Deutsche Kriegsgefangene in Kanada erstarrten, als ein kanadischer Soldat eine von ihnen „Meine Liebe“ nannte.

Mai 1945, Norddeutschland. Drei deutsche Frauen standen mit erhobenen Händen in einem Betonbunker. Ihre grauen, punzierten Hilfstruppenuniformen waren staubig und zerknittert. Draußen hörten sie kanadische Soldaten auf Englisch rufen. Die Frauen blickten sich mit aufgerissenen, ängstlichen Augen an.

Jahrelang hatte man ihnen gesagt, was geschehen würde, wenn die Alliierten sie fassen würden. Nun war der Moment gekommen. Die schwere Metalltür schwang auf. Helles Sonnenlicht strömte in den dunklen Bunker. Ein kanadischer Soldat trat ein, das Gewehr auf den Boden gerichtet. Er war jung, vielleicht 25 Jahre alt, mit freundlichen Augen, die in einem Soldatengesicht ungewöhnlich wirkten.

Als er sprach, erstarrten die drei Frauen vor Schreck. „Meine Liebe, du bist jetzt in Sicherheit“, sagte er in perfektem Deutsch. „Meine Liebe, du bist jetzt in Sicherheit.“ Die Jüngste begann zu zittern. Das musste eine Falle sein. Diese Freundlichkeit war bestimmt nur die Ruhe vor dem Sturm. Jeder wusste doch, dass Kanadier Ungeheuer waren. Greta Hoffman spürte ihr Herz so heftig hämmern, dass sie dachte, es würde ihr aus der Brust springen.

Mit 24 Jahren hatte sie die letzten zwei Jahre als Funkerin in Bunkern wie diesem gearbeitet. Vor dem Krieg hatte sie Literatur an der Universität Hamburg studiert. Ihre Stadt war damals wunderschön, voller Buchhandlungen, Cafés und Musik. Ihre beiden älteren Brüder waren sehr stolz auf ihre Ausbildung gewesen. Doch beide Brüder fielen 1943 an der eisigen Ostfront.

Danach trat Greta dem Frauenhilfsdienst bei. Sie redete sich ein, sie würde Deutschland helfen. Tief in ihrem Inneren jedoch zweifelte sie daran, ob alles, was man ihr beigebracht hatte, der Wahrheit entsprach. Sie hatte SS-Offiziere Gräueltaten begehen sehen. Sie hatte Gerüchte über Lager im Osten gehört, in denen Menschen spurlos verschwanden.

Doch Fragen laut auszusprechen, war gefährlich. Also behielt sie ihre Zweifel für sich und tat ihre Arbeit. Als Greta nun diesen kanadischen Soldaten ansah, der sie „meine Liebe“ nannte, war sie verwirrt. Wo war die Wilde, vor der man sie gewarnt hatte? Leisel Weber war erst 19 Jahre alt, die Jüngste der drei Frauen. Sie stammte aus einem kleinen Bauerndorf in Bayern, wo ihre Familie Kartoffeln anbaute und Hühner hielt.

Das Leben auf dem Bauernhof war hart und eintönig. Als 1943 die Rekrutierer in ihr Dorf kamen, sah Leisel eine Chance zur Flucht und wollte beweisen, dass Frauen dem Vaterland genauso gut dienen konnten wie Männer. Sie lernte, Radios und Sender zu reparieren. Sie glaubte jedes Wort, das die Offiziere ihr über Deutschlands glorreiche Zukunft erzählten.

Sie glaubte, die Alliierten seien böse. Sie glaubte, Juden seien der Feind. Sie glaubte, Demokratie schwäche Länder. Während kanadische Soldaten nun mit sanften Händen den Bunker durchsuchten, spürte Leisel, wie ihre Welt zu zerbrechen drohte. Sie sollten ihr wehtun. Sie sollten Bestien sein. Warum also lächelte dieser Soldat sie an? Margaret Klene, die alle nur Maggie nannten, war 31 Jahre alt und hatte mehr vom Krieg gesehen, als ihr lieb war.

Vor 1941 hatte sie als Telefonistin in Berlin gearbeitet. Der Lohn war ordentlich und die Arbeit einfach. Doch dann wurde der Krieg immer größer und unerbittlicher. Deutschland brauchte jede helfende Hand. Maggie trat dem Frauenhilfsdienst bei, weil sie keine andere Wahl hatte. Schnell merkte sie, dass es töricht war, alles zu glauben, was die Regierung sagte.

Sie sah Berlin Nacht für Nacht bombardiert werden. Sie sah, wie die Lebensmittelrationen jeden Monat kleiner wurden. Sie hörte, wie die Offiziere über Siege logen, die nie stattgefunden hatten. Maggie war eine Überlebende. Sie tat, was man ihr sagte, und schwieg. Als die Offiziere jeder Frau im Bunker eine kleine Pille gaben und ihnen befahlen, sie zu schlucken, falls die Alliierten kämen, hatte Maggie so getan, als würde sie ihre nehmen, sie aber in Wirklichkeit in ihrer Tasche versteckt.

Selbstmord war etwas für Überzeugte. Maggie wollte einfach nur leben. Als sie nun sah, wie kanadische Soldaten ihr eine Feldflasche Wasser reichten, dachte sie, dass die Entscheidung fürs Leben vielleicht doch die richtige gewesen war. Der Bunker war am 3. Mai von der 3. Kanadischen Infanteriedivision umstellt worden. Darin befanden sich zwölf Sanitäterinnen, die Funksprüche für nicht mehr existierende deutsche Einheiten gesendet und empfangen hatten.

Der Krieg neigte sich dem Ende zu. Jeder wusste es. Die Frauen hatten veraltete Gewehre und keine einzige Kugel mehr. Ihr Kommandant, ein schwuler Hauptmann mit leeren Augen, hatte ihnen befohlen, bis zum letzten Mann zu kämpfen. Als sie sich weigerten, schluckte er seine Selbstmordpille und brach zusammen. Die Frauen sahen sich schweigend an.

Dann ging Greta zur Tür und öffnete sie. Mit der weißen Flagge in der Hand hatte sie sich für die Kapitulation und gegen den Tod entschieden. Drei Tage später durchsuchten kanadische Soldaten sie mit professioneller Sorgfalt. Keine groben Hände, keine grausamen Worte, keinerlei Gewalt. Ein Soldat fand Gretas kleines Notizbuch, in dem sie Funkcodes notiert hatte.

Er sah es sich an und gab es ihr dann nickend zurück. Ein anderer Soldat bot Leisel ein Stück Schokolade an. Sie starrte es an, als wäre es vergiftet. Maggie beobachtete alles aufmerksam. Sie hatte erwartet, sofort erschossen zu werden oder Schlimmeres, denn jahrelang hatte Propaganda so schreckliche Bilder gezeichnet, dass sich manche Frauen lieber das Leben nahmen, als gefangen genommen zu werden.

Doch diese Kanadier taten nichts davon. Sie verhielten sich beinahe höflich. Ein Soldat entschuldigte sich sogar in gebrochenem Deutsch, als er Maggies Taschen nach Waffen durchsuchen musste. Die drei Frauen standen verwirrt und schweigend da. Was geschah hier? Was würde als Nächstes geschehen? War diese Freundlichkeit echt? Oder war es nur der erste Schritt eines finsteren Plans, den sie noch nicht durchschauen konnten? Die drei Frauen verbrachten ihre ersten drei Tage in einem großen Lager nahe Oldenburg.

Mehr als 2000 deutsche Gefangene drängten sich auf dem matschigen Feld, die meisten von ihnen Männer. Hohe, mit Stacheldraht bewehrte Zäune umgaben sie. An jeder Ecke stand ein Wachturm. Es sah so aus, wie Greta es sich von einem Gefangenenlager vorgestellt hatte. Doch dann kam die erste Mahlzeit. Zweimal täglich brachten die Wachen riesige Töpfe mit heißer Kohlsuppe, in der noch echte Kartoffelstücke schwammen.

Sie verteilten dicke Brotscheiben mit Margarine. Greta aß langsam und achtete auf Anzeichen dafür, dass das Essen mit Drogen versetzt oder vergiftet war. Nichts geschah. Ihr Magen, der sich tagelang vor Angst verkrampft hatte, begann sich endlich zu entspannen. So viel hatte sie seit zwei Jahren nicht mehr gegessen. In Deutschland bekamen selbst Soldaten deutlich weniger zu essen.

Maggie aß ihren Teller leer und bat dann um Nachschlag. Die Wachen lächelten und gaben ihr eine weitere Portion. Keine Tricks, keine Strafen, nur Essen. Am zweiten Tag kam eine britische Krankenschwester, um die Frauen zu untersuchen. Sie war jung, mit rotem Haar, das zu einem strengen Dutt zusammengebunden war. Ihre Hände waren sanft, als sie ihre Herzen abtastete und in ihre Münder schaute.

Sie stellte Fragen in langsamem, bedächtigem Englisch, die ein deutscher Dolmetscher wiederholte. Als sie Gretas Bauch abtastete, um nach Verletzungen zu suchen, sagte sie durch den Dolmetscher: „Es tut mir leid, falls es weh tut.“ Greta war den Tränen nahe. Niemand hatte sich seit Jahren bei ihr entschuldigt. In dieser Nacht brachten Wachen jeder Frau eine saubere Wolldecke.

Leisel nahm ihre Decke mit zitternden Händen entgegen. Sie setzte sich auf ihre Pritsche, drückte die Decke an ihre Brust und begann zu weinen. Zehn Minuten lang weinte sie, während die anderen Frauen schweigend zusahen. „Sie haben uns Decken gegeben“, flüsterte sie. „Warum sollten sie uns Decken geben, wenn sie uns umbringen wollen?“ Am 12. Mai wurden alle weiblichen Gefangenen auf ein riesiges Schiff namens SS Beaver Bray verladen.

800 deutsche Gefangene drängten sich auf das umgebaute Frachtschiff. 47 von ihnen waren Frauen. Das Schiff sollte den Atlantik nach Kanada überqueren, eine Reise, die zwölf lange Tage dauern würde. Die Frauen bekamen einen eigenen Raum im ehemaligen Frachtraum. Er war eng und dunkel, mit Metallwänden und dem ständigen Geruch von Motoröl, aber er bot ihnen Privatsphäre.

Kein Mann durfte ihren Bereich betreten. Maggie zählte die Betten. 47 Kojen, viel zu hoch gestapelt. Jede Frau sollte ihren eigenen Schlafplatz haben. In Deutschland teilten sich fünfköpfige Familien Einzelzimmer in zerbombten Gebäuden. Hier hatten feindliche Gefangene private Kojen auf einem Schiff. Jeden Tag um zwölf Uhr brachten Wachen Essen in die Frauenquartiere.

The portions were generous. Greta estimated each woman received about 2,200 calories per day. That was more food than German soldiers had gotten at the front lines in 1944. She wrote in her small diary that she had managed to keep hidden. Why feed us this well if they plan to kill us? Nothing makes sense anymore. The guards on the ship called the women miss when they spoke to them.

Miss, here’s your meal. Miss, you have 30 minutes on deck for fresh air. Miss, please return to quarters now. Leisel kept waiting for the cruel name she had been taught Canadians would use. They never came. Each day, small groups of women were allowed to go up on deck for 30 minutes to breathe fresh air and feel the sun. The first time Greta climbed the metal stairs and stepped into the daylight, she saw Canadian sailors sitting with German mail, prisoners sharing cigarettes and laughing at some joke.

The enemy and the captured sitting together like old friends. It made no sense. The ocean crossing was miserable in other ways. The ship rocked constantly on the waves. Salt spray mixed with the thick smell of engine oil and unwashed bodies. 800 people lived in tight spaces with only a few bathrooms.

Leisel was seasick for eight of the 12 days. She could barely keep any food down. A Canadian medic gave her pills that helped a little and brought her dry crackers to settle her stomach. He did not have to be kind. She was the enemy, but he was kind anyway. On May 24th, after 12 days at sea, someone shouted that land was visible.

Greta rushed to a port hole window and pressed her face against the glass. The Canadian coastline appeared through the morning mist. It was bright green and untouched. No bomb craters, no burned buildings, no rubble piles where cities used to stand, just green hills and intact docks and functioning cranes lifting cargo from other ships.

Even from the harbor, she could see the abundance. Buildings stood complete with all their windows. Cars moved on roadsthat had not been destroyed. Civilian ships came and went on normal business. Germany had not looked like this in 3 years. The train ride from Halifax toward the center of Canada took two full days.

Greta sat by a window and watched a country pass by that seemed to exist in a different world. She counted factories that were whole and working. She counted grain silos that were full. She counted farms with healthy cows and fields of growing wheat. She saw civilian automobiles on roads, something she had not seen in Germany since 1942.

The abundance was everywhere, impossible to miss, impossible to deny. Beside her, Maggie stared out the window without speaking. Finally, she said quietly, “We were told they were starving. We were told democracy made them weak and poor.” She pointed at another full grain silo passing by the window.

Where is the starvation, Greta? Where is the weakness? Everything I see tells me we were lied to. The train stopped on May 27th at a small station in Lethbridge, Alberta. Greta stepped down onto the platform and looked around at flat land that stretched forever in every direction. Golden wheat fields reached all the way to the horizon with no end in sight.

The sky was bigger than any sky she had ever seen. The air smelled clean like grass and earth with none of the smoke and ash smell that hung over German cities. Trucks waited to take them to the camp. Camp 133 sat on 600 acres of prairie land. More than 12,000 German prisoners lived here, mostly men captured in France and Italy. The women’s section was separate, surrounded by its own fence.

30 wooden barracks painted dark green stood in neat rows. Each building was long and simple with a slanted roof and small windows on both sides. Greta counted the structures as the truck drove past. Beyond the barracks, she could see a large building that looked like a hospital. Guard towers stood at the corners, but the guards inside them looked relaxed, almost bored.

The truck stopped in front of barracks number seven. A woman in Canadian military uniform waited for them. She had dark hair tucked under her cap and sharp green eyes that missed nothing. “Welcome to camp 133,” she said in perfect German. My name is Sergeant Margaret Okconor. You will call me Sergeant Okconor. Follow me inside.

Her German was so good that Leisel asked where she learned it. My parents came from Czechoslovakia. Okconor said. I grew up speaking German at home. Inside the barracks, 20 metal beds lined the walls, 10 on each side. Each bed had a thin mattress, a pillow, and two folded blankets. A black wood stove sat in the center of the room to provide heat.

Electric lights hung from the ceiling. At the far end, a door led to a washroom with sinks and toilets and shower stalls. Greta touched one of the shower handles. Water came out. She turned the other handle. Hot water came out, steaming in the cool air. Hot water in a prison camp. Her hands began to shake.

Sergeant Okconor showed them the foot lockers at the end of each bed where they could store personal items. She explained the camp rules in a calm, steady voice. Wake up at 7:00 in the morning. Breakfast at 7:30. Work assignments would begin next week, but only if they volunteered. Prisoners could not be forced to work. Showers three times each week. Mail was allowed.

Visitors from local churches would come on Sundays if anyone wanted to attend services. The rules were simple and fair. Nothing about punishment or pain or fear. That evening, the first meal arrived. Women in kitchen uniforms carried in large trays of food and set them on a long table. Greta looked at her plate and could not believe what she saw.

A big bowl of porridge with milk and sugar. two scrambled eggs still steaming. Two slices of toast with real butter spread thick. A cup of hot coffee. This was more food than she had seen on a single plate since before the war started. She picked up her fork and took a bite of eggs. They were real. They were good. They were not drugged. Leisel sat frozen, staring at her plate.

She would not touch the food. It’s a trick, she whispered to Greta. They’re going to poison us or make us sick or something worse. This is how they break you down before the real punishment starts. Greta understood the fear. She had felt the same thing on the ship, but her stomach was full of ship food, and she was still alive.

She ate slowly, watching Leisel’s face. After 10 minutes, Leisel picked up her toast and took the smallest bite possible. Then another. Then she started crying while she ate, tears running down her face into her eggs. Maggie ate everything on her plate without hesitation, savoring every bite. The next morning, a Canadian doctor named Captain Morris examined each woman.

He was an older man with gray hair and gentle hands. He spoke no German, so Sergeant Okconor translated. When he got to Leisel, she pointed a at her swollen jaw. The infected tooth had been bothering her for 2 months. InGermany, there was no medicine to spare for a simple toothache. Captain Morris looked in her mouth, frowned, and made notes on his chart.

That afternoon, Leisel went to the camp hospital. They gave her medicine to make her sleep. When she woke up, the tooth was gone and the pain was gone. They gave her pills for the pain and told her to rest. She lay in the clean hospital bed with white sheets and stared at the ceiling. They had fixed her tooth.

The enemy had fixed her tooth with real medicine and real care. Greta had gotten sick on the ship with bad stomach problems. Captain Morris examined her and said she had dysentery from the drinking water on the vessel. He gave her special medicine called sulfa drugs and put her in the hospital for 2 days. She had her own bed in a ward with 19 other beds.

Nurses checked on her every few hours. The food was soft and easy to digest. By the third day, she felt better than she had felt in months. That first night in the barracks, 20 women lay in their beds in the darkness. Someone started to cry. then another woman, then another. But these were not tears of fear.

These were tears of confusion and relief and something that felt almost like safety. Maggie lay awake listening to the crying around her. She had not felt safe in 3 years. Not since the bomb started falling on Berlin. And now here she was, locked in an enemy enemy prison camp in the middle of Canada, feeling safer than she had felt in her own country.

By the second week of June, the women settled into a daily routine that felt nothing like prison. Each morning, Sergeant Okconor posted a list of jobs that needed doing around the camp. The work was completely voluntary. Women who wanted to work could sign up. Women who did not want to work could spend their days resting or reading or walking around the compound.

Greta signed up to work in the camp library, a large building filled with more than 3,000 books. Some were in German, but most were in English. She spent her days organizing shelves and helping other prisoners find books to read. The library was warm and quiet and smelled like old paper, reminding her of happier days at the university in Hamburgg.

Leisel volunteered to work in the kitchen that prepared meals for the women’s section. She peeled potatoes and chopped vegetables and helped cook the food that everyone ate. The kitchen had huge refrigerators that hummed with electric power all day and all night. The refrigerators were full of meat and eggs and milk and fresh vegetables.

One day, the cook, a Canadian corporal named Jenkins, opened a can and gave her a piece of yellow fruit. “Pineapple,” he said in English, pointing at the can. “From Hawaii.” Leisel put the sweet, juicy fruit in her mouth and almost cried. tropical fruit in the middle of Canada given to enemy prisoners like it was nothing special.

Maggie worked in the camp administration office helping process mail and paperwork for the prisoners. She had neat handwriting and was good with numbers, so the Canadians gave her forms to organize and letters to sort. The office had typewriters and filing cabinets and electric lights that never flickered.

She saw letters going back and forth between German prisoners and their families. She saw requests from some prisoners asking about staying in Canada after the war ended. Some of the men did not want to go back to Germany. That thought stuck in her mind and would not leave. Why would anyone choose to stay with the enemy? On the first Friday of work, Sergeant Okconor handed each woman who had worked that week a small envelope.

Inside was camp money. 25 cents for each day of work. The money could be used at the camp canteen, a store that sold tobacco and soap and chocolate and writing paper and other small things. Leisel stared at the coins in her hand like they might disappear. They pay us, she said to Greta. We are prisoners and they pay us to work. Greta had no answer.

In Germany, prisoners were worked until they died. Here, prisoners were paid like employees. The camp had electricity that ran all day and all night without stopping. In Germany, power was rationed and unreliable because the Allied bombs had destroyed so many power plants. But here, in the middle of nowhere Canada, the lights worked perfectly every single time.

The Women’s Recreation Hall had a radio that played music and news broadcasts. The news was not censored. It came from America and Britain and Canada, telling stories about the war from the Allied side. Greta listened carefully, comparing what the radio said to what she had been taught. The differences were huge and impossible to ignore.

Canadian newspapers arrived at the camp library every few days. Greta studied the advertisements during her work shifts. Three types of washing machines, five brands of coffee, abundance everywhere. In Germany, people wash clothes in buckets and had not seen real coffee since 1942. These ads showed a world that seemed impossible.

Every other Saturday, small groups of 10 women were allowed to visit the town of Lethbridge under guard supervision for shopping. One guard watched 10 prisoners, trusting them not to run away. Where would they run? They were in the middle of Canada, thousands of miles from home. Greta’s first trip to town shocked her more than anything else so far.

The stores were full of goods. The streets were clean and intact. Civilian cars drove past like gasoline was not precious. People walked around in nice clothes looking healthy and well-fed. Some locals stared at the prisoners with curiosity, but most ignored them completely. A few even smiled and nodded hello. The church on Sunday, a local German Canadian family invited Leisel to sit with them.

They shared their himnil and spoke to her in the old dialect from their home region. After the service, they gave her a small bag of cookies they had baked. For you and your friends, the old woman said. Leisel carried those cookies back to camp like they were made of gold. The prisoners were allowed to write letters home.

The letters were read by sensors before being mailed, but they were allowed. Greta wrote to her mother in Hamburgg in July. She chose her words carefully, knowing someone would read them. Dear Muti, I am safe and wellfed. We receive more food here than you probably have at home. I wish I could send it to you. Please know I am being treated fairly.

I hope you are surviving the difficult times. With love, Greta. The letter felt strange to write. How could she tell her mother that the enemy fed her better than Germany ever had? Leisel wrote to her sister Anna in August. Dear Anna, you would not believe the things I have seen here. These people have so much that they throw food away.

Real food that our village would treasure. I do not understand anything anymore. I thought we were fighting for a better world, but their world already seems better than ours ever was. I am confused and tired. Please write back and tell me everyone at home is safe. Your sister Leisel. Maggie wrote to her husband Hans, who was somewhere in the Soviet zone of occupation.

She knew the letter might never reach him, but she tried anyway. My dearest Hans, I am in Canada in a prisoner camp that feels nothing like a prison. Whatever you were told about the West, I need you to know it is not true. There is abundance here, freedom here. If you have any chance to get to the Western zones instead of staying under Soviet control, please take it.

I will find you wherever you are. But the West is better. Trust me. All my love, Maggie. The cultural differences piled up day after day until they could not be ignored. Canadian guards ate the same food as the prisoners, sitting at nearby tables in the same dining hall. In the German military, officers and enlisted men had completely different meals and never mixed.

Here, a private could joke with a sergeant, and no one got punished. Women guards like Sergeant Okconor had the same rank and authority as male guards. Leisel had been taught that women should support men, not lead them. But here was Okconor giving orders that men followed without question. Sunday church services were optional.

Multiple denominations were welcome. Protestant, Catholic, even Jewish services were held in different parts of the camp. In Germany, religion had been slowly pushed aside by party loyalty. Here, faith was respected and protected. The camp chaplain, Captain Schmidt, spoke to prisoners in German about hope and forgiveness.

He never mentioned politics. He never praised Canada or condemned Germany. He just talked about God and healing and the future. It was the most honest religious talk Greta had heard in years. By September, 4 months had passed. Greta enrolled in an English class offered through the camp education program.

75 women signed up to learn the language of their captors. Leisel started attending Catholic mass every Sunday, finding comfort in faith that existed outside politics. Maggie kept working in the office, quietly watching and learning how democratic systems actually functioned. The truth was becoming impossible to deny. December 25th, 1945. The war had been over since May 8th, more than 7 months ago.

The women were still in camp 133, waiting to go home. Getting prisoners back to Germany was slow and difficult because so much of the country lay in ruins. 183 women lived in the camp now, ranging in age from 19 to 35. Most expected Christmas to be lonely and sad thousands of miles from their destroyed homeland. Letters from Germany told terrible stories of starvation and cold and people living in rubble.

The women knew their families were suffering while they lived in comfort. The guilt weighed on them like heavy stones. Greta woke early on Christmas morning to a smell that made her sit up in bed. Pine, fresh pine branches. She walked to the recreation hall and found Canadian soldiers putting up a Christmas tree in the corner. It was nota small tree.

It stood nearly 8 ft tall, full and green and beautiful. Decorations hung from its branches, sparkling in the electric lights. The smell of pine filled the whole building, clean and sharp and alive. In Germany, people were burning furniture to stay warm. Here, the Canadians brought a whole tree just for decoration. Breakfast that morning included something Greta had not seen in 3 years.

Oranges. Bright orange fruit from somewhere warm and far away. Each woman received one whole orange. Leisel held hers in both hands, just staring at it. In Germany, oranges had disappeared from stores in 1942. They became a memory, something from before the war. Now here was a real orange, heavy and fragrant in her hands.

She peeled it slowly, and the smell of citrus filled the air around her. When she bit into a section, the sweetness and juice almost made her cry. After breakfast, Sergeant Okconor announced there would be a special program that afternoon. All the women should gather in the recreation hall at 2:00. Greta felt nervous.

Special programs could mean anything. But the nervousness mixed with something else. Now, after 8 months in this camp, she had started to trust that the Canadians did not plan to hurt them. At 2:00, all 183 women crowded into the decorated recreation hall. Tables had been set up with white cloths. The Christmas tree glowed in the corner.

Canadian women from the Women’s Army Corps stood around the edges of the room smiling. Each one held wrapped packages. Sergeant Okconor explained in her Perfect German that the local German Canadian community had donated gifts for the prisoners. Every woman would receive something. The packages were handed out one by one.

Greta unwrapped hers to find a handk knit scarf in soft blue wool and a bar of lavender soap. The scarf still smelled like the wool and the hands that had made it. Someone had spent hours knitting this for an enemy prisoner they had never met. Leisel received mittens and a small bottle of hand lotion. Maggie got a scarf and a packet of writing paper with envelopes.

Then came the meal. The smell hit them first as kitchen workers carried in huge platters of food. Roasted turkey. Eight whole birds had been cooked for 183 women. The meat was golden brown and steaming, falling off the bones in tender pieces. Bowls of mashed potatoes came next. Smooth and creamy with rivers of rich gravy.

Carrots and turnipss cooked soft and sweet. Dinner rolls with real butter. Cranberry sauce, bright red and tangy. And for dessert, apple pie with thick cream poured over the top. The portions were not small. The servers encouraged seconds. This was a feast, the kind of meal people only dreamed about during wartime. Leisel sat down at her table and looked at her plate.

It was piled high with more food than she had seen in one place since before the war started. The turkey alone would feed her whole family for 3 days. She thought about the last letter from her sister Anna. They were eating potato peels and grass. Her parents shared one small meal each day. The whole village was starving slowly, scraping by on nothing.

And here she sat with a plate full of turkey and potatoes and pie. The enemy had given her a feast while her own people starved. She started to cry. Not quiet tears, but deep sobs that shook her whole body. Greta reached over and touched her arm. Leisel, what is wrong? But Leisel could not stop crying. The words came out between sobs.

My sister wrote that they eat potato peels and grass. Potato peels. Greta. Our parents share one meal each day. And I am eating turkey. Turkey? Because our enemies are kinder than our own people ever were. Other women heard her and started crying too. The tears spread through the room like water flowing downhill. They cried for their families. They cried for the lies.

They cried because kindness from enemies hurt more than cruelty ever could. The camp chaplain, Captain Schmidt, was a different person from the Corporal Schmidt, who had called Greta Mina Lieba at the bunker. This Captain Schmidt, was older, with gray hair and sad eyes that had seen too much war.

He walked over to Greta’s table and spoke quietly in German. He asked about her family. She told him about her two brothers who died fighting for the fatherland. Captain Schmidt was quiet for a moment. Then he said something that broke through all her remaining defenses. They died for men who lied to you, but you are alive.

Honor them by living truthfully now. Something inside Greta cracked like ice breaking in spring. Not her love for Germany. Not her memories of her brothers, but her loyalty to the lies. The lies about the enemy. The lies about the war. The lies about democracy and weakness and the master race. All of it cracked and began to fall away.

She had spent two years trying to believe what she was told, even when the evidence said otherwise. Now sitting in front of a Christmas feast given by people she was supposedto hate, she could not believe the lies anymore. Maggie watched Sergeant Okconor sit down at a piano in the corner. She began to play Christmas carols while German prisoners sang along in their own language.

No guards stood watching closely. No one worried about escape or rebellion. There was trust in this room, not fear. Maggie had been told that democracy made people weak and foolish. But these Canadians were not weak. They were strong enough to show kindness to enemies. Strong enough to treat prisoners like human beings. Strong enough to share Christmas dinner with people who had fought against them.

The realization hit her like a physical weight. The enemy was not who she thought. The enemy was not the people across the battlefield. The enemy was whoever told her these good people were monsters. The enemy was the ideology that put guns in children’s hands and sent them to die for lies. After the meal, Sergeant Okconor stood and spoke to the room.

Her German was clear and strong. We know you miss your families. We cannot bring them here. But we can show you that humanity persists even in war. Then several Canadian guards came forward and shared their own stories. One had lost his brother fighting in France. Another had lost her father at sea.

These Canadians had real reasons to hate Germans. Their loved ones had died fighting Germany. Yet here they stood, serving Christmas dinner to German prisoners with genuine smiles on their faces. The contrast between what the women had been taught and what they experienced became unbearable. That evening, 12 women attended Protestant service.

23 went to Catholic mass. Many had not prayed honestly in years, too afraid or too cynical or too broken. But that night they prayed. Leisel knelt in the small chapel and whispered to God, “I do not know what is true anymore, but thank you for keeping me alive to see this.” After the services, a group of women gathered in the recreation hall and talked until midnight.

They shared doubts they had hidden for months. They admitted fears they had not spoken aloud. Greta said what many were thinking. I think we fought for the wrong side. Not Germany, but what Germany became under the party. Maggie shook her head. No, we fought because we had no choice. But now we have a choice. We can see truth or keep living in lies.

By the time they went to bed, something had shifted. The women had been deceived, and now they knew it. Leisel wrote in her diary before sleep came. The camp allowed prisoners to keep personal journals. She wrote carefully knowing these words would last. December 25, 1945. Today I learned that kindness from enemies reveals more than hatred from friends.

We were told Canadians were savages. They served us Christmas dinner and asked for nothing in return. I do not know who I am anymore, but I know who I am not. I am not the person who believed the lies. Hey, quick pause. Every video I make is about keeping these stories alive. Stories of young Canadians who gave everything and never got to tell their own tale.

If you think that matters, hit subscribe. Help me make sure this all will never be forgotten. Now, back to the video. The Christmas revelation changed everything, but not for everyone. In the weeks and months that followed, the women split into three groups that rarely mixed. About 110 women, including Greta and Maggie, experienced a complete shift in how they saw the world.

They enrolled in education programs more seriously. English class attendance doubled. They asked Canadian guards questions about democracy and civil rights and how women got the vote. They wanted to understand how this system worked so differently from the one they had known. About 40 women refused to accept what they had seen.

They were led by Hfeld Webblin Krauss, a former auxiliary sergeant major who was 38 years old and came from Munich. Krauss had been a true believer in the party since she was a teenager. She insisted the good treatment was just psychological warfare, a trick to break their spirits before the real punishment began.

She argued that Canada only showed abundance to prisoners while Canadian people secretly starved just like Germans. She refused to attend English classes. She kept to herself and the small group of women who still believed. She said they must never forget what Germany stood for. About 33 women remained caught in the middle, torn between old beliefs and new evidence. Leisel was one of them.

She attended church services every Sunday, searching for answers in faith. But she also went to secret meetings with Krauss’s group, afraid to let go of everything she had once believed. If she admitted she had been wrong about the war, it meant her brothers died for nothing. That thought was too painful to accept. She lost weight.

She could not sleep. Other women heard her crying at night in her bunk. The tensions between the groups grew sharp and angry. One night in February, an argument explodedin Barrack 7. Krauss and Greta faced each other while the whole building listened. Krauss spoke first, her voice cold and hard. You have all become traitors.

They feed you and you forget your fatherland. Greta did not back down. Our fatherland starved us and lied to us. These enemies treat us better than our own government ever did. Krauss pointed at her with a shaking finger. You will regret this when we return. The party will know who remained loyal. Greta laughed, but it was a bitter sound.

The party is ashes, Krauss, just like the cities it destroyed. The women who had transformed started writing different kinds of letters home. Greta wrote to her mother in March. Dear Muti, I must tell you something difficult. The things we were taught about the Western Allies were lies. I am not saying this lightly.

I have seen their society with my own eyes. I have lived among them for almost a year. They have freedom we never knew existed. Women here can vote and own property and work anywhere they choose. Their newspapers print criticism of their own government without censorship. No one is arrested for asking questions. I do not know if I can come back and pretend I do not know this truth.

Leisel wrote to her sister Anna in April, finally choosing a side. Dear Anna, do you remember when father said democracies were weak and would collapse? I have been living in one for almost a year. They are not weak. They are strong because their people choose to be strong, not because they are forced. I am learning English. I might try to stay here after the war.

Please do not tell father yet. I am afraid of what he will think of me, but I cannot unknow what I now know. Maggie wrote to her husband, Hans, who was trapped somewhere in the Soviet zone. She knew the Soviet sensors might read the letter, but she tried anyway. My dearest Hans, I know you cannot write freely, but I need you to hear this.

The West is nothing like we were told. If there is any way to get to the Western zones instead of staying under Soviet control, do it. There is food here, freedom here, real freedom, not the word without the meaning. I will wait for you wherever you are, but if you can choose, choose the west. All my love, Maggie. Sergeant Okconor noticed the division among the women and started organizing weekly discussion groups.

They were completely voluntary. No one had to attend. The topics included Canadian history, how democratic government worked, and the women’s rights movement. 85 women came regularly. Another 20 came sometime, still uncertain. Krauss’s group never attended. They called it enemy propaganda and brainwashing. Local Canadian civilians became more involved with the camp.

The Lutheran church in Lethbridge sponsored monthly social events. German Canadian families adopted some of the prisoners for letterw writing and small gifts. The women’s auxiliary from town brought donated clothing and books. A local teacher named Mrs. Defenbacher started tutoring Greta in advanced English once a week.

Real friendships formed across the line that used to separate enemy from ally. The camp offered vocational training programs and the transformed women signed up eagerly. 67 women completed typing certification. 34 finished bookkeeping courses. 12 studied nursing assistants. 28 enrolled in university correspondence courses through the University of Alberta Alberta extension program.

They were preparing for a future that looked nothing like their past. Krauss’s group maintained their resistance in increasingly desperate ways. They gave Nazi salutes to each other in private. They refused to speak any English, calling it the language of their conquerors. They interpreted every act of kindness as manipulation and trickery.

They planned to report all the traitors when they got back to Germany. But their influence shrank as more women joined the transformed group. Even some of Krauss’s most loyal followers began to drift away. Worn down by evidence that would not stop piling up. The psychological toll weighed on everyone. The transformed women grieved for who they used to be, mourning the innocent beliefs of their younger selves.

The resistors grew more isolated and bitter, defending a world view that crumbled more each day. The conflicted women, including Leisel, until April, were exhausted from fighting a war inside their own minds. Even the Canadian guards felt frustrated that they could not reach everyone, could not heal every wound with kindness.

The truth was becoming clear. Some wounds cut too deep for even the best treatment to fix. Some people needed their anger and their old beliefs because letting go meant admitting their whole lives had been built on lies. That admission required a kind of courage that not everyone possessed. In June of 1946, an announcement came that changed everything again.

All prisoners would be sent home starting in September. The women faced a choice. They could embrace their transformationand return to help build a new Germany based on truth. Or they could resist until the end and go back to comfortable lies that would eventually destroy them from the inside.

Greta wrote in her diary that night, “We are going home to a country that does not exist anymore. The Germany we knew is gone, buried under rubble and lies. The question is, are we brave enough to help build something better? Or will we dig through the ashes looking for the poison that killed us the first time? In September of 1946, the camp commander announced that all German prisoners would go home by the end of December.

The women would leave in four groups of about 45 to 50 each. Mothers with children would go first, then the oldest women, then everyone else by age. The first group would depart on October 15th. Suddenly, going home felt real and terrifying at the same time. Greta had already applied for immigration to Canada. The process could take years, so she made a backup plan.

If Canada said no, she would return to Hamburg and help rebuild the city. She took her final English exam and scored 87%. She was fluent enough to work in any English-speaking country. Sergeant Okconor wrote her a letter of recommendation for the Canadian Immigration Office. Greta felt torn in two directions.

Canada had given her a new life and new hope, but Germany was still home, still the place where her mother lived and her brothers were buried. Leisel had decided to return to Bavaria, but planned to keep writing to the Canadian church sponsors who had befriended her. She wanted to work for democratic reform in Germany to help build a country based on truth instead of lies.

She wrote one final letter to her sister Anna. I am coming home, but I am bringing new ideas with me. I hope father will understand. I hope you will understand. I am not the girl who left. She was afraid. Her father had been a party member. How would he react to a daughter who now believed in democracy? Maggie faced the hardest choice of all.

Her husband Hans was still trapped in the Soviet zone with no permission to leave. She could return to the Soviet sector and probably never escape again. Or she could stay in the western zones and risk never seeing Hans again. She chose the west. I can help him more from the free side of the border, she told Greta.

If I am trapped too, we are both lost. If I am free, maybe I can get him out. Each woman could take 50 lb of personal belongings on the journey home. Greta packed 14 English books, her completed correspondence course certificates, letters from Canadian friends, and Sergeant Okconor’s address written on three different pieces of paper in case she lost one.

Leisel packed a Bible that the Catholic chaplain had given her, a new winter coat donated by a local church, 3 years worth of letters from Anna, and an English German dictionary. Maggie packed photographs of the camp, all the letters from Hans that had made it through, her bookkeeping certification, and extra writing materials to send letters once she arrived.

On October 12th, the camp held a farewell ceremony for all 183 women. Colonel Matthews, the camp commander, gave a speech in English that Sergeant Okconor translated, “You came here as our enemies. You leave as people we have come to know. Whatever you were told about us, I hope you will tell your families what you truly saw.

Democracy is not perfect, but it is built on dignity for all people. Take that idea home with you. The women stood and applauded. Several were crying openly. The idea that enemy prisoners would applaud their capttors would have seemed impossible 18 months ago. Sergeant Okconor found Greta alone after the ceremony.

They talked privately for the last time. “You are one of the brightest students I’ve ever taught,” Okconor said. “Do not waste that gift.” She gave Greta a book as a personal gift. “It was called Anne of Green Gables, a famous Canadian novel. Inside the front cover, Okconor had written an inscription for Greta.

May you always choose truth over comfortable lies. Your friend Margaret O’Conor, October 1946. The two women hugged. A friendship had formed across the line that used to divide enemy from ally. The first transport group left on October 15th. 47 women, including Krauss and her hardcore resistors, departed first. They sang Nazi songs on the train to Halifax.

The Canadian Guards did not stop them. Democracy meant allowing free expression, even for hateful ideas. It was their final defiance, or maybe just the last gasp of a dying ideology. The second transport left on November 10th. 48 women, including Greta and Leisel, boarded a different train. The atmosphere was quieter and more thoughtful.

Many women spent the journey writing final letters to Canadian friends. The ship that would carry them across the Atlantic was called the SS Marine Falcon. The crossing took 14 days. As the Canadian coast disappeared behind them, Greta felt both relief and sadness mixing together in her chest.The ship arrived at Bremer Haven Port on November 24th.

Germany appeared through the morning fog, and what the women saw stopped their breath. 90% of the port city had been destroyed by Allied bombing. Mountains of rubble stretched in every direction. Buildings stood like skeletons with empty windows and missing walls. People in rags picked through debris looking for anything useful.

British soldiers managed the processing center where returnees got their papers. The smell hit them first. Sewage and smoke and unwashed bodies filled the air because the city’s infrastructure was destroyed. They saw amputees everywhere. Men missing arms and legs from the fighting.

Children with hollow faces and two big eyes begged for food. Women dug through rubble with bare hands searching for lost belongings. The sound was wrong, too. A city should be full of noise, traffic, and factories, and people talking. But this city was mostly silent. No cars moved because there was no fuel. No factories ran because they had been bombed to ruins.

Greta stood on the dock holding her 50 lb of books and certificates and stared at the destruction. In Canada, we were prisoners who lived better than free Germans live now,” she said quietly. She gave her warm winter coat to a woman with three children who had nothing. “Everything they had taken for granted in the camp was luxury here.

” Leisel asked a British soldier for directions to Bavaria. He spoke German with a heavy accent. Railroad is damaged. Maybe 2 weeks for repair. You can walk or wait. Two weeks to fix a railroad that worked perfectly every day in Canada. She understood then Germany had not just lost a war. Germany had lost everything.

Maggie headed straight to British zone headquarters and asked about bringing her husband from the Soviet zone to the west. The officer looked at her with sad eyes. Almost impossible, ma’am. The iron curtain is coming down. The Soviets are not letting people out. I am sorry. She walked away thinking at least she was on the free side of that curtain.

Now she just had to find a way to get Hans across. Greta reached Hamburgg in early December. Her family’s apartment building had been destroyed in the firebombing. Her mother was living in the basement of a ruined building with two other families sharing three small rooms. Greta showed her mother the Canadian certificates and English books.

Her mother held them carefully and said, “You are alive and educated. That is more than most have now.” Greta found work with the British occupation forces as a translator. Her English skills were valuable, and the job came with decent food rations. Leisel arrived in Bavaria to learn that her father had died in a Soviet prison camp.

Her mother and sister were surviving on a tiny farm plot, growing just enough to eat. The village was 40% destroyed. Most of the men were dead or missing. She shared the food packages she’d saved from Canada, dried fruit and chocolate that seemed like treasure. Her sister Anna listened to her speak English and said, “You sound different.

You think different, too.” Leisel nodded. “I am different, and Germany must be different, too, or we will make the same mistakes again.” Maggie found a room in West Berlin, sharing a small apartment with eight other people in three rooms. She got work with American occupation forces as an administrative clerk.

The job gave her better rations and access to mail services. She began sending letters to Hans through the Red Cross, hoping one would reach him. If I am patient, she thought, if I’m smart and strategic, we will be together again. On December 31st, the last transport arrived. All 183 women were now back in Germany, scattered across a destroyed nation.

Some went to the Soviet zone and Maggie worried for them. Some went to Western zones where conditions were better and hope still lived. All of them returned to a country they barely recognized. New Year’s Eve, 1946. Greta sat in the rubble of Hamburgg writing a letter to Sergeant Okconor by candlelight.

Dear Margaret, I am home, but home is gone. The city I knew exists only in memory. Yet I am not afraid. You taught me that people rebuild stronger when they build on truth instead of lies. Germany will rise again, but this time on democratic foundations. Thank you for showing me what that means. Your friend Greta. She mailed it on January 2nd.

It arrived in Canada on February 15th. Okconor kept that letter in a drawer until her death in 1998. The years after the war were hard, but filled with purpose. Greta continued working as a translator for the British occupation forces in Hamburgg. In 1948, she witnessed the Berlin Airlift, American and British planes flying food into blockaded Berlin every few minutes.

The Western democracies were saving Germans who had been their enemies just 3 years before. Democracy meant helping people even when it was hard. A year later, Greta attended the founding ceremony of the Federal Republic of Germany.Yanuk stood in the crowd and cried as politicians promised this new Germany would be built on democratic principles and human rights.

Everything she had learned in Canada was becoming real. She married British officer John Matthews in 1950. moved to England a year later and by 1955 was teaching in London, specializing in civic education and critical thinking. Lisel spent the late 1940s helping rebuild her Bavarian village, working construction by day and attending political meetings at night.

She joined the Christian Democratic Union, a new Democratic Party, and in 1950 married local teacher France Vber. Their first daughter, Anna, was born a year later. From 1953 to 1960, Leisel taught English at the local school. The skills she learned as a prisoner of war became her livelihood. She quietly shared her P experience with older students.

Our enemies treated us with more dignity than our government did. She told them, “Remember that when someone tells you to hate.” She helped found a local Canadian German friendship society that organized cultural exchanges. Maggie’s struggle took longer to resolve. She worked for the US occupation forces for 5 years, saving money and writing letters to Hans that rarely reached him.

Then in 1953, a miracle happened. Hans escaped from the Soviet zone and found Maggie in West Berlin after eight years apart. They held each other and cried for an hour without speaking. You were right about everything, he finally said. Everything you wrote about the West was true. They moved to Munich, found office work, and though they never had children, they mentored young women entering the workforce.

Hans said she saved his life twice, once by surviving the war, and once by being on the free side when he escaped. The three women kept writing to their Canadian friends for decades. Greta and Sergeant Okconor exchanged letters every year until Okconor died in 1998. They sent Christmas cards with family photos and updates about their children.

In 1967, Greta visited Canada with her husband and two children. She reunited with Okconor in Lethbridge, and both women cried when they embraced. Greta showed her children the camp. Most of the structures still stood, though it had been closed for years. She told them, “This is where I learned the difference between patriotism and nationalism.

Patriotism means loving your country enough to make it better. Nationalism means loving your country so much you refuse to see its faults.” Leisel kept writing to Captain Schmidt, the Catholic chaplain, until he died in 1989. She sent an annual donation to the Lutheran church in Lethbridge that had sponsored her.

In 1975, she visited Canada with her husband and three grown children. They met Mrs. Defenbaker, the teacher, who had tutored Greta, now elderly, but still sharp. Leisel’s children were amazed. “You were treated this well as a prisoner?” they asked. Leisel smiled. I was treated like a human being. That is the minimum every person deserves, but not everyone receives it.

Maggie never visited Canada because money was always tight, but she sent photographs of life in West Germany. Her letters documented the German economic miracle, the growth of democratic stability, and eventually Germany joining NATO. In 1980, she wrote to Okconor, “We proved it is possible to transform from dictatorship to democracy in one generation.

Other nations struggling with tyranny should take hope from our example.” In 1985, 40 years after the war ended, the Canadian government invited former PS to Lethbridge for a memorial ceremony. 23 of the women accepted the invitation. Many had died. Some were too sick or frail to travel.

Some were trapped in East Germany and could not get permission to leave. But Greta, Leisel, and Maggie all came. Local Souse newspapers ran stories with the headline, “Former enemies return as friends.” The women shared their stories with students at Lethbridge High School. Greta, now 64 years old, told the students, “We were taught you were monsters. You showed us you were human.

That changed everything. When I teach young people now, I tell them to question what they are told about enemies. Someone benefits from your hatred, and it is rarely you.” Leisel, age 59, said, “I came here believing lies. I left knowing truth. that truth helped rebuild Germany as a democracy. Never think small acts of kindness do not matter.

Treating even your enemies with basic dignity can change the future of nations. Maggie, age 70, spoke last. They fed us, educated us, and treated us fairly. Not because we deserved it. We were the enemy, but because they believed in principles bigger than war. That is the foundation of democracy. principles that apply even when it is hard or inconvenient.

Of the one 183 women who lived in camp 133, 34 eventually immigrated to Canada in the 1950s and60s. 12 went to America, eight to Britain, six to Australia. Most said their P experience was the reason they chose to leave Germany. Theybrought their families, their skills, and their gratitude. Several became Canadian citizens.

One woman’s son served in the Canadian military decades later. Even Krauss, the hardline resistor, eventually changed. She stayed loyal to Nazi ideology through the 1950s while living in East Germany. But witnessing the brutality of the East German secret police, the Stazzi finally broke through her beliefs.

In 1961, she fled to West Germany when the Berlin wall went up. In 1965, she wrote a letter to the former camp commander, but never sent it. It was found after her death. I was wrong about everything. It read, “The democracy I mocked would have saved Germany or in the Authoritarianism I love destroyed it. I spent 20 years learning what I could have learned in one year if I’d been willing to see truth. I am sorry.

” Greta wrote a textbook in 1978 called From Propaganda to Truth: Education in Democratic Society. It was used in German schools for civic education classes. She shared her P experience as a case study in critical thinking. Leisel’s son became a member of the German Parliament from 1982 to 1998. He credited his mother’s stories for his commitment to the transatlantic alliance between Germany and North America.

In the 1990s, a German documentary called Find Unfroined, which means enemy and friend, interviewed surviving women PS from Canadian camps. Greta, Leisel, and Maggie were featured. The film was shown in German schools and won educational awards. Greta died in 2012 at age 88 in London. Her obituary called her a teacher, author, and advocate for democratic education.

She left her papers and her complete P diary to the Imperial War Museum. Her last diary entry was written on Christmas 2011. Almost 66 years since that Christmas dinner in Lethbridge. Still the most important meal of my life. It taught me that kindness defeats hatred every single time. Leisel died in 2015 at age 89 in Bavaria.

She had four children, 11 grandchildren, and six great grandchildren. The Canadian ambassador to Germany attended her funeral. She was buried holding a photograph from the 1985 Lethbridge reunion. Her daughter found an unscent letter after her death. Thank you, Canada, for saving my soul when you could have crushed my body. I spent my life trying to honor that grace.

Maggie died in 2008 at age 94 in Munich. Her husband Hans had died in 2003. They had no children but mentored dozens of young women in their careers. Maggie left her estate to create scholarships for women studying democratic governance. Her will said in memory of the Canadian guards who showed this German enemy that democracy means treating even opponents with dignity.

What did these women truly learn? Greta understood that education only matters if you are willing to question what you are taught. A closed mind in a free society learns nothing. An open mind under dictatorship learns everything it needs to choose freedom. Leisel learned that her real enemies were not the people she was told to hate.

Her enemies were the people who told her to hate. They stole years of her life, destroyed her country, and killed her brothers. The Canadians gave her food, education, and most importantly, truth. Maggie learned that systems matter more than slogans. Democratic systems protected them even as prisoners. Authoritarian systems destroyed them even as supposedly free citizens.

The lesson for everyone watching this story is simple but profound. How we treat those we have defeated reveals more about our values than how we treat our allies. Canada could have abused these women who served the Nazi regime. Instead, Canada demonstrated that democratic principles apply to everyone, even enemies, because principles mean nothing if they only work when convenient.

Diese Frauen kamen als Dienerinnen einer Diktatur. Sie gingen als Zeuginnen der Demokratie, verwandelt nicht durch einen Sieg im Kampf, sondern durch Menschlichkeit in der Gefangenschaft, durch ein gemeinsames Weihnachtsfest, durch Worte wie „mina liba“, die von aufrichtiger Anteilnahme gesprochen wurden. Als sie beim Wiederaufbau Deutschlands als Demokratie halfen, als sie Kinder erzogen, die Menschenrechte schätzten, als sie Schüler zum kritischen Denken anregten, beglichen sie eine Schuld der Güte, die Feinde in Verbündete verwandelt hatte.

Die Frage bleibt für jede Generation bestehen: Wie behandeln wir unsere Feinde? Bestätigen wir ihre schlimmsten Befürchtungen? Oder leben wir Prinzipien vor, die es wert sind, verteidigt zu werden? Die Frauen von Camp 133 beweisen, dass Freundlichkeit keine Schwäche ist. Sie ist die stärkste Waffe der Demokratie.