The Kassel-Oberzwehren camp was run by the US Army. Everyone was screened on arrival. They had to fill in a multi-lingual questionnaire and answer every question. In additional to personal details it asked about all addresses in recent years, activities and memberships. This was mainly meant to identify Nazi collaborators. This bit of paper didn't scare me. I figured that anyone seeing my face would put two and two together and realize that anybody who looked like me couldn't have been a Nazi or a collaborator.

At the table where I stood there sat a young American lieutenant, who made a face when he saw me, and a Polish interpreter whose German was good. In addition to the general questions in the questionnaire I was expected to give an account of what I had done during the Nazi years. I was surprised – after all I had already written down everything that had happened to me since I left school, and there were no gaps in the story. I pointed that out. Of course they could read, was the gruff reply, but they wanted to know what I had really done, because I was clearly still alive. “Nothing,” I answered. But that wasn't enough for my inquisitors. I must have done something, otherwise I wouldn't have survived. And so I found myself in another predicament. It was a bit different from the ones I had already escaped. Now it seemed I was being blamed for having escaped them. The only identity document I had was still my German Alien's Passport with the Nazi symbol on the cover and Berlin as my birthplace. Accordingly I was a German, and could not qualify as a Displaced Person. Neither the American officer nor the Polish interpreter could make any sense of the term “stateless”.

They gave me back my papers and said I should pack my things and get out of the camp. An auxiliary policeman, also a Pole, was called to keep an eye on me and escort me to the gate. The first thing he did when we had left the room was to give me a violent cuff on the ear. To this day I don't know why. I was so shocked I didn't react at all.