You are Thomas Watson, the founder of IBM, and you face a choice. Hitler has just come to power in Germany, and you are considering whether to direct your German subsidiary, Dehomag, to bid for the job of tabulating the results of a census the Nazi government wants to conduct. While you are making up your mind in your New York office, the local papers swell with stories of anti-Semitic outrages committed by that government. On March 18, 1933, The New York Times reports that the Nazis have ousted all Jewish professionals—lawyers, doctors, teachers—from their jobs. A front-page story under the headline "German Fugitives Tell of Atrocities at Hands of Nazis" describes Brown Shirts dragging Jews out of a Berlin restaurant and forcing them to run a gauntlet of kicks and blows such that the face of the last man through "resembled a beefsteak." Other stories tell of Jews being forced to clean the streets with toothbrushes, of book burnings, of 10,000 refugees fleeing Germany, and of 30,000 people—Jews, political prisoners, gays, and others—imprisoned in concentration camps. On March 27, virtually outside your window on Broadway, a crowd of more than 50,000 at a Madison Square Garden mass rally demands that American firms boycott Nazi Germany. In these circumstances, with this knowledge, will you, Thomas Watson, bid for the census contract?
Flashbacks: "Swiss Banks, Nazi Plunder" (June 26, 1997)
Some damages are irreparable, some losses unrecoverable. Atlantic articles on the legacy of the Nazi past.
You are Thomas Watson, it is 1937, and you must know that the census and other work your German branch has performed for the Nazis has been used not just to count cars and cows but to identify Jews. Perhaps you have even read the comment of a Nazi statistician that "In using statistics the government now has the road map to switch from knowledge to deeds." You have visited Germany; you were in Berlin in July, 1935, when Black Shirts rampaged through the streets smashing the windows of Jewish stores, and forcing your friends, the Wertheims, to sell their department store for "next to nothing" and escape to Sweden. You have seen the broken windows, you have taken tea with a German official at a fine home that he told you was once the property of a Jew who had fled Germany, and now, in recognition of your services to the Third Reich, Hitler wants to give you a medal. Will you accept it? You are Thomas Watson, it is 1940, and Hitler has invaded France. Now comes another choice: executives of your German subsidiary want you to sell out to German principals. With Hitler moving to occupy all of Europe, this is a chance for a clean break. True, the United States is not yet in the war, but Hitler's bombs are falling on London. Disengagement would be politic. Will you sell out or fight to hold on to Dehomag?
Thomas Watson chose to tabulate the Nazi census, to accept Hitler's medal, and to fight for control of Dehomag. And he made other equally indefensible choices in his years of doing a profitable business counting Jews for Hitler—choices that are described in IBM and the Holocaust by Edwin Black. This is a shocking book, even if its subtitle, "The Strategic Alliance Between Nazi Germany and America's Most Powerful Corporation," is hyperbolic and misleading. (IBM was hardly America's most powerful company in the 1930s and 1940s; General Motors was, and it too did business with the Third Reich, though you could be forgiven for getting the impression from Mr. Black that IBM was alone in this unrighteous commerce.) IBM was a New Deal company that famously strove to avoid laying off its work force during the Depression. Watson was a friend of President and Mrs. Roosevelt's. IBM helped crack the German intelligence code. It had a good war. Yet, with the help of more than a hundred researchers working in archives in the U.S., Britain, Germany, France, and Israel, Edwin Black has documented a sordid relationship between this great American company and the Third Reich, one that extended into the war years.