The history of the Second World War through objects
Written by Alex Lepesant
Nowadays, it seems hard to imagine that a small pin can simultaneously embody suffering, disgust, shame, pride and ideology. This badge of about 6cm, however, does exactly that. It was part of a uniform and would have been attached to the front of the cap. Against the generally brownish plain clothes, the little red, white and black pin would of course stick out. The composition of the badge tells us a great deal about what it actually stands for. There are three different parts to consider. The most obvious one is definitely the swastika. The main symbol of the Nazi ideology was imprinted wherever it could be to show affiliation with the state and its political leaders. Here it is imprinted on a shovel, which is framed by two heads of grain. The little badge made of embossed aluminium has of course a purely representative function.
Envisioned representation
The first thing one might want to ask is what the badge initially stood for. What we are seeing here is the symbol of the Reichsarbeitsdienst (RAD), or Reich Labour Service. Following on from various precursors, the RAD was officially introduced in 1935 as a state-controlled response to unemployment. Young men and women were recruited to help with the harvest or build bridges and streets. The shovel represents the workers’ tool par excellence. The simplicity of the shovel illustrates the idea that the men and women were willing to do honest work. Shovels are neither technologically sophisticated nor very effective. They are builder’s tools and are still used symbolically today for groundbreaking ceremonies. No matter how big and ambitious the project, it all starts with a shovel and people willing to put the needed effort in. This idea was presumably also behind the choice of the shovel as a symbol for the RAD. However, the shovel also had another interesting meaning: it used to be part of the standard military equipment given to soldiers. It was a simple but functional tool for both preparation for combat and even combat itself. With enough imagination, a lengthy shovel could serve as a perfect simulation of a typical gun of the time. One could even practise march drills and other military exercises with the shovel in one’s hands. The heads of grain, on the other hand, convey a more innocent impression. What better way of serving the public than by feeding the masses? That is exactly the image the RAD wanted to transmit: honest work for public benefit.
Behind the symbolism
As we know today, the reality was different. The RAD, just like the shovel, was a tool. It enabled the political leaders of the time to infiltrate their ideology into the population. The idea was to extend various control mechanisms deep into society. If every aspect of life in the Reich was determined by Nazi ideology, it is because of institutions like this one. Young people would not only become members of a workforce serving the country; they would also be familiarised with paramilitary structures. The work was usually conducted in large and strictly organised groups. During periods of service, there was very little to no free time. Booklets provided written proof of service and at the same time they were a handy instrument of control. As the war intensified and Germany proclaimed “total” war, the RAD was already well integrated into the war machinery as a means of support for warfare and victory. The badge also testifies to the tendency towards standardisation. As mentioned, the RAD was a military-like structure in which the suppression of all individuality was a key strategy for indoctrination. The regime needed devoted, self-sacrificing followers, and the RAD was just one of many organisations that tried to forge that “ideal” citizen.
The RAD in Luxembourg
Our specific pin belongs to the General Patton Museum in Ettelbruck, Luxembourg. The museum contains a collection of objects that were mostly brought to the museum by local contemporary witnesses. This is most likely also the case for our pin. This raises the question as to what the situation was like in Luxembourg with regard to the RAD. The first call for the medical examination and selection of candidates (Musterung) for the RAD in Luxembourg was announced in February 1941. Those born between 1919 and 1922[1] were called first. The young volunteers had to bring their birth certificate, family record book, work record and appropriate clothes for training.[2] After the hoped-for rush of enthusiastic recruits failed to materialise, letters were sent out to call out the youngsters directly and prompt them to attend a Musterung.[3] Service became mandatory. Once in the camp,[4] the daily routine was planned to the minute from 6am to 10pm. As the war dragged on, being in the RAD could also mean service near the eastern front. In essence, the whole day was taken up by work, and if at some point there was time for another activity, it still took place within the working unit. The camp was a place of conflation. Young individuals were called to serve the country and a uniform, and the aim was to produce a standardised mass of future soldiers. The RAD was part of the war machinery – or at least that was the logic behind it. The reality was of course, again, different. Service was often performed reluctantly and with no great effect in terms of political conviction. Moreover, it was common practice in Luxembourg to wear alternative pins and badges secretly. Many motifs and symbols such as the Grand Duchess became iconic counter-images to German totalitarianism. The rift between the public image, representing Nazi fantasies of a unified, fanatic workforce, and the real struggle and fate of the RAD recruits cannot be underestimated. Knowing what we know today, the fact that people were forced to join the RAD and made to wear the symbol of the RAD with a shovel and heads of grain is an egregious act in itself.
Bibliography:
Benz, Wolfgang, Vom Freiwilligen Arbeitsdienst zur Arbeitsdienstpflicht, in: Vierteljahrshefte für Zeitgeschichte 16/4 (1968), p. 317-346.
Dostert, Paul, Reichsarbeitsdienst-Lager in Luxemburg: Bettemburg, Hesperingen, Schüttringen, Mutfort, Rosport und Hollenfels, in: Von Chorsängern, Eisenbahnen und Kirchenglocken: Festschrift zum 150jährigen Bestehen der Chorale Schuttrange, Luxembourg, 2013, p. 77-81.
Wallerang, Mathias, Luxemburg unter nationalsozialistischer Besatzung: Luxemburger berichten, Mainz 1997.
[1] On 30 August, forced recruitment into the Wehrmacht was announced in Luxembourg for those born between 1920 and 1924.
[2] Bekanntmachung über die Musterung zum Reichsarbeitsdienst, 1941. (Annexe 1.)
[3] Annex 2.
[4] See Dostert, Paul, Reichsarbeitsdienst-Lager in Luxemburg: Bettemburg, Hesperingen, Schüttringen, Mutfort, Rosport und Hollenfels, in: Von Chorsängern, Eisenbahnen und Kirchenglocken: Festschrift zum 150jährigen Bestehen der Chorale Schuttrange, Luxembourg, 2013, p. 77-81.