The Complete History of Germany | From Germania to the Three Reichs

Embark on an epic journey through the centuries, exploring the fascinating and complex history of Germany. This narrative begins in the mists of antiquity, with the barbarian tribes of Germania who challenged the mighty Roman Empire, forging the first myths of a national identity. It traverses the era of the medieval emperors of the Holy Roman Empire, a political entity that would shape the heart of Europe for nearly a millennium, and witnesses the rise of Prussia as a military and intellectual power. This tale is marked by titanic figures, from Charlemagne to Bismarck, and by events that changed the course of humanity.

The journey analyzes in detail the turbulent 20th century, a defining period that culminated in the catastrophic Three Reichs. Understand the causes and consequences of the First World War, the fragile democracy of the Weimar Republic, and the rise to power of the Third Reich under the ominous figure of Adolf Hitler. The Second World War and the Holocaust represent the darkest chapter of this history, a legacy that Germany assumes with profound responsibility. The subsequent division of the country during the Cold War, symbolized by the Berlin Wall, and its miraculous reunification in 1990, close this cycle of boom and tragedy.

Finally, this complete history not only looks to the past but illuminates the present. Modern Germany, as a leading economic power in the European Union and a pillar of global stability, is the direct result of this tortuous path. Knowing this journey, from its tribal origins to its current role on the world stage, is essential to understanding not only the German nation but the very forces that have shaped Western civilization. It is a lesson in resilience, responsibility, and rebirth.

Welcome to The Kommandant, where you’ll delve into exclusive documentaries on the Second World War. Explore firsthand accounts, impactful imagery, and in-depth analysis of the events that shaped the course of world history.
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🎵Music Played on this video & Channel:

‘Catalyst’ by Scott Buckley – released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au

‘Goliath’ by Scott Buckley – released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au

‘The Long Dark’ by Scott Buckley – released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au

‘Discovery’ by Scott Buckley – released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au

‘Emergent’ by Scott Buckley – released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au

‘Rise Above’ by Scott Buckley – released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au

‘This Too Shall Pass’ by Scott Buckley – released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au

‘Chasing Daylight’ by Scott Buckley – released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au

‘Vanguard’ by Scott Buckley – released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au

‘Ignis’ by Scott Buckley – released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au

‘The Vision’ by Scott Buckley – released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au

‘The Spaces Between’ by Scott Buckley – released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au

‘Ascension’ by Scott Buckley – released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au

‘The Call’ by Scott Buckley – released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au

‘Terminus’ by Scott Buckley – released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au

The Romans called Germania those untamed lands beyond the Rine, inhabited by waring tribes that resisted the power of the empire. For more than a thousand years, this region in the heart of Europe was the scene of continuous transformations, fragmentation and unity, empires and kingdoms, religious wars and industrial revolutions. From that soil emerged figures such as Luther who defied Rome, Frederick the Great, who consolidated Prussian discipline and Bismar who achieved unification in the 19th century. Hitler interpreted this trajectory as an unfinished mission. He saw the defeat of 1918 and the Treaty of Versailles as a humiliation that needed to be repaired. Therefore, he exalted Germanic myths and symbols of the past, projecting a vision in which Germany should occupy a central place on the continent. After the years of the Third Reich and the devastation of World War II, the country found a new direction. Divided first into two waring states and finally reunited in 1990, Germany emerged as a solid democracy, becoming the economic and political engine of Europe. What is the true history of Germany? The origins of the German race from Arminius to Luther. From the earliest written records, the German imagination found in the ancient Germanic tribes a mirror of its identity. Among them, the figure of Arminius emerged as an emblem of independence from Rome. According to accounts collected by later authors, the Cheruskan leader managed to rally scattered forces, utilize his knowledge of the terrain, and set ambushes that forced the empire to retreat. Although accounts vary, the episode in the Tutterberg forest became over the centuries a symbol of unity, courage, and resilience. During the rise of nationalism, German historians and thinkers revived Arminius as an ethnic hero, presenting him as the initiator of Germanic destiny. In speeches, sculptures, and school illustrations, he was placed at the beginning of a chain that would lead centuries later to the emergence of a people destined for greatness. Over time, the idea of an ancestral Germanic community became intertwined with the history of the Holy Roman Empire, which although marked by internal disputes and territorial fragmentation, served as a political and religious structure to affirm continuity between the tribal past and the European Christian heritage. For centuries, German emperors maintained ties with Rome, negotiated with the papacy, and attempted to control various principalities. Although in practice the empire lacked centralization, its image was reused in the 20th century as an example of a glorious past yet to be fully realized. Some modern ideologues described the Holy Roman Empire as a primitive expression of a collective will that needed to be fulfilled. The idea of a spiritual community of a supernational order under Germanic leadership understood as a civilizing force was exalted. Along the same historical path, the 16th century offered another key figure to fuel the narrative of origin and destiny, Martin Luther. His confrontation with Rome was reinterpreted as an example of the rebellious and autonomous spirit of the Germans. Although his religious motivations were multiple and complex, over time his figure was simplified to fit the vision of a people who rejected any form of foreign subordination, whether spiritual or political. The act of nailing the thesis at Wittenberg, regardless of its historical accuracy, became a central scene in school textbooks and visual propaganda. It was presented as the moment when an ordinary German, without weapons or a noble title, firmly confronted the greatest power of his time. Luther came to represent proof that the German soul contained within itself the power to bring about great transformations. As this image consolidated, lesserknown aspects of his writings were also revived. In particular, his positions on Jews took on new importance. Later texts by the reformer in which he crudely expressed anti-Semitic ideas were recovered and amplified in the 20th century. For some interpreters, this confirmed that even the founders of national thought had identified internal threats that impeded unity. It emphasized how Luther, after years of failed conversion attempts, ended up proposing exclusionary measures. These passages, which for centuries remained in the background, were selected and disseminated to reinforce the idea that anti-semitism had been part of German tradition since ancient times. This way of looking at the past was the result of decades of reinterpretation, partial selection of facts, and the construction of a linear narrative. Figures such as Arminius, Charles IV, and Luther shared neither time nor purpose, but were placed in a sequence that connected ethnic struggle, imperial greatness, and spiritual purity. Through manuals, lectures, and exhibitions, this chain was presented as a reflection of the German soul. Throughout time, errors, divisions, and contradictions were hidden or minimized. The important thing was to establish a coherent image of the origin where ancient tribal chieftains, Christian emperors, and Protestant reformers appeared as links in a common design. During the ideological expansion of the 20th century, maps, sculptures, and visual reconstructions were used to reinforce this continuity. Migration routes were shown, languages were compared, and physical characteristics were linked to moral attributes. All of this served to construct a mythologized genealogy in which the Germans were portrayed as hardworking, noble, and combative from the very beginning. In this sequence, the Holy Roman Empire, although fragmented, was seen as a rehearsal for a future unity. While the Reformation appeared as a still unfinished spiritual purification, even religious conflicts between Catholics and Protestants were absorbed into the narrative of internal evolution as if the people were in constant search of their definitive form. History teaching was also adapted to serve this vision. Visits to monuments were organized, emblematic dates were memorized, and a heroic reading of the past was promoted. In museums and parades, a selective interpretation was fostered that blurred internal fractures and transformed each historical stage into a preview of the next. This educational strategy did not seek to train specialists, but rather citizens convinced of belonging to a singular lineage. The importance of continuing the unfinished work of their ancestors was emphasized, whether in the territorial, spiritual, or cultural spheres. It was reiterated that past failures were due to external interference or acts of disloyalty, never to one’s own failings. This symbolic construction fueled both collective pride and the justification for contemporary policies. If it was assumed that the German soul existed since ancient times and had been altered or repressed for centuries, then any attempt to restore it could be interpreted as an act of historical justice. political campaigns, integration or exclusion projects, and discourses on national mission relied on references to the Protestant Reformation and the imperial ideal, both shrouded in an aura of antiquity. Present-day decisions were justified as if they responded to the natural course of events. Thus, the narrative of origins became a tool, a slogan, and a guide for action. Chaos, disunityity, and humiliation, history’s warning. The Holy Roman Empire had become a vulnerable patchwork when a conflict erupted that lasted three decades. That war began as a dispute between religious denominations, dynastic claims, and foreign ambitions that found opportunity in a divided Germany. The first fighting erupted in Bohemia, but it soon spread. What seemed like a limited uprising morphed into a continentwide war. Neighboring powers intervened at different times to gain advantage within the chaos. Spain, Sweden, and France moved troops into imperial territory for their own ends. The German prince’s inability to coordinate a common defense allowed foreign forces to raise villages and destroy entire regions. Populations were left unprotected, and peasants fell victim to all sides. Alliances shifted according to each lord’s convenience. No unifying cause or common leadership emerged. The war dragged on without a clear objective simply because no actor managed to impose a lasting solution. For 30 years, central Europe was caught in an uninterrupted sequence of destruction. In vast rural areas, crops were abandoned and hunger became a permanent condition. Disease spread among displaced civilians, undisiplined soldiers, and isolated communities. Mercenary armies subsisted through plunder. They obeyed no firm authority and only remained on campaign if they achieved immediate profit. The population was trapped between mobile fronts that operated without scruples. Those who managed to survive described scenes of burned villages, violated temples, and murdered children. The conflict ceased to be a struggle between powers and became a constant devastation fueled by a lack of cohesion. By the time the peace of West failure was signed, the empire had lost its original political structure. What remained was a loose grouping of territories functioning separately. The signing of the agreements did not represent a triumph for the Germans, but rather a way to stem the bleeding. France and Sweden achieved concrete benefits. In contrast, the imperial states became more fragmented. Each prince strengthened his local control and prevented any further attempts at concentrating power. Religious coexistence was permitted, but territorial disorganization persisted. That war left a clear image for those who came after him. The memory of a country destroyed by a failure to act as a unit was later taken up by those who sought to impose unity by force. Internal division began to be seen as a recurring cause of collective misfortune. Specific confrontations and signed negotiations were no longer emphasized, but rather the void left by the lack of cohesion. In the following century, that warning was ignored until a new blow shook the German world. This time, it was not a religious clash, but an invasion led by a man who advanced with speed and precision. Napoleon not only won militarily, he also reorganized the political landscape in his favor. Imperial structures were eliminated. The Holy Roman Empire disappeared through an administrative act and in its place remained a weak federation created under external pressure. Most regional leaders accepted this transformation. Resistance failed to consolidate. No national leadership emerged capable of confronting the French advance. Prussia, Austria, and other territories acted without coordination. Defeats piled up and the agreements imposed by Napoleon guaranteed his dominance in the heart of the continent. Instead of joint efforts, there were isolated decisions. Instead of organization, obedience to the invader prevailed. The imperial cities saw the French troops marching as if they were their own. The new ideas that came with them further divided the elites. Some interpreted the changes as a necessary modernization. Others associated them with a loss of autonomy. But even those who accepted these transformations could not avoid the feeling of having been redesigned from outside. The new norms, symbols, and laws were not born in their own decision-making centers, but in the French capital. This shock was not limited to the military. It also affected collective representation. The dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire was not the result of an internal rebellion or a national agreement, but the direct consequence of an order imposed from outside. There was no final battle or widespread defense. Crowns were rearranged and some rulers found advantages in the new order. Even so, the widespread feeling was one of irreparable loss. Over the years, this experience fueled a different impulse. Discontent over the lack of opposition generated a nationalist movement that sought to reinterpret those events. Writers, military personnel, and chronicers began to portray that period as a lost opportunity. They spoke of broken alliances, of pacivity, of fragmented decisions. The dominant narrative became that of a warning that should be understood as a mandate. The legacy of that time remained not only in institutions but also in the collective memory. A narrative of powerlessness was established that revived minor episodes of defiance and turned its protagonists into examples of isolated courage. The names of littleknown figures who resisted without support were disseminated. A useful image was constructed to demonstrate that a different future required a collective response. As the 19th century progressed, this vision was used as a political justification. The personalities who had experienced the defeat by Napoleon were transformed into symbols. The failure of the past became an argument for plans that aspired to unify the territory. Fragmentation was no longer considered a natural part of the imperial system. It was now described as a problem that had to be eliminated. Both the 30 years war and the French occupation became part of the same narrative. In this reconstruction, Germany was presented as a community that suffered whenever it acted divided. Religious or ideological content was no longer relevant. What mattered was the absence of a common direction. This interpretation was disseminated in schools, newspapers, and military structures. It served to interpret the past and also to prepare for what was to come. Those episodes were not remembered as healed wounds, but as warnings that were still active. The message was clear. Avoiding collapse required acting as a unified body. The Prussian spirit, discipline, power, and unity. In a region marked by fragmentation and conflict, a distinct model of authority, efficiency, and obedience emerged. Prussia consolidated a functional state apparatus in an environment of disunityity and transformed it into an example to follow. From the beginning of the 18th century, this state apparatus began to stand out on the European stage for its rigid organization, centralized administration, and a military structure where each link responded precisely to its task. While other German territories remained stagnant under feudal dynamics, Prussia built a culture of duty that would reshape the sense of belonging in the following centuries. This model expanded with the arrival of Frederick II from 1740. His reign combined territorial ambition, institutional modernization, and concentration of power. Although his war campaigns made him famous, his most lasting impact came from his form of government. He introduced legal changes, better organized the tax system, and limited the privileges of the nobility to impose a more functional structure under his personal direction. His centralized approach did not respond to enlightenment ideals or democratic aspirations, but rather to a logic of continuous vertical command. Military success accompanied this structure. In the war of the Austrian succession, Frederick took Slesia with disciplined troops and well-coordinated logistics overcoming larger forces. This victory consolidated the Prussian kingdom as a firstclass player and projected the image of a meticulous and tenacious ruler. His motto documented in several official texts, emphasized precision as the supreme value. This expression captured the spirit that permeated all ranks of the public and military apparatus. Unlike many European courts, the Prussian court avoided unnecessary luxuries. The reduction of expenses and the accumulation of power in a few hands responded to a vision that prioritized collective functioning. This austerity marked the behavior of officials who were trained to execute orders directly. This logic of obedience extended beyond the state and ended up shaping civilian life. In this environment, work was assumed to be a structural duty. A ruling class was consolidated that responded with systematic loyalty and operated out of established habit. Education played a specific role in this mechanism. Schools prepared individuals adapted to their place in the overall structure. By the 19th century, this system produced entire generations of judges, bureaucrats, teachers, and soldiers who thought and acted in the same direction. discipline extended from the barracks to the classroom and from the classroom to the home without interruption. While in other European countries, enlightenment ideas remained aspirations, in Prussia, they were already implemented as standardized procedures. Some 19th century thinkers began to see in Frederick a figure who represented a model of an impersonal state sustained by methods and structures. He was credited with calculating ability, foresight, and a firm determination to preserve the functioning of his government. These qualities were emphasized by those seeking a solid foundation for the future German nation. His style did not seek charisma or popular support, but rather technical efficiency and sustained order. The organization of the army reinforced this image. The Prussian soldier acted as part of a well-defined system. Every instruction, every formation, and every action followed rigorous training. The uniform represented alignment with the regulations. Sanctions for failures were immediate, and this clarity reinforced a strict routine understood as a positive value. Repeating an act exactly was considered superior to any form of innovation. This idea spread to all levels. Outside the military, Prussian administration also achieved recognition. Procedures followed predefined routes. Waiting times were regulated. Every official knew their responsibilities and to whom they were accountable. This chain of responsibility allowed matters to be resolved quickly and reduced internal conflicts. Citizens upon seeing that the processes were functioning stably developed confidence in an institution separate from personal interests, although always linked to a higher legal authority. Frederick left numerous documents in which he explained his concept of government as a functional task. In one of his best known texts, he stated that the king should act as the primary servant of the administration. This phrase was frequently repeated in official speeches because it summarized the justification for centralized power. From then on, a resultsoriented state ethic was established without resorting to emotional or religious arguments. The important thing was that things worked. This model was internalized by the German population during the 19th century. In schools, Frederick was taught as an example of organization and rational thought. In army manuals, his strategies were part of the curriculum. In public life, his name evoked a form of efficient collective functioning. His figure did not inspire personal devotion, but rather respect for the model he had implemented. His legacy depended not on anecdotes but on structures that demonstrated lasting operational capacity. This logic however imposed constant demands. It reduced the scope for individual initiative and established merit as an adjustment to the whole. Entire generations grew up under rules that rewarded precise execution and limited questioning. During periods of stability, this system delivered visible results. In times of crisis, it provided immediate response mechanisms. This flexibility made the Prussian system a benchmark for those who valued control, continuity, and unbroken expansion. By the close of the 19th century, this structure was already part of the developing German identity. Rules were not imposed from outside, but were embraced as a daily method. Discipline was understood as the basis for functioning in society. Order was integrated into all aspects of public life. In this context, Frederick’s legacy was not limited to the military or political spheres, but had defined a type of citizen who understood freedom as the ability to contribute to the overall functioning with efficiency and consistency. Bismar and the creation of a German Empire. For decades, Germany existed as a constellation of independent states dominated by foreign influences and the rivalry between Austria and Prussia. Beginning in the 1860s, Otto von Bismar, Minister President of Prussia transformed this fragmentation into a project of unification led by military power, not based on liberal principles or parliamentary agreements. For Hitler and national socialism, this process became the founding act of a strong authoritarian nation guided by state interest above any form of idealism. The unification of 1871 was presented as a direct historical precedent for how political order should be imposed through force, strategy, and the concentration of power. Bismar carefully avoided any appeal to abstract sentiments of romantic nationalism. His goal was to ensure Prussia’s primacy over the other German states and definitively exclude Austria from northern German affairs. In this sense, Hitler considered him the true architect of a national unity that broke with the legacy of the Holy Roman Empire, which he perceived as weak and dispersed. The new Germany was formed through calculated wars, first against Denmark in 1864, then against Austria in 1866, and finally against France in 1870. In each of these campaigns, Bismar used conflict as a tool to reconfigure the balance of power in Europe without treating it as an objective in itself. The systematic use of war as a direct political means was adopted by Nazi ideologues as a model of legitimate state action. The proclamation of the German Empire took place in the Hall of Mirrors at the Palace of Versailles in January 1871. There the German princes recognized the king of Prussia as emperor. That moment marked the formal beginning of the Reich and transformed political language. Imperial authority no longer appealed to the consensus of the old order, but was instead sustained by the military superiority demonstrated on the battlefield. From the national socialist perspective, this ceremony on enemy soil symbolized the affirmation of German will against the Western powers, especially France. The humiliation inflicted on the adversary was integrated into the new national narrative and the choice of Versailles as the site of the proclamation was reinterpreted as a manifestation of German historical destiny. The empire that emerged that day was configured as a hierarchical structure with Prussia at the apex. Bismar controlled the imperial parliament through a constitution that granted decisive powers to the chancellor and the emperor. Hitler considered this form of concentrated authority a useful if insufficient precursor to the system he would establish decades later. The figure of the chancellor was subordinated to the trust of the emperor which allowed for maneuvering without institutional constraints. For the Nazi regime, this design offered a historical basis for weakening the legislature and reinforcing personal rule considered more functional than any form of broad political representation. The structure of the new Reich also promoted a restricted model of citizenship. Member states retained certain rights, but foreign policy, defense, and key economic affairs were centralized in Berlin. National symbols such as the black, white, and red flag, and the imperial anthem were reclaimed by German nationalists as emblems of cohesion. In Nazi propaganda, these elements were used as legitimate expressions of Germanic pride. In contrast to the internationalism and cultural deterioration of the post 1918 republican period, the iconography of the second Reich was transformed into a repertoire that fed the narrative of historical continuity. Although Bismar avoided the annexation of Austria, Hitler interpreted his deliberate exclusion from the new empire as an unfinished task. The concept of a German nation without the Southgerermanic peoples represented for national socialists a distortion that needed to be corrected. The unification of 1871 was seen by Hitler as a partial step toward a truly total Reich. The idea of the Anelus with Austria finally realized in 1938 found its symbolic anchor in this founding act. What Bismar left unfinished became a mission to be completed through territorial expansion and the ethnic reconfiguration of the Germanic space. In addition to the territorial component, the unification promoted by Bismar was based on a vision of an authoritarian, conservative and centralized state. There was no formal doctrine beyond the defense of Prussian national interest which allowed for great flexibility in decisionmaking. This ambiguity was exploited by the National Socialists who interpreted this lack of dogma as an indication of superior pragmatism. In their interpretation, the state should act without external moral constraints using the most effective means available, whether diplomatic, military, or economic. Bismar became a figure who lent legitimacy to a policy untethered from any conventional ethical boundaries. The new German Empire, although it promoted certain modernizing reforms, preserved a rigid social structure. The Prussian nobility, the army, and high-ranking officials continued to concentrate power in the government. This continuity was celebrated by conservative sectors of the Third Reich as a sign of firmness in national traditions. In official Nazi speeches, the figure of the Junka, the Prussian military aristocrat, was revived as a model of dedication to the state, discipline, and obedience. The transformation of a collection of fragmented kingdoms into a unified power was presented as a confirmation of a historic task that needed to be completed. From a historical perspective, the proclamation of the Second Reich in 1871 was treated as an act of visual affirmation as well as a political one. Every element of the ceremony from the setting to the protocol obeyed a logic of legitimation that would be replicated by the Third Reich in its own official events. Just as Bismar employed symbolism to consolidate the authority of the new empire, Hitler replicated this formula in his party congresses and military parades. The connection between the founding of the empire and the subsequent vision of the Third Reich was also perceived in the conception of the nation. In both cases, the German people were defined not by a legal agreement, but as a community of destiny bound by blood, sacrifice, and obedience. The preeminence of the army, the subordination of the individual to the state, and the proclamation of a shared mission were elements present in both Bismar’s and Hitler’s narratives. The difference lay in the level of intensity applied to the methods employed to achieve those ends. Overall, the unification of 1871 not only transformed the political map of Europe, but also left a permanent mark on German political thought. For the national socialist regime, this founding event served as a guide in the face of the risks of internal division or foreign interference. Bismar offered the image of an inflexible leader willing to use force and disregard formalities if the result was a powerful nation. The recovery of this figure and this event served as a basis for justifying unrestricted power. Although the second Reich disappeared after the defeat of 1918, it continued to function as a source of symbolic support for the new regime which transformed it into an unfinished stage that had to be completed through absolute leadership and war. Betrayal and defeat, imperial collapse and the wound of Versailles. The trenches marked the final days of the German Empire as its leaders negotiated the end of the war in closed rooms. The spring offensive of 1918 failed to achieve its objective and the exhausted and resource poor German soldiers began to retreat. The high command realized the situation was unsustainable. Ludenorf relinquished control. The Kaiser was absent and pressure was growing in Berlin for an armistice. The troops continued to fight, but defeat was becoming clear. As the Western Front collapsed, new political forces were stirring within the country. Sailors revolted, workers, organized councils, and provisional governments were formed in the cities demanding an end to the conflict. The November Revolution dethroned the emperor and proclaimed a republic. However, for many, this new regime was not born of a legitimate victory, but was perceived as the result of betrayal. Generals and nationalists began to construct a different narrative. Although the surrender was a response to a desperate military situation, the idea that the army had been sabotaged from within soon spread. This accusation did not arise in a vacuum. Defeats were no longer explained by tactical errors or enemy strength, but were instead attributed to a moral collapse brought on by agitators and traitors. This version, known as the stab in the back, became a political formula that avoided assuming direct military responsibility. Socialists, pacifists, Jews, and democrats were blamed for weakening the people’s will to fight. The propaganda that had previously sustained morale in combat was inverted to attack civilians demanding an end to the war. The signing of the armistice took place in a train carriage in Compenya. For the Allies, it was the final step toward peace. For German nationalist factions, it represented an unacceptable humiliation. There was talk of dishonor, of unnecessary surrender, of internal capitulation. The new republic inherited the symbolic burden of that act. Those who participated in the negotiations were stigmatized and turned into accompllices of an unforgivable capitulation. The Vhimar government was born marked by this perception of weakness and defeat. The conditions imposed by the Treaty of Versailles consolidated that narrative. The treaty was greeted with outrage. Harsh territorial restrictions were imposed. The army was dismantled and financial reparations were demanded that stifled the economy. But beyond the material clauses, what fueled resentment the most was the famous guilt clause. Article 231 obliged Germany to accept sole responsibility for the outbreak of the war. This declaration demanded by the victors to justify sanctions was interpreted in Germany as a deliberate insult. public opinion. The military and conservative parties immediately rejected this version of events. They refused to admit that the Reich had unilaterally unleashed the conflict. This rejection fueled new ideologies. Adolf Hitler served in the army during the war and experienced the surrender as a traumatic experience. In his political discourse, the myth of the stab in the back occupied a central place. He repeated that Germany was not defeated on the battlefield but had been brought down by internal enemies. He added names to that list. The Marxists, the leaders of the November Revolution, the parliamentarians who signed the treaty, and above all, the Jews. His discourse combined nationalism, anti-semitism, and conspiracy theories. He presented the defeat as a crime that must be avenged. He did not speak of correcting the mistakes of the war, but rather of restoring a greatness supposedly stolen from within. This narrative resonated deeply. Many veterans shared this feeling of having been deceived. Farright movements repeated the myth as an unquestionable truth. Conservative media reinforced the idea that the new regime had emerged from cowardice. Even in more moderate circles, it was accepted, at least partially, that the empire had collapsed due to internal turmoil. This view spread through popular culture, books, ceremonies, and tributes. Defeat became the symbolic beginning of a promise of resurgence. Throughout the 1920s, the Treaty of Versailles became a symbol of disgrace. The Nazi party’s campaigns used it as a tool of agitation. Hitler promised to enul it, rebuild the army, and recover lost territories. In his speeches, he accused the republic of having betrayed the people and the dead soldiers. He presented his movement as the true continuity of the spirit of the front. Under this logic, those who had fought in the war were the only ones with the legitimacy to rescue the nation. Jews, communists, and democrats were excluded from this vision. They were singled out, those responsible for the collapse. The image of the abandoned combatant acquired a central symbolic value in monuments, marches, and Nazi iconography. The figure of the loyal warrior betrayed by a corrupt rear guard appeared. This image reinforced the narrative of purity in the face of decadence. Internal enemies were described as degenerate, immoral, and disloyal. The fight against them was posed as a moral crusade. It wasn’t just about seizing power. Society had to be cleansed. The defeat of 1918 was no longer interpreted as a military collapse and became the starting point of a founding ideology. This narrative not only distorted the facts but also offered an ideological justification for what was to come. It allowed any opposition to be labeled as collaboration with the enemy. It turned disagreement into treason. Under this logic, censorship, persecution, and violence were normalized. Democratic ideas were dismissed as weak. Parliamentarism was seen as an obstacle to national unity. Leaders of the recent past were presented as instruments of foreign powers. This narrative was a key tool in the rise of Nazism. Its effectiveness depended not on its content but on its ability to activate shared resentments, emotions, and memories. When Hitler came to power, the Treaty of Versailles was one of the first declared targets. Germany was ordered to withdraw from the League of Nations. Rearmament was resumed and the disarmament clauses were denounced. Every step was presented as a way to repair a historical injustice. The regime’s diplomacy was built on this symbolic wound. In parades, in official speeches, in schools, the idea that Germany had been the victim of a massive grievance was repeated. This version not only legitimized power, but also prepared society for new confrontations. The past became an engine of war. The defeat of 1918 had been real, but the prevailing narrative transformed it into an instrument of power. The empire collapsed due to a combination of military attrition, strategic errors, economic collapse, and social pressure. However, Nazism required a simpler story with clear culprits, and extreme solutions. The myth of betrayal offered all of that, and from there, the path to the next catastrophe was charted. VHimar, the chaos that gave rise to the Third Reich. The system established in Germany after the imperial collapse was presented as a formerly democratic structure with a written constitution, universal suffrage, and separation of powers. However, from its earliest stages, the republic faced internal challenges that undermined its stability. The agreement signed by representatives of the new government at the end of the war generated widespread resentment and the institutions that emerged after the armistice of 1918 were perceived by many as impositions born under foreign pressure. The signing of the treaty of Versailles reinforced this image and the political leaders who accepted it were branded as responsible for national dishonor. This perception fueled a rejection of state authority and weakened the legitimacy of the new regime. Nationalist ideas took advantage of this context to spread the notion that the nation had been betrayed from within and that the outcome of the war was not due to military incapacity but rather imposed by internal decisions. This narrative insistently repeated was one of the pillars on which the subsequent discourse of Nazism was built. The economic consequences of the treaty quickly became visible and the population linked impoverishment with the very existence of the new republican system. In the early years, clashes between armed groups, strikes, failed coups, and attacks were frequent. The farright organized insurrection attempts with the support of military sectors that never recognized the new authority as legitimate. At the same time, the revolutionary left attempted to impose a different model inspired by the Soviets that directly challenged parliamentarism. The VHimar administration had to implement emergency measures to contain the violence, but this meant weakening its own democratic principles. Presidents could rule by decree during exceptional situations, and this tool was used with increasing frequency. This ambiguity between formal legality and practical authoritarianism was a constant throughout the regime’s existence. Popular discontent intensified with each economic crisis and the state failed to build a solid foundation of trust. The middle classes, especially vulnerable to financial fluctuations, began to identify democracy with chaos, inflation, unemployment, and external humiliation. Traumatic experiences left a deep mark. The hyperinflation of 1923, for example, was not just a monetary catastrophe, but was experienced as a widespread dispossession. The value of money evaporated overnight, life savings became worthless, and the basic rules of exchange were shattered. This experience destroyed the sense of predictability and security in the economy and generated a permanent distrust of liberal solutions. Although some recovery was achieved during the second half of the decade, the memory of the catastrophe remained etched. Many interpreted this moment as proof that the new order was not working. Furthermore, a widespread impression of moral decay accompanied the political crisis. In the cities, especially in Berlin, lifestyles emerged that shocked more traditional sectors. Art, theater, literature, and music took on provocative tones. The body and desire appeared naturally in public spaces and social criticism became part of the entertainment scene. This environment was interpreted by many as a sign of cultural collapse and became a recurring argument for those seeking to restore conservative values. In the speeches of the National Socialists, the republic was portrayed as a failed experiment that should be completely eradicated. The combination of economic liberalism, parliamentarism, and cultural tolerance was associated with decadence, weakness, and fragmentation. The adversaries were clearly defined. Jews were presented as promoters of destructive modernity, communists as responsible for chaos and social democrats as accompllices in surrender. This rhetorical construction was effective because it appealed to intense emotions, rage, humiliation, desire for order, and need for identity. Anti-semitism was not only expressed in the form of racial hatred, but also functioned as a political narrative that attributed to Jews control of banking, media, commerce, and the arts. The figure of the Jewish intellectual represented everything the new order sought to eliminate. This manian logic worked well in a context where the population sought simple explanations for complex situations. Party fragmentation within the parliamentary system made the formation of stable governments difficult. Coalitions quickly dissolved and elections were frequent. This gave the impression that no one was in control and that important decisions were postponed. As the crisis of the 1930s worsened, the use of presidential decrees became the norm. Parliament lost real weight and the figure of the president gained prominence. The republic continued to exist in formal terms, but its actual functioning no longer responded to the democratic ideal. This institutional deterioration coincided with the rise of the National Socialist Party, which knew how to channel discontent with authoritarian proposals. People did not support detailed ideas, but were carried away by emotions, striking gestures, and promises of restoration. Mass rallies and carefully designed stagecraft aroused more support than any parliamentary speech. The rejection of pluralism became understandable to broad sectors of the population who believed it necessary for the country to move forward under a single direction. In the cultural sphere, Vhimar’s urban life became an object of both fascination and repulsion. Berlin was home to cabarets, performance halls, illustrated magazines, and films that explored sexuality, violence, and the forbidden. This environment attracted artists from around the world, but it was also used as an example by those who denounced moral corruption. Reactionary propaganda selected urban scenes to illustrate a supposed crisis of values. The association between cosmopolitanism and degeneration became a powerful tool to justify the rejection of the present. Meanwhile, in rural areas, the contrast with life in the big cities fueled the feeling that the republic was dominated by elites alien to traditional values. This division between countryside and city was exploited by nationalist discourse which exalted the land, the family, and the community as antidotes to decay. Universities, newspapers, and theaters became arenas for ideological clashes. Institutions that had once enjoyed respect began to be seen as spaces occupied by particular interests. Trust in the media eroded and conspiracy theories found fertile ground. Social changes such as the advancement of women in the workplace and public life were presented as symptoms of disorder. Nostalgia for an idealized past gained traction and the promise of restoration became an effective political tool. The crisis of 1931 accelerated this process. Mass unemployment, business closures, and rising poverty made radical promises more attractive. The republic no longer seemed to offer solutions, and democratic values lost appeal compared to the promise of order. The feeling that only a radical transformation could save Germany spread and the ground was being prepared for its ultimate collapse. The VHimar experience was not a disaster caused solely by external factors or isolated decisions, but by the lack of lasting agreements, ideological fragmentation, institutional weakness, cultural mistrust, and economic fragility combined in a cycle that eroded the system from within. Nazism did not erupt as a phenomenon foreign to the context, but rather arose from the same accumulated fault lines. The Republic, born amidst a forced surrender, failed to convert collective resentment into internal cohesion. Those offering an authoritarian alternative, exploited this difficulty in stabilizing the country in critical times. The collapse was not immediate, but occurred gradually. The regime gradually emptied itself until only its facade remained. When the new power took control, it did so with the support of an exhausted population and the promise of erasing a period considered the greatest mistake in recent history. Thus ended VHimar, not under violent pressure, but applauded by many. Two Germanies, division, cold war, and walls. After the collapse of the Third Reich, Germany ceased to exist as a unified political entity. In the first months of occupation, the Allied powers imposed control structures that varied according to their zones, marking divergent paths from the outset. While the regions under western administration received aid packages and institutional reorganization based on parliamentary models, the Soviet sector developed a completely different system. In that zone, control committees directly subordinate to Moscow were established and an accelerated process of political, economic, and social Sovietization was imposed from the outset. The German Communist Party was reinstated with absolute priority, accompanied by a systematic purge of any figures not aligned with the Kremlin’s interests. Disagreements among the occupiers soon surfaced. As the months progressed, the western zones began to coordinate common policies. The turning point came with the introduction of the West German mark in 1948, a monetary reform supported by Washington, London, and Paris that completely excluded the East. In response, the Soviet Union imposed a total blockade of West Berlin, hoping to force its former allies to relinquish control of the city. However, the airlift organized by the United States and Great Britain thwarted the Soviet objective. With more than 200,000 flights, supplies to the population of West Berlin was secured. The failure of the blockade consolidated the final break. In May 1949, the Federal Republic of Germany was proclaimed with Bon as its capital and a parliamentary democratic structure. In October of the same year, the German Democratic Republic was established in the east with East Berlin as its capital and a one party socialist system. From that moment on, two German states existed with completely opposing ideologies, structures, and alliances. While the FRG was integrated into the western block, quickly joining NATO and consolidating a market economy based on productive reconstruction, the GDR was incorporated into the Warsaw packed block, subordinated to the decisions of the Communist Party and sustained by the permanent presence of the Red Army. The differences were not merely political. The GDR’s economic model was based on forced collectivization, centralized planning, and state directed industrialization. In the short term, this allowed for stable growth, but over time led to stagnation, shortages, and hidden inequality. The strikes of 1953 demonstrated worker discontent with top-down production plans. The demonstrations were crushed by Soviet troops with more than 50 deaths and thousands arrested. From that moment on, internal surveillance was strengthened and the role of the political police expanded. The Stazzaryi was formerly created in 1950, but took its definitive form at the end of that decade under the leadership of Eric Milka. It was transformed into an omnipresent organization that monitored every aspect of private life. Through a network of civilian informants that extended to factories, neighborhoods, schools, and universities, the regime was able to anticipate almost any sign of disscent. Personnel files were stored with extreme meticulousness, and methods of psychological pressure, blackmail, and emotional control were employed to dismantle any source of resistance. In parallel, the FRG adopted a policy of international reintegration focused on democratic legitimacy and economic development. The so-called German miracle promoted by Ludvig Hehard transformed destroyed cities into modern industrial centers. Thanks to Marshall Plan funds, productivity soared and millions of people found employment in the manufacturing and service sectors. However, this progress did not resolve the territorial division or the national question. The FRG constitution affirmed that its structure represented all of Germany and that any German state could apply for integration into the Federal Republic. This clause kept alive the idea of future reunification. The ongoing tension between the two states was most acutely reflected in Berlin. Although the city had been divided since 1945, its border was not hermetic. For more than a decade, thousands of people crossed from east to west in search of better conditions. This mass exodus weakened the GDR’s economy and undermined the regime’s legitimacy. In August 1961, the eastern authorities decided to close the border crossing. In a night operation, police units and workers were deployed to erect barbed wire fences, which were later replaced by a concrete wall. The inner border was fortified with watchtowers, minefields, and snipers. The Berlin Wall became an absolute symbol of the Cold War. For the Eastern authorities, it represented a defense against capitalist infiltration and Western propaganda. For the rest of the world, it was the clearest evidence of the failure of real socialism. For decades, stories of escapes, arrests, and deaths marked the border. Meanwhile, Star campaigns refined their techniques. One of their most effective methods was decomposition, a process of psychological destruction that left no visible traces. Instead of physical torture, the strategy consisted of socially isolating the target, sabotaging their environment, damaging their reputation, and generating internal conflicts that led to personal collapse. Relations between the two Germanies fluctuated over time. In the 1970s, under Willie Brandt’s Ostitolic, the Federal Republic of Germany officially recognized the GDR, establishing limited diplomatic relations. Transit and communication agreements were signed between the two sides, allowing family visits under strict conditions. However, the Eastern regime maintained its repressive structures intact. The economy entered a phase of structural decline in the 1980s, aggravated by foreign debt, technological backwardness, and the loss of Soviet support. under the new leadership in Moscow. Meanwhile, in the Federal Republic of Germany, an open society with a free press, political pluralism, and social mobility was consolidating. The gap between the two realities widened to the point of becoming unsustainable. Espionage continued in both directions, but the information advantage was on the side of the Stazzi, which managed to infiltrate even highranking officials in the West. Despite this, the GDR’s narrative of moral superiority was losing ground. Young people in the east, increasingly exposed to external influences, were beginning to question the system. Peaceful protests multiplied in cities like Leipzig and Dresdon, while the police operators showed signs of wear and tear. The surveillance structure was no longer able to control the flow of information. The collapse of the Soviet block also dragged down the East Berlin regime. Within weeks, the wall ceased to be an insurmountable barrier. On November 9th, 1989, after a confusing press conference, the checkpoints were opened. Thousands of people crossed on foot without resistance in a scene that ended 40 years of enforced division. The GDR formally ceased to exist the following year, but its repressive legacy left an indelible mark on millions of lives. Reunification and power. The Germany that reoccupied the center. After decades of separation, the structure that divided Berlin ceased to serve its purpose without any official announcement. The wall, which for years had symbolized global division, became obsolete within days. Protests in cities like Leipzig and Dresdon had been growing in intensity throughout the fall of 1989. But the collapse did not occur as a result of a specific political strategy. In fact, the opening was the product of a chain of errors. On November 9th, during a livereamed press conference, a member of the East German Polit Bureau read a note about new travel permits without fully understanding its contents. When asked when the measures would take effect, he replied uncertainly that as far as he knew, they would be immediate. That sentence was enough to send thousands of people swarming toward the border crossings. Upon arrival, the guards received no clear instructions. Unable to contain the crowd or act without orders from above, they raised the barriers. During the night, traffic became free for the first time in 28 years. Images of citizens crossing arm in-armm and hitting the wall with improvised tools spread around the world. But beyond the visual impact, the episode had immediate consequences. Within days, the authority of the GDR government was completely eroded. Institutions lost management capacity, ministries were abandoned, and the structures of the Socialist Unity Party disintegrated. The eastern population began to demand free elections, economic openness, and civil rights. At the same time, contacts with the federal government in Bon accelerated. Helmet Cole, Chancellor of the Federal Republic, presented a 10-point plan proposing a gradual process toward a possible union between the two states. However, the speed of events overwhelmed any attempt at gradualness. Social pressure forced immediate decisions. In March 1990, elections were held in the former East Germany. The result was a clear victory for the parties favoring rapid integration with the West. From that moment on, steps followed quickly. Monetary and economic union was approved. The Western Mark was established as a single currency, and the dissolution of the GDR as a state entity was agreed upon. The unification treaty was signed on August 31st and entered into force on October 3rd. Germany was officially reunified, but the differences between the two halves remained at all levels. While western cities enjoyed modern infrastructure, business networks and consolidated administrative systems, the east was dominated by outdated structures, rising unemployment, and distrust of federal institutions. Unification was internationally recognized after the signing of the 2 plus4 treaty in which the United States, the Soviet Union, the United Kingdom and France renounced their claims on Germany and accepted its full sovereignty. It was established that the country would not possess nuclear weapons and that its army would be limited in size. At the same time, ties with European organizations were strengthened and the transformation of Berlin into the official capital was promoted. The relocation of ministries from Bon was gradual but symbolically important. From that moment on, Germany took center stage both on the continent and in global political decisions. During the first years, the integration process was marked by imbalances. The eastern economy suffered an immediate collapse following the disappearance of state subsidies. Many factories closed and unemployment exceeded 40% in some regions. The Troyand, the agency charged with privatizing the GDR’s public enterprises, carried out its functions with extreme speed. More than 14,000 companies passed into private hands, in many cases without guaranteeing job security. The perception that eastern assets had been sold without social consideration generated resentment. Protests over inequality became frequent, and the income gap between the two halves of the country became a constant theme. However, there was also progress. Infrastructure was rebuilt, services were modernized, and job training programs were implemented. Although the gap persisted, mobility increased, and the new generations adapted quickly. On the political level, Germany strengthened its commitment to European integration. It became an active promoter of the euro, agreeing to abandon the mark as a national symbol. In 1999, it moved its central bank to Frankfurt, consolidating the country’s financial role within the Euro zone. At the same time, it assumed broader diplomatic responsibilities. It participated in international missions, sent troops to conflict zones, and played a central role in the eastward enlargement of the European Union. During the first decade of the 21st century, Berlin consolidated its position as the political axis of the region while maintaining a foreign policy focused on stability, multilateralism, and international trade. German history was also revisited from a new perspective. Instead of focusing solely on World War II, other cultural and historical dimensions began to be appreciated. Museums dedicated to the GDR were opened. Fragments of the wall were preserved and studies on the impact of socialism on everyday life were promoted. At the same time, investigations into the intensified, and millions of personal files were declassified. Many people discovered they had been monitored by neighbors, colleagues, or even relatives. Memory became a contested area where the experiences of the recent past had to find space in a common national narrative. During the financial crisis that hit Europe in 2008 and 2012, Germany played a leading economic role. Its production model based on exports, fiscal control, and job security was presented as a benchmark. However, this position also generated tensions. The austerity policies promoted by Berlin were perceived in other countries as unilateral impositions. Despite this, Germany maintained its position as the continent’s economic engine. In demographic terms, it faced distinct challenges. The population was aging rapidly and the low birth rate forced a review of immigration policies. Beginning in 2015, the country received more than 1 million asylum seekers, mostly from Syria and Afghanistan. This decision was defended by the government as a humanitarian gesture, but it provoked intense internal reactions. Anti-immigration movements emerged and the political landscape fragmented with the rise of new parliamentary forces. A reunified Germany had to confront a complex identity. On the one hand, it was the heir to the power that had been the protagonist of the greatest conflicts of the previous century. On the other, it presented itself as a beacon of democratic stability and orderly growth. This balance was not always easy to maintain. The presence of GDR nostalgic groups, territorial inequality, and a sense of cultural loss in some eastern regions kept debates about internal cohesion alive. However, the political system managed to absorb the tensions without institutional breakdown. The alternation between parties, the existence of a critical press, and administrative transparency reinforced democratic legitimacy. Internationally, Germany strengthened its ties with France and actively participated in key European Union decisions. Despite its historical reluctance, it agreed to increase its military presence abroad and expand its defensive capabilities within the framework of NATO. In the cultural sphere, Berlin transformed itself into a global creative center. Contemporary architecture combined with historical memory in spaces such as the Reichstag Dome and the Holocaust Memorial. The city left behind its frontier image to become a symbol of diversity, avongguard and reconstruction. The young population coming from multiple backgrounds occupied the central neighborhoods and turned the capital into an urban laboratory where past and present coexisted. Although the wounds of division did not completely disappear, the country’s trajectory demonstrated an unusual capacity for adaptation. In just a few decades, it went from being a fragmented territory to becoming a regional power. Its influence was consolidated through economic strength, institutional legitimacy, and the management of a complex memory. What began as a mistake at a press conference ended up redefining the European map and Germany’s role in the world. The eternal battle between the past that persists and the future that demands its place. Hundreds of thousands of people sided with the national socialists. What is disturbing is how many educated young people, teachers, doctors, and lawyers joined their cause. The majority of Germans sympathized with the regime, a common occurrence under a dictatorship. Only a very small group openly resisted Hitler, even knowing it was putting their lives at risk. Among them were communists, social democrats, conservatives, and later part of the old Prussian nobility gathered around Klaus Fonenberg. Although his attempt to assassinate the Furer failed, he at least wanted to leave a mark of rupture that would serve as an example. It was clear that after the fall of national socialist power, the old shadows would not immediately vanish. Therefore, the newly created Federal Republic had to confront far-right organizations from the outset. At first, the decision was made to ban them, but later the political battle was fought and they ultimately prevailed. In several regional elections, right-wing forces hovered around 10% of the vote. Particularly worrying was the rise of the National Democratic Party, NPD, which failed to break the 5% threshold in the 1969 Bundistag elections. Since that defeat, the radical right has not fully emerged, although it has occasionally entered some regional parliaments in the last two decades. In Germany, questioning the extermination of European Jews, displaying Nazi symbols in public, or giving the Hitler salute are punishable by law. In recent years, German society has taken an increasingly clear and firm stance on these issues. Whether German society will be able to maintain this line of remembrance, repentance, and continued confrontation with its own past remains uncertain. The country’s demographic shift points to profound transformations. In the last two decades, millions of Muslims, mostly from Turkey, have settled in Germany. The question is whether they will embrace the country’s recent history as other immigrant groups who today represent around 10% of the population did. This doesn’t seem a very likely scenario, and the signals coming from other European states, which have not had to confront the weight of their past with the same intensity, are not reassuring either. In the Netherlands, influential political voices have even suggested that Jews should leave the country. Those who wear a kipa in public places can no longer be considered safe. A similar situation is observed in Scandinavian countries. In the southern Swedish city of Malmo, half of the inhabitants are of foreign origin. There, especially among young Arabs, open hostility toward Israel and threats to the Jewish community are common. In Hungary, which held the presidency of the European Council for the first half of 2011, there is a resurgence of anti-Semitic attitudes reminiscent of the preWorld War II era. Germany will probably be able to remain safe from these excesses for a while, thanks to the historical burden it carries from the Third Reich. However, the warning signs cannot be ignored. Attacks against Jews in public places and attacks targeting synagogues and cemeteries have also occurred on German soil. Despite this, a vigilant public opinion still prevails, particularly among young Germans in their 20s and 30s. An attitude of absolute rejection of any expression of anti-semitism prevails. Added to this is the unique relationship with Israel, which under Chancellor Angela Merkel’s leadership has strengthened and is moving toward a degree of normalization, although it is debatable whether such normality can fully exist between Germans and Jews. For some years now, the two governments have even held joint cabinet meetings alternating between Berlin and Jerusalem. Furthermore, the German Navy patrols off the Lebanese coast to curb arms smuggling and ensure greater security on Israel’s northern border. The chancellor herself gave a speech in Jerusalem offering the state of Israel a formal security guarantee, something a German head of government had never done before. However, the true scope of this commitment remains unclear. What would happen if Israel’s environment entered a phase of destabilization? Countries like Egypt, Syria, Lebanon, and Tunisia could upset the regional balance at any moment. This hypothetical scenario has barely been discussed in the Federal Republic and is still deliberately avoided today. Germany found itself in a delicate situation following the crisis in Libya when unexpectedly Berlin decided to abstain in the UN Security Council vote approving sanctions against Muhammad Gaddafi’s regime in March. Instead of aligning itself with the Western powers, Germany sided with Russia and China. In practice, the abstension of these two countries amounted to tacit support while the German position was interpreted as rejection. A few days later, a new disagreement with its NATO partners arose when the federal government decided to withdraw the warships that made up the alliance’s standing naval force from the Mediterranean. Analysts still debate today why a politician with international experience, like Angela Merkel, agreed to follow the lead of her weak and inexperienced foreign minister, the liberal Guido Westerwell. The strategic error lay in failing to anticipate that at the last moment the United States would opt for military intervention to protect the Benghazi rebels from the advance of Gaddafi’s troops. It is striking that Merkel, when leading the opposition, defended German participation in the Iraq war and cultivated a close relationship with George W. Bush. However, she has failed to establish a bond of trust with Barack Obama, who even left Germany out of his European tour in May. Consequently, the revolutions shaking the Arab world took both Germany and its closest allies by surprise, exposing the lack of coordination in Berlin’s foreign policy. The difficult German return. The trust of Israeli and diaspora Jews in Germany has been restored over time. Grandchildren of Holocaust survivors have begun to return to Berlin, and the country’s Jewish community once again numbers around 100,000. The return of Jews to the old renewed German capital has become one of the most significant and hopeful events since reunification and the fall of the Berlin wall. Parisian collector Hinesburg Ruan, a friend of Picasso, returned with his extraordinary collection and secured a museum dedicated to him across from Charlottenberg Palace. A similar story is that of art patron Eric Marx, who championed the art project at Hamburg Station. Another notable example is Berliner Michael Blumenthal, former US Secretary of the Treasury, appointed director of the Jewish Museum Berlin, designed by Daniel Lieieber and which receives more than half a million visitors each year. The intensely active German press remains attentive to any new development in the debate about the Nazi past. Every novel interpretation usually initially sparks rejection or controversy. Within the circles of the leading political and social magazine Despigel, the idea circulates that when circulation is low, nothing attracts more than a cover related to national socialism, preferably accompanied by an image of Hitler. An exhibition held in Berlin entitled Hitler and the Germans, although widely criticized, managed to attract 250,000 visitors during the winter. Hitler remains the central figure symbolizing the darkest side of modern history. Many people continue to question why the nearly 50 attempts organized against him failed. Beyond the well-known attempt by Colonel Stuffenberg on July 20th, 1944, which could have changed the destiny of Europe, another less remembered but equally audacious attempt stands out. It was the plan of Gayog Elzer, a craftsman who acting alone had understood Hitler’s criminal intentions from very early on. He carefully prepared a time delay bomb that was supposed to finish off the dictator on November 8th, 1939 in the Burger Brokeella Brewery in Munich. However, Hitler left the scene 13 minutes before the explosion which killed eight people after changing his plane for a train due to bad weather. Elsa was arrested in Constance just a few meters from the Swiss border and was executed on Hitler’s direct orders shortly before the end of the Third Reich. Half a century later in 1989, Germany achieved what it failed to achieve in 1939. The wall collapsed. There was no war and no lives were lost. The weight of the enormous psychological and emotional burden still borne by Germans has been clearly felt in the last two decades. After reunification, which in many ways was fortunate, Germany was not in a position to exercise solid leadership within Europe. The greatest difficulties are concentrated in the military sphere. A considerable majority of the population demands an immediate withdrawal from Afghanistan and every single piece of news related to the armed forces is subject to exhaustive and critical analysis. Therefore, it seems clear that it will still be many years before the country manages to articulate a truly pragmatic foreign and defense policy that to a large extent frees itself from the burden of recent history. This legacy frequently acts as a limitation but is sometimes also used as a tactical argument to justify caution. Ultimately, Germany is moving forward firmly in its role within Europe, but the memory of its past continues to influence the way it addresses strategic and security dilemmas. The shadow of the Third Reich does not dissipate easily. In fact, the figure of Hitler remains present in the German collective imagination, a constant reminder that any decision regarding foreign and military policy is measured in light of a past that still weighs is.