For decades, the life and imagery of Anne Frank have served an array of political and personal agendas, some quite far removed from their original context of the German-occupied Netherlands of World War II. Over time, Frank’s writings and likeness have inspired comparisons to the siege of civilians during the Balkan wars, the events of the Rwandan genocide, and the suffering of political prisoners incarcerated in Apartheid-era South Africa. And now, influencers and pundits on both the political right and left are arguing about whether Frank and her family would be considered “undocumented” and therefore subjected to ICE detention—if they were living and hiding in the contemporary United States.
The Frank family was considered stateless according to the standards of the time. But her story importantly shows us today that when a certain population is being targeted by a state government, few officials parse out the particulars of one’s immigration status—and whether a person is stateless or not ultimately ceases to matter as the crackdowns escalate.
Shortly after Hitler and his government seized power in early 1933, the Franks arrived in the neighboring Netherlands, where they sought relief from Nazi anti-Jewish discrimination. They found refuge in Amsterdam, where over 20,000 fellow Jewish citizens from the new German Reich had relocated. Like many other emigres to the Netherlands at that time, the Franks established legal residency in their adopted country, and they adhered to all local laws. However, they did not seek Dutch citizenship for reasons unknown: perhaps they expected to return to Germany once Hitler was no longer in power, or perhaps they considered themselves safe without Dutch passports. Anne’s mother, Edith, continued to speak German, and, by all accounts, struggled to acculturate to her new environment. Her children, by contrast, attended Dutch schools and claimed both Dutch and emigre friends.
Read More: Does It Matter If We Know Who Betrayed Anne Frank?
In May 1940, German forces invaded and then occupied the Netherlands, with Belgium and France following shortly thereafter. After an initial period of calm, German authorities in the Netherlands began issuing a series of restrictive anti-Jewish laws. These harsh new restrictions—forcing Jewish men and women to shop only during designated time periods and in certain locations, or banning Jewish children from local public schools—affected all Jewish residents, regardless of their precise legal status under Dutch law. In late November 1941, the new “Reich Citizens Act” issued in Berlin deprived all German Jews, regardless of their current location, of their citizenship. With this new decree, Anne Frank and her family became stateless. Of the approximately 23,000 “stateless” Jewish men, women, and children who had fled Nazi Germany and Austria and settled in the Netherlands, few would survive the war.
When, in the summer of 1942, German authorities in the Netherlands began calling up Jewish men, women, and children for what they touted as “supervised labor” in Germany, those deemed “stateless” were among the first to receive notices to “voluntarily” report for deportation. Margot Frank, Anne’s older sister, received her notice dated July 5, 1942, thus prompting the family to go into hiding above the Frank family’s office building in central Amsterdam. Those who did heed their call-up orders were deported to the Westerbork transit camp in the eastern part of the Netherlands and then to the Auschwitz death camp, where nearly all were killed. In all, during the next two years, over a hundred trains departed the Netherlands for Auschwitz, Sobibor, Theresienstadt, and Bergen-Belsen. They carried approximately 107,000 individuals. Even if those made stateless were among the first to be deported, legal distinctions ceased to matter at some point. Camp personnel who received these trains did not even ask those arriving to show their documents.
In neighboring France, where approximately 30,000 German and Austrian Jews had settled after 1933, French authorities and German officials prioritized the deportation of stateless and other “foreign” Jews, including those who had been naturalized in France. Weeks after Margot Frank received her call-up notice, French police detained and then deported about 7,000 of these individuals in what became known as the “Vélodrome d’Hiver” roundup. Nearly all of those deported, including 3,000 children unaccompanied by their parents, were killed at Auschwitz. Here, as in the Netherlands, legal distinctions soon ceased to matter. Deportations continued unabated throughout 1944, targeting all Jewish residents, regardless of citizenship status. Millions of Jewish civilians, regardless of their legal status or the documents they carried, died as a result.
The end of the war in 1945 and the subsequent creation of the new United Nations (U.N.) organization brought increased attention to the plight of stateless peoples, particularly in war-torn Europe. In 1950, the U.N.’s General Assembly approved the creation of what is now known as the U.N. High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). A few years later, members of the assembly adopted the convention relating to the Status of Stateless Persons, which went into effect in June 1960. To this day, the UNHCR reiterates its commitment to protect and advocate for those who are not recognized as citizens of any country.
Read More: What I Learned About the Power of Sports as a Refugee Olympian
Today, by the agency’s count, as many as 4.4 million people around the world remain stateless. The U.S. State Department website discussing the meaning, causes, and contemporary implication of statelessness is no longer active. It does not indicate how many stateless individuals currently reside in the United States, although the UNHCR cites a figure of approximately 218,000 people “potentially stateless or potentially at risk of statelessness” located in the United States in all 50 states. While Democratic policymakers have introduced legislation to protect stateless persons, it is currently stalled, and the Trump Administration has rescinded Biden-era guidance that allowed immigration officials to recognize and consider statelessness.
President Trump’s recent threats to revoke the U.S. citizenship of some of his vocal critics like Rosie O’Donnell do little to assuage the concerns of those who fear that the number of stateless persons will only continue to rise in the coming months. Furthermore, as we have seen in the past few months, if ICE raids prioritize apprehension and detention first, documentation and verification later, American citizens, permanent residents, documented and undocumented people, as well as stateless people will be caught in that wide net.
Real-life and virtual discussions of Anne Frank’s legal status obviously serve contemporary causes, with participants hoping to score points with others who share their politics. This will not be the last time the young diarist’s name is evoked, divorced from proper historical context, nor should it be. Frank’s life and death as a stateless person remind us that in our current environment, legal protections only go so far.
Jennifer L. Foray is an Associate Professor of History at Indiana University and a former Fulbright scholar to the Netherlands.
Made by History takes readers beyond the headlines with articles written and edited by professional historians. Learn more about Made by History at TIME here. Opinions expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of TIME editors.
The post The Resonance of Anne Frank’s Story Today appeared first on TIME.
