupied territories. As chief of the civil administration in his district, my grandfather was also responsible for all actions against Polish and Jewish persons dismissed from the administration. This included committing them to forced labor and confiscating their land and homes. In May 1940, Otto ordered thousands of Jews to leave Cracow, ordering the establishment of the Cracow Ghetto, which became known through Schindler's List.
In Poland, my grandmother, who was very concerned with the wealth she could accumulate from her husband’s rising position, looted art from the National Museum. Later, she took most of it with her to Austria. Some of it is still missing, including a famous Bruegel painting.
In early 1942, my grandfather became the Governor of the District of Galicia. Although Himmler offered him the opportunity to be transferred to Vienna, he chose to remain in Lemberg, assuming the responsibilities of the civil administration in the "Great Action" for the extermination of Jews in the District of Lemberg (current day Lviv, Ukraine). Consequently, he bears direct responsibility for at least half a million Holocaust victims in his administrative area.
Besides all the looting, forced labor, and his role in organizing the Holocaust, my grandfather also initiated the formation of the 14th Waffen Grenadier Division of the SS (Galician No. 1), consisting of Ukrainian volunteers—he was the driving force behind it. Toward the war’s end, this unit, renamed the Ukrainian Insurgent Army, became involved in numerous war crimes. Shockingly, as of 2020, right-wing nationalists in Ukraine continued to celebrate its members as "heroes for the homeland.” Even more shockingly, in South Austria, where this unit fought, there still are official monuments honoring this SS division under its new name, the Ukrainian Insurgent Army. At the same time, it is just as important to acknowledge that Russia’s claim that it is ‘fighting fascism’ in its current war is a perversion.
In 1944, Otto achieved the rank of SS-Gruppenführer. After the Red Army captured the District of Galicia in the summer, he became a full-time SS leader, and Himmler appointed him Lieutenant General of the Police. Later, he assumed the position of Military Administrator in German-occupied Northern Italy as the contact man between the Nazi-supported Mussolini puppet regime and the Wehrmacht. In the closing stages of World War II, he was responsible for Eastern Affairs in the Reich Main Security Office in Berlin.
After the war, he spent three years on the run in the Austrian Alps, after which he disappeared to Rome, where, for some months, he lived under the protection of Bishop Alois Hudal at the Vatican. Hudal was himself on the payroll of the US Security Service and a key organizer of the “ratline,” the escape route for former Nazis to both Americas. My grandfather died in 1949, most probably from an infection, having escaped justice “in the arms of Bishop Hudal,” as the Bishop himself wrote to my grandmother. In his book, Philippe shows that Otto was on the way to being recruited by the U.S. as a future senior adviser in its fight against communism and the Soviet Union.
JULIE: Thank you for sharing that harrowing story. When I listen to you tell it, I reflect that, in my case, I chose to research and expose my grandparents’ history. In your case, this was not your choice. Instead, your choice lay mainly in how to relate to the facts exposed by Philippe’s work.
What did this process look like, and how do you feel about it?
When I first saw Philippe's film, as a daughter, I felt the need to protect my father and defend him. It wasn't until I listened to his podcast released by the BBC that I realized he was only interested in the truth and not in seeking revenge. One must not forget that this is also a personal story for Philippe. More than eighty members of his family were killed in Lemberg under my grandfather’s governorship in Galicia. He and I are in the same generation, the grandchildren, and when I realized the integrity of his work, I contacted him.
It is so important to know the truth, and I am thankful to Philippe for writing The Ratline, which is based on the documents my father, despite his resistance to the idea that his father, Otto, was personally responsible for any atrocities, allowed the Washington Holocaust Museum to archive digitally.
As a close relative, it would have been too distressing for me to find out the details of the story on my own, not in my poor mental condition and without any support. It is also important to remember that, not so long ago, conducting such research via the Internet was impossible, so even if I had been fit to conduct the research, it would not have been easy when I was younger.
After my father donated the scans of the documents (after Philippe’s 2015 documentary, My Nazi Legacy), my father shared the originals with me. I was paralyzed, and I couldn’t deal with this tower of papers that he put in front of me on the table without further explanation. I didn’t even know they existed. I could not read my grandfather’s handwriting in an old script. The story was too close to me, and it was hard to understand the history without knowing the background. My husband, Galib, was the first person to begin helping me with this.
JULIE: Do you think your father subconsciously wanted you to do the work on his behalf?
FRIDERICA: Yes, I think he wanted me to take care of his guilt for him. At least he wanted me to be on his side. At some point, he mentioned to me that he gave me the name Magdalena from Mary Magdalene, the sinner saint, so that I would atone for the sins of my ancestors. That's why I prefer to be called Friderica, my second name.
JULIE: I don’t think one can absolve another person of guilt. That is a never-ending rat-wheel that I have had to remind myself constantly not to jump onto again. Each person has to do their own work.
That said, you are the only member of your family to support Philippe’s findings publicly. Soon, you’ll be joining him as, once again, he receives recognition for his work, this time the Honorary Prize of the Austrian Book Industry for Tolerance in Thinking and Action.
One of the more challenging aspects of publicly endorsing truths such as those Philippe exposed is the varying reactions of extended family, which, in my experience, can be extreme.
What were your extended family’s reactions and how did they impact you?
The immediate consequence of my statement that my grandfather was a mass murderer, which is the last sentence of The Ratline, was that my father practically disinherited me by selling his castle well below its value, virtually giving it away to people involved in real estate. He now lives there with the current owners and vehemently defends his parents. He is obsessed with the idea that there are representations of some mystical numbers of the Jewish genesis in the castle. Unsurprisingly, no one is interested in this. The new owners act as if the castle's history has no connection to my father and try to market it as an esoteric spiritual holiday retreat. Unfortunately, it is common in Austria to try to conceal such things and to overlay them with entirely different, harmless narratives, often with spiritual or religious connotations. My grandmother did the same when she suddenly became an ultra-devout Catholic until her death. However, as she mentioned in a tape recording to a friend, inwardly, she remained a devoted Nazi.
The story that her husband was a good person still dominates large parts of the family. After a video of me was shown on Austrian television, I received a few hate-filled phone calls from family members accusing me of trying to make myself important.
JULIE: Unfortunately, I’m familiar with those types of reactions.
You mentioned the subject of faith, which I’d like to turn to now. In 2012, you embraced Islam. What led you to do so, and what has Islam brought to your life?
FRIDERICA: My grandmother transitioned from National Socialism directly to Catholicism after the war. For her, there was no apparent contradiction. From her perspective, it automatically absolved her of all sins, and she could continue as before.
Since I spent much time with her as a child, I developed a genuine belief in God. But, at the age of fourteen or fifteen, I found that my belief was no longer compatible with the Catholic Church due to the many cases of child abuse and other misconduct. I later left the Church.
The belief in one God has always stayed with me. In 2006, I got to know Islam through an acquaintance, but after a year, I was repelled by it. I thought it was mainly about adhering to certain rules, a perspective heavily influenced by Wahhabism, which forbids everything sensual—art, music and other forms of self-expression. Today, I know that Wahhabism is a relatively recent movement within Islam, which claims to represent a kind of "original Islam" but is a construct based on narrow interpretations. Geopolitically, this form of Islam receives significant support, especially from the United States, which is militarily and economically allied with several countries in which this form of Islam is dominant, especially Saudi Arabia. This makes it difficult for Islam's more traditional, broad, and multifaceted interpretations to assert themselves.
During one of my periods of illness, I had an insight that brought me back to Islam. I felt a strong desire to become a Muslim, but this time, I wanted to follow my heart and not the many pieces of advice from others. Later, I met my husband, Galib. Through him and his spiritual teacher, Oruç Güvenc, I learned about Sufism, the old mystical tradition within Islam that has significantly influenced mainstream Islam for centuries. Sufism has been important to my recovery, and Galib has played a significant role. He has experience with Nazi forbears and is active in interfaith dialogue.
Narrow-minded representatives of Islam have often opposed Sufism, and it has faced challenges, especially in the last two hundred years. However, more and more people in countries with a Muslim majority are realizing its importance. Sadly, nothing seems immune to misuse, and there is a coopting of religion for political purposes.
JULIE: Your perspective as a Muslim who has coped with the legacy of Nazism in the family provokes interconnected questions: What is it like being a Muslim in Austria and in a western world where both Islamophobia and anti-Semitism are increasing? How can you explain rising Holocaust denial despite all the efforts that have been put into education and remembrance? What special insights can you, as a Muslim with your family history so closely tied to the Holocaust, offer?
Across Europe, right-wing political parties are agitating against refugees, primarily Muslims. To make matters worse, the refugees are now accused of importing anti-Semitism into Europe. As a Muslim living in Austria, I experience a certain level of disdain directed towards me because I wear a headscarf. Even individuals one might expect to be open-minded due to their education and involvement in the art world show hostility towards me. The fact that dark-skinned Muslim women are most often singled out for such insults indicates that there is an underlying racism.
The accusation that Muslims are now being burdened with the invention of anti-Semitism further makes us targets of hatred. Simultaneously, as Islamophobia grows, so does anti-Semitism, as these are historically interconnected. It's impossible to combat one without addressing the other. It becomes even more absurd when right-wing and far-right groups, whose intellectual forebears propagated anti-Semitism up to the Holocaust, unleash their racism on Muslims while pretending to “support Israel.” This is also practiced by right-wing Christian movements and parties, making it challenging to maintain a clear perspective.
Islam does not have an inherent, universally endorsed, theologically-based anti-Semitism like Christianity, which played a significant role in its development. Both Catholics and Protestants, Martin Luther himself notably among them, contributed to the long-standing association of anti-Semitism with religion, as it served as a means of supporting authority. I don't like to speak ill of my former faith, but these are clear facts. I can understand well why Vienna's Theodor Herzl saw the establishment of a separate state for Jews as the only way out. Unfortunately, this history has not been sufficiently reflected upon and addressed.
This is not to deny that there is, unfortunately, also anti-Semitism among Muslims, especially in regions affected by the Middle East conflict. However, one must distinguish between this new political anti-Semitism among Muslims and the absence of a fundamental, theological basis for anti-Semitism in Islam. Nevertheless, this new form of anti-Semitism is just as harmful as the old European version and should be consistently identified and combated.
I hope my family's history can offer a unique perspective of these challenges and that my insights can contribute to meaningful discussions and solutions. Like fascism, racism has many faces. “Never again” must be meant for all people in every part of the world. I feel that sometimes we are stuck in a ceremonial “remembrance culture” at the same time as expressing hatred toward migrants, Muslims, or whomever. Instead, I think we have to develop a culture of responsibility.
JULIE: I am with you there, which leaves us with the question of how we develop a culture of responsibility. I the arts must play an essential role as they help us to explore complexity, a prerequisite for the emergence of a culture of responsibility.
Art and music play a significant role in your life. You also draw upon them to help others heal. Can you describe your work and practice?
FRIDERICA: I studied tapestry and painting at Vienna’s Academy of Fine Arts. Through art, painting, and drawing, I found a way to express my emotions, allowing me to channel my inner feelings and experiences onto the canvas. Initially, I mainly painted people, including my children, and later shifted my focus to objects that fascinated me. My aim in art is not to depict the subject matter as realistically as possible but to reduce it to its essence.
While teaching art at several schools, I completed training as a life and social counselor using the "Clay Field" method, which involves working with sculpting clay in a tray, using bare hands to express oneself and bring about personal change. This tactile method was immensely helpful in processing the burden of my family's history.
I run a creative workshop in a project for young unemployed women. I’ve also accompanied my husband, a musician, music therapist, and professor in our Rahmi Oruç Tekke Ensemble for the past seven years.
Art in all its forms touches people on multiple levels and reaches different aspects of their personality. Authoritarian regimes and extremist groups in various religions often seek to control or even ban art precisely because it cannot be controlled and has the potential to free the inner self. This poses a threat to them. The healing power of art cannot be constrained.
JULIE: You bring me back to another of the psychologist’s comments on the podcast recently made about my work, which was that, above all, Nazism tried to destroy love among people. So much of your story is about restoring that broken link to oneself and others. I am so grateful for all you do and for being in this conversation with me.
Friderica’s links:
haptischegestaltbildung.blogspot.com
Link to the recent podcast with me (Swedish only). For other podcasts in English, please see https://www.julielindahl.com/events--media.html:
thank you for this insightful conversation!
Thank you very nuch for this wonderful conversation with such a thoughtful and courageous person. It gives me and other readers a lot to think about. All the best.