It didn’t come as a surprise, because he’d observed the growing dissatisfaction for several weeks now and sensed the students were up to something. He just hadn’t expected the revolt to come so soon. After the glorious inauguration students had believed in a bed of roses. But with the promotion of communist propaganda being disseminated throughout the departments, rumblings among them had increased daily.
Werner had discussed this issue with Norbert, but as always, the answer had been rehashed lines of party wisdom, rather than substantial advice he could use in practice.
He sighed, some days he felt so disheartened. Deceived even. His aspirations for a democratic socialist rule in Germany, as touted by Stalin and his followers, had turned out to be nothing but illusions. Communism has let you down. He quickly shook his head. Traitorous thoughts like this transported a person to a Gulag faster than he could blink.
“Quiet, please,” he called out as he took his place at the professor’s podium. His gaze wandered across the members of the student board. It consisted of one dozen communist hardliners and another dozen carefully screened men and women from other parties. Three each were Social Democrats and Christian Democrats, one girl belonged to the Liberal Democrats and the rest had no party affiliation, but all of them were considered fervent anti-fascists. None of them had ever belonged to the NSDAP, and some, like Georg, had even been victimized at the hands of the Nazis.
A part of him could understand their plight, but of course he couldn’t let them know this. Norbert had been clear in his instructions to nip the threatening revolt in the bud. The noise ebbed away and he said, “May the chairman of the student board please speak up?”
Georg stood, his brown hair tousled from desperately running his hand through it. It was a gesture Werner had observed in the other man many times, when he disliked a situation. “We are here to officially protest flying the Soviet flag atop our university. We’re not a Soviet institution.”
Werner sighed with relief. This would be a lot easier to appease than he’d feared. “This is only temporary. The flag was raised to celebrate the upcoming first anniversary of the liberation of Berlin. All of you should be grateful for the great sacrifices of the Red Army to return freedom to their German brothers.”
Looking into the faces of the students, he realized that his argument wasn’t having the intended effect. He needed to present a different angle. “In fact, everyone in this room should be proud,” he let his eyes rest on each of them before he continued, “for your contribution to bring down Hitler’s fascist regime.”
Several of the communist students clapped their hands as if on cue. Werner suppressed a smile. “But seeing that your own efforts haven’t been sufficiently appreciated, I’ll suggest to General Sokolov to fly the German flag besides the Soviet one in united friendship.”
There was a low murmur in the lecture hall, but nobody dared to openly oppose his peace-offering.
Georg raised his voice again, “We also protest the political indoctrination in all fields of study.”
This accusation was much more difficult to counter, and Werner thought for a moment. Georg was a bright young man and would easily see through the usual distortion of facts used by the propaganda department.
He decided to revert to a proven tactic and said, “There must be some misunderstanding. The Soviet Commandant personally has endorsed the reopening of Berlin University with great personal, material and financial effort. The best professors have been chosen to teach the fields of natural sciences, philosophy, medicine, veterinary, agriculture, law and theology.”
He paused for effect and once again met the eyes of each individual in the room. “You are the brightest men and women of your generation, destined to continue the fight against fascism and the…” he caught himself before saying imperial West and opted to omit the dig against the class enemy. “…plutocracy. United we stand strong and can overcome a dozen years of unlawful Nazi-regime. This is the very reason why the Soviet Union, and we, the new democratic Berlin administration, place such great emphasis upon education.”
But Georg didn’t relent. “There is no misunderstanding, Herr Böhm. We are displeased at the amount of propaganda promoted at this university. We are students of our relative disciplines, none of us signed up for politics. The Soviet misinformation has permeated our subjects and become part and parcel of the arts and sciences we study. In this way, incorrect data is included in subjects and distorts the truths of our topics. It is also noticed that any printed material that is considered undesirable is being redacted and eliminated, and replaced with communist dogma to ensure that the Soviet ideological spin is put on every published item.”
Werner had the strongest foreboding that Georg wouldn’t end well. Too eager was the young man to stand up for his beliefs and defend the newly acquired liberties of the German students. But he shoved the nasty feeling aside and concentrated on the task at hand.
Right now, it was of paramount importance that he quieten the rising discontent before it became uncontainable. From his own experience he knew that the decision makers in Moscow weren’t squeamish in their treatment of perceived dissenters. Couldn’t these students understand that for their own sakes it was best to keep their mouths shut?
“I trust you have evidence to back up your accusations,” Werner asked, and Georg held up a fat file in response.
“Rest assured, we have discussed these unnecessary inclusions thoroughly, and demand an immediate stop to this insidious, destructive scheme to turn us into a generation of communists. We students are questioning whether the Soviets really want a democratic Germany.”
“Yes, of course this is what we want for Germany. Surely our praise for our system is being misconstrued,” argued Werner, desperate to defuse the current of discontent. “We are all going through a transitional phase. This university is a prime example of the Soviet initiative to rebuild your nation. Quality, free education is being imparted here. Where else will you find such commitment and generosity?”
Since his arrival in Berlin almost a year earlier, so many things had happened and bit by bit had chipped away at his belief in Stalin’s infallibility, but that didn’t mean that Werner had stopped believing in the superiority of the socialist way. Once the transition period was over, everyone would accept that Socialism was the only system giving its citizens liberty, wealth and participation and was certainly preferable to living under a totalitarian capitalist regime.
“Incidentally, the Americans are offering to sponsor a university in their sector,” a spunky redhead called Lotte Klausen said.
Werner perked up his ears. It was the first time he had heard of plans for such a bold transgression of the quadripartite agreement. He made a mental note to inform Norbert about the newest American atrocity, before he fixed his gaze on the young woman. “I would advise the exercise of extreme caution when dealing with Americans. Their country is a bastion of imperial oppression, an evil and corrupt reigning class in the death throes of capitalism.”
“More Soviet propaganda!” a tall, skinny man with blond curly hair shouted from the back. Werner recognized him as Julian Berger, a student of chemistry.
He raised his hand to stop the hecklers, all dying to voice their viewpoints. It was time to stop the charade. Any further deviation from the dictates of the official doctrine would merit a trial, and if he couldn’t contain the subversive remarks within this room, there’d soon be blood on the walls.
“I will certainly look into the matter and consult the Board of Directors who will, I’m sure, investigate and put a stop to any issues that distract from the peace and good intentions of the institution. This meeting is over. Thank you for your time and interest,” Werner said with a tone that left no doubt this was his last word on the matter.