Dr. Johanna Haarer (1900–1988) was a German physician and a leading ideologist for child-rearing during the Third Reich. Her methods were based on behaviorism, adapted to fit National Socialist ideology. At the time, Haarer’s book, "The German Mother and Her First Child"—renamed "The Mother and Her First Child" after the war—was considered the gold standard for early childhood education. Although explicit Nazi references were removed from later editions, the core principles remained: mothers were encouraged to keep their children at a distance and provide only basic nourishment, believing that any display of affection would lead to "pampering." The final edition of the book was published as late as 1987! For decades, this Nazi-era manual shaped the upbringing of countless children.

This book also stood on my parents' bookshelf—a gift from my grandmother to my mother, as she had already raised her own children according to its teachings. I was fortunate that my mother mostly ignored Haarer’s advice; she gave me a lot of love as a child. However, in one particular area, she unfortunately followed the book's instructions, and that is what the following song is about.

I didn't write this song to gain sympathy—I’ve been okay for a long time—but to raise awareness. Many remnants of this 'poisonous pedagogy' continue to shape our ideas about child-rearing even to this day.

_____________________________________

I remember myself as a child

only six or seven years old

lying in my bed at night

trying hard to fall asleep.

I knew a way to slip away,

though somehow it felt so wrong,

but my need to comfort myself

was always far too strong.

A small ritual before the dark

I’d start to touch my skin

and feel the heat rise up again

igniting fire deep within.

But every time when it was done

I felt that heavy shame,

the emptiness, the lust now gone.

I felt myself to blame.

Sometimes a nightmare haunted me

I dreamed of ice cold showers.

My mum had forced me to that place

to endure those dreadful hours.

For many years I did not know

how all these things connect,

but even as a teenager

I felt that sex was incorrect.

Some years ago at my mom’s home

we shared a cup of tea.

We talked about my childhood then

and how things used to be.

She laughed and said: “You as a kid

were exploring once yourself.

I stopped it with cold water quick,

as told by that book on the shelf.”

I couldn’t speak, I was just shocked,

began to understand

why all my feelings, bright and strong,

seemed twisted, out of hand.

I took the book down from the shelf,

and read through every line

to learn that this one damned book

was from the Nazi time.

They wanted to break every will,

to keep the children cold and still.

Control the body, kill the spark,

and leave the soul within the dark.

No self-love, just discipline,

to let the state’s commands creep in.

To make them soldiers, numb and blind,

they poisoned every young child's mind.

It took me years to feel at ease,

to find my body’s inner peace.

I hold no grudge against my mother,

she simply knew no other.

But I am angry at that hate

that lingered far beyond forty-five.

How this sick and twisted ghost

could for decades stay alive.