In the waning years of World War II, a young woman donned the chilling garb of an SS uniform, stepping into a role that would etch her name into the annals of infamy. Anneliese Kohlmann, a seemingly unremarkable streetcar operator, transformed into one of the most ruthless female guards in the Nazi regime. Her brief but brutal tenure in concentration camps revealed a capacity for cruelty that shocked even those accustomed to the horrors of the Holocaust. Known as “Bubi” to some prisoners, Kohlmann’s story is a haunting blend of savagery, manipulation, and a fleeting, twisted compassion that only deepened her victims’ suffering.
From Civilian to SS Enforcer
Born into the turbulent early years of the Nazi regime, Anneliese Kohlmann joined the Nazi Party in 1940 at just 19 years old. For four years, she lived a quiet life, working as a streetcar operator in Germany. But in November 1944, her path took a dark turn when she was conscripted into the SS Women’s Auxiliary. After a mere week of training—where she was instructed to treat prisoners with unrelenting harshness—Kohlmann was unleashed upon the Neugraben subcamp of the notorious Neuengamme concentration camp.
As an Aufseherin, or female camp guard, Kohlmann quickly earned a reputation for her ferocity. Supervising women forced to dig anti-tank ditches under grueling conditions, she became one of five guards singled out by prisoners for their extreme cruelty. Her actions were not merely those of a cog in the Nazi machine; they were the deliberate choices of a woman who embraced her power with terrifying zeal.
A Reign of Terror
Kohlmann’s tenure at Neugraben and later at the Tiefstack slave-labor camp was marked by acts of shocking brutality. Witnesses at her 1946 trial recounted horrific scenes: Kohlmann whipping women until their hands and mouths bled, beating a pregnant prisoner until her face remained swollen for days, and sentencing another to 30 strikes with a cane for stealing a piece of bread. Older women bore the brunt of her wrath, often suffering the most savage beatings, their arms left bruised and swollen from her relentless blows.
Yet, amidst this cruelty, Kohlmann displayed a disturbing duality. Younger prisoners, particularly those she found attractive, occasionally received preferential treatment—extra food, brief respites from labor, or even moments of apparent kindness. This was no act of mercy, however. Kohlmann’s “compassion” was a tool of manipulation, often tied to her own desires, as she exploited her authority to forge inappropriate relationships with certain inmates.
A Twisted Affair
Among the most chilling aspects of Kohlmann’s story is her relationship with a Jewish prisoner named Helene Sommer. Witnesses described how Kohlmann, whom some prisoners called “Bubi,” developed an obsession with Sommer, a young woman at Neugraben and Tiefstack. The two were seen exchanging “caresses,” and Kohlmann reportedly spent nights in Sommer’s barracks, leaving at dawn. For Sommer, whose mother was also imprisoned, compliance with Kohlmann’s advances likely meant survival—not just for herself but for her loved ones.
This dynamic was not unique in the camps. Sexual exploitation by guards, both male and female, was a grim reality of the Holocaust, with prisoners coerced into such relationships in exchange for food, medicine, or protection. Survivor Fini Patay, only 14 at the time, later recalled the coercion at play: “She didn’t want to go with her, you know, but she used her.” Kohlmann’s fixation on Sommer extended beyond the camps; she even spoke of moving to Prague with her after the war, a delusional plan that revealed her belief in escaping accountability.
A Desperate Bid for Freedom
As the Third Reich crumbled in April 1945, Kohlmann’s actions grew increasingly desperate. Assigned to transport prisoners from Tiefstack to Bergen-Belsen, she requested to stay and speak with her “cousin,” Sommer. When the camp commander refused, Kohlmann fled to Hamburg, cycled ten hours back to Bergen-Belsen, and disguised herself as a prisoner in a striped uniform. Her plan was audacious: blend in with the inmates, find Sommer, and escape to Prague to evade justice.
For two days after British forces liberated Bergen-Belsen on April 15, 1945, Kohlmann hid among the prisoners. But her ruse unraveled when survivors, torn between her occasional kindness and her undeniable cruelty, turned her in. “She treated us fine, but she was an SS woman,” recalled Věra Fuchsová, a Czech Jewish survivor. “So what to do with her?”
A Mockery of Justice
Kohlmann’s trial in June 1946 laid bare the extent of her crimes. Witnesses testified to her relentless abuse, supported by camp records that painted a damning picture. Kohlmann’s defense was feeble: she claimed her beatings were meant to spare prisoners harsher punishments from male commanders and highlighted her “kindness” in giving extra food to some. Her mother testified that Kohlmann had been depressed during her time as a guard, painting her as a reluctant participant in the Nazi machine.
Despite the overwhelming evidence, the military tribunal sentenced Kohlmann to just two years in prison—a punishment that paled in comparison to the suffering she inflicted. Having already served time since her arrest, she walked free the day her trial ended. The leniency of her sentence remains a stark reminder of the inconsistent justice meted out to many Nazi perpetrators.
A Legacy of Infamy
After her release, Kohlmann faded into obscurity. She moved to West Berlin in 1965 and lived quietly until her death on September 17, 1977, at age 56. No records indicate she ever expressed remorse for her actions. Her story resurfaced in 2013 with the premiere of Under the Skin, a stage play by Yonatan Calderon inspired by her relationship with Sommer, reimagining her as a guard named Charlotte entangled in a forbidden affair.
Anneliese Kohlmann’s brief but brutal career as an SS guard stands as a chilling testament to the depths of human cruelty. Known as a “monster in a skirt,” she wielded her authority with savage precision, leaving a trail of suffering in her wake. Her story is not just one of individual evil but a haunting reminder of the systems that enabled such atrocities—and the failures of justice that allowed her to walk free.