Animal Law in the Third Reich

Abstract

As we learn in Martina Pluda's brief but insightful volume Animal Law in the Third Reich, these sentiments are not those of Sir David Attenborough, but Nazi Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels. Pluda's book, which examines the paradoxical nature of the animal protection and nature conservation legislation enacted during the Nazi regime, is replete with such surprises and contradictions. Although Pluda adopts a strictly legal perspective, she effectively balances the necessary legalese with enough anecdotal evidence to hold the attention of specialists and laypersons alike.Despite the public's fascination with Nazi leaders and the mythos surrounding their treatment and utilization of animals (particularly Adolf Hitler's German shepherds), academic monographs on the subject are somewhat scarce, and many trade books that delve into the topic of animals and National Socialism should come prepackaged with gratuitous grains of salt. Animal Law in the Third Reich is thus a welcome contribution to the existing literature—one that will hopefully be a stepping stone for future scholarship on the subject. The book is, at its core, an effective amalgamation and analysis of previous research, and the author draws on an impressive variety of primary and secondary sources. It provides a well-organized and concise overview of the Nazi regime's innovative animal protection laws and conservation provisions, its portrayal of animals in propaganda, and the rationale behind these initiatives, which often served to codify anti-Semitic feelings.Pluda convincingly argues that Nazi attitudes toward animals can be traced to a number of interrelated themes. These include German Romanticism, the rejection of anthropocentrism, a strong bond with nature and environmental awareness, and, most notably, the exploitation of animal welfare to justify the regime's crimes against humanity. She concludes her evaluation by juxtaposing recent legislation to the laws passed by the Nazis nearly a century ago. And herein lies what is perhaps the book's most startling message: That the animal and environmental measures drawn up by some of the most egregious monsters of the 20th century—however haphazardly enforced—were remarkably ahead of their time, and ultimately laid the foundation for current animal protection laws in Germany, Austria, and the rest of the European Union.Though interesting and highly readable, Animal Law in the Third Reich is not without its flaws. The book's structure and brevity suggests that it is the end result of a postgraduate thesis. “Chapter” 2, for example, is not really a chapter at all, but merely a timeline of well-known events with animal and environmental-related legislative measures shoehorned in. This timeline would be a welcome addition if not for its glaring errors and omissions. For example, Hitler's appointment as chancellor is equated to that of “prime minister,” Kristallnacht is mistranslated as “The Night of Broken Crystals,” and the May 1942 decree prohibiting Jews from keeping companion animals is mistakenly placed before the Wannsee Conference, which took place in January of that year. It should be noted that such mistakes, though jarring, are most likely the result of sentences that were lost in translation during the editing process. They therefore should not devalue the author's overall argument—especially since the book's greatest strength lies in its linguistically diverse source base.Typographical errors aside, Pluda's readers may find themselves wondering what the average German citizen thought of the Nazi regime's progressive animal protection laws, and whether or not the rules were successfully enforced throughout the country (or, later, in German-occupied territories). Unfortunately, they will have to keep wondering, as neither query is sufficiently addressed in this volume. Witness accounts are mostly limited to the upper echelon of the Third Reich rather than the scientists and lowly farmers whom the legislation purportedly targeted. As for the thousands of “pet-owning” Jews whose companion animals were confiscated and euthanised, Pluda selects German professor and diarist Victor Klemperer to provide the singular chilling voice for the Nazis’ victims: “Later also our pets—cats, dogs, and even canary birds—were taken away from us and killed. . . . This is one of the cruelties that no Nuremberg Trial ever reported” (p. 53). Klemperer's words effectively illustrate the cruel irony of the Nazis’ increasingly hypocritical legislation, the erratic enforcement of the laws, and the sinister evolution of these decrees. The inclusion of additional Jewish voices would have helped reinforce these vital points.Despite some setbacks, there is no doubt that the contributions of Animal Law in the Third Reich far outweigh the book's shortcomings. In less than 200 pages, Pluda proves a clear and nuanced assessment of the regime's contradictory animal protection laws and conservation legislation. She ultimately concludes that the question of “whether either the means or the end were noble or hypocritical” is “unanswerable” (p. 56). On its own, Animal Law in the Third Reich may not change the narrative, but it does join Jan Mohnhaupt's recent volume Tiere im Nationalsozialismus (Animals Under National Socialism) in reigniting the conversation on this exceedingly difficult and complicated subject. Inherently interdisciplinary, Pluda's book would be a useful addition to the syllabi of both undergraduate and postgraduate students, and it deserves a place on the shelves of anyone interested in the history of animal rights legislation.