Paul Grüninger: The Swiss Policeman Who Chose Humanity Over Bureaucracy
- dthholland
- Nov 15, 2022
- 5 min read
When the world slid towards chaos in the late 1930s, there were individuals who, faced with impossible choices, quietly chose to do the right thing. One such person was Paul Grüninger, a Swiss police commander who risked everything — his career, his reputation, his livelihood — to save thousands of Jewish refugees. His is not a story of dramatic battles or political speeches, but one of steadfast humanity in the face of rising bureaucracy and cold-hearted rules.
Who Was Paul Grüninger?
Born on 27 October 1891 in St. Gallen, Switzerland, Paul Grüninger lived through the First World War and the interwar years, experiencing firsthand a Europe increasingly marked by economic hardship and political extremism. Before joining the police force, he served briefly as a schoolteacher and later enlisted in the Swiss army during the First World War, although Switzerland remained neutral.
By 1925, Grüninger had risen to the position of Commander of the St. Gallen Cantonal Police, responsible for overseeing the eastern border with Austria — a position that would thrust him into the moral crisis that would define his life.
St. Gallen’s border with Austria was historically busy, but after the Anschluss of March 1938, when Nazi Germany absorbed Austria, the flow of people changed dramatically. Jewish families, once living stable lives, now fled with little more than the clothes on their backs, seeking a slim chance of survival across the Swiss border.
Switzerland’s Harsh Refugee Policy
Switzerland had long prided itself on neutrality, but by the late 1930s, that neutrality had hardened into something less benevolent. In an effort to maintain good relations with Nazi Germany and avoid being overwhelmed by refugees, the Swiss Federal Government implemented strict immigration controls.
In October 1938, negotiations between Switzerland and Germany resulted in the notorious “J-stamp” agreement — all Jewish Germans and Austrians now had a large “J” stamped into their passports, making it almost impossible for them to enter Switzerland legally. It was an early, chilling example of administrative measures reinforcing racial persecution.
Official Swiss policy dictated that refugees without proper entry visas were to be turned back at the border — effectively returning them to countries where antisemitic violence was official state policy.
For border officials like Paul Grüninger, the situation presented a brutal choice: obey orders and send desperate people back into the arms of their persecutors, or defy orders and risk everything.
Grüninger’s Quiet Rebellion
Paul Grüninger decided he could not, in good conscience, enforce a policy that condemned people to death. He began allowing refugees to cross the border illegally, often turning a blind eye to those arriving without papers, and actively helping them regularise their status once inside Switzerland.
He did more than simply look the other way. Grüninger falsified official documents, altering the dates of entry so that refugees appeared to have arrived before the March 1938 cut-off. This clever manipulation meant that the authorities had to treat them as legal entrants.
Without this administrative sleight of hand, many of the refugees would have been sent back across the border to almost certain death. Thanks to his efforts, thousands found temporary shelter in camps like Diepoldsau, supported by Jewish aid organisations, while they awaited permission to stay or opportunities to emigrate further afield.
Grüninger’s work required constant vigilance. He filed false reports to the Swiss Federal Police, understated the numbers of new arrivals, and impeded efforts to trace those who had slipped across the border without authorisation. He even paid out of his own pocket for winter clothing and basic supplies for those who had fled Austria with nothing.
His methods were simple but dangerous: he instructed his subordinates to turn a blind eye, he cooperated with Jewish organisations in Switzerland and abroad, and he never asked too many questions. His focus remained solely on saving lives.
The Broader Human Context: The Story of Joseph Spring
While Paul Grüninger risked everything to protect refugees, many others fell victim to Switzerland’s harsh border policies. One tragic example is that of Joseph Spring, a 16-year-old boy from Berlin.
In November 1943, Joseph and his two cousins, Henri (14) and Sylver Henenberg (21), fled mass arrests in Belgium and attempted to cross into Switzerland near La Cure, in the canton of Vaud. Although they carried forged French papers identifying them as “Aryans,” they immediately revealed their Jewish identity to the Swiss authorities, hoping for asylum.
Instead, Swiss border guards turned them back. Undeterred, they tried again the following night — only to be arrested. Swiss officials handed them over directly to the Gestapo, specifically informing the Germans that the boys were Jewish and handing over their hidden papers.
Henri and Sylver were murdered upon arrival at Auschwitz. Joseph Spring survived, but only by the narrowest of margins, protected by an older inmate and enduring forced labour, death marches, and further internment in Germany until his liberation by American forces in 1945.
By November 1943, Swiss officials already had detailed knowledge of the extermination happening in camps like Auschwitz, including crematoria capacity. They could not claim ignorance. Cases like Spring’s reveal the deadly consequences of the border policies that Grüninger courageously defied.
The Exposure and the Aftermath
Unfortunately, such quiet acts of defiance could not remain secret indefinitely. German authorities grew suspicious as more and more Jewish refugees slipped into Switzerland. They eventually informed the Swiss government of Grüninger’s activities.
In March 1939, Paul Grüninger was dismissed from his post without pension. Soon after, he faced criminal charges for breach of duty, falsifying documents, and aiding illegal immigration.
His trial, which began in January 1939, dragged on for over two years. In March 1941, the court found him guilty. While the judges recognised that his motivations had been humanitarian, they insisted that, as a government official, his primary duty was to obey orders, not to question them.
Grüninger was fined heavily, made to pay the costs of his own trial, and was left without the financial security he had earned over a lifetime of public service. From that point onward, he lived in relative poverty, taking on odd jobs to survive. He was ostracised by former colleagues, many of whom viewed him as a traitor to the Swiss system rather than a saviour of the persecuted.
Grüninger’s Unwavering Belief in His Actions
Despite the hardship, Paul Grüninger never expressed regret for his actions. In 1954, he explained his reasoning in simple, profound terms:
“It was basically a question of saving human lives threatened with death. How could I then seriously consider bureaucratic schemes and calculations?”
Grüninger’s quiet dignity in the face of adversity was perhaps his most remarkable quality. He continued to live modestly, never seeking fame or fortune, never demanding recognition for what he had done.
A Long Overdue Recognition
Public awareness of Grüninger’s actions remained limited for decades. It was not until the late 1960s and early 1970s, as Europe began to reckon more honestly with the legacy of the Holocaust, that journalists and historians began to draw attention to his heroism.
Following a media campaign and growing public outcry, the Swiss government in December 1970 issued a somewhat reserved letter of apology. Yet even then, they refused to reopen his case or reinstate his pension.
Paul Grüninger died in 1972, never having seen his name fully cleared.
It took until 1995 for the Swiss Federal Government to formally annul his conviction, acknowledging that he had acted with moral integrity at a time when many had chosen complicity. His legacy was finally rehabilitated, and he was recognised as one of the Righteous Among the Nations by Yad Vashem, Israel’s official memorial to the victims of the Holocaust.
Today, his name appears on schools, memorial plaques, and public buildings across Switzerland, a belated tribute to a man who chose to do good when it mattered most.
