After my two days of enjoying Easter calm in the city, things ramped up, The next two days were really heavy. I went to Nuremberg and Dachau. Nuremberg was educational. Dachau was emotional.
I have never been a history buff. WWII is perhaps the historical period I know the most about but in Nuremberg I quickly discovered I know very little.
The museum in Nuremberg I visited was exceptional and extensive. I am most familiar with the actually happenings during the war so for me the most insightful sections explained how Hilter rose to power and maintained a submissive and enthusiast following. Hitler's ideology was definitely extreme but at it's most basic I think it filled the need to blame someone for the state Germany was in after WWI. The German people were unhappy with their government, with their living conditions, and, as seems to be human nature, were looking for someone to blame. Hilter eloquently and passionately presented the people with targets for their blame and solutions to their problems. He wisely withheld the full extent of his plans and was able to clutch the hearts and minds of many Germans.
His take over was not as smooth as I originally thought. There were those who opposed him right from the start and he was thrown in jail for his ideologies and unsavoury behaviours. It was during this time he wrote "Mein Kampf". What I didn't know was that during this time he began to look for legal ways to take over the government. And he found them. Then once he was in power, his control methods returned to his preferred less than legal style. Or should I say he changed the laws to make his plans legal.
Hilters rise to power is more understandable when you know that it was built on addressing the psychological needs of the people, his full intentions weren't understood by anyone and that (the successful) attempt was conducted legally. That being said, after seeing Dachau I again couldn't understand how things could have gotten so bad.
Dachau was overwhelming. I was filled with conflicting thoughts which brought on a mix of emotions ranging from shame to awe to everything in between. It's extremely difficult to explain but I'm going to try. I want you to understand that I am not proud nor really ashamed of some of the thoughts that crossed my mind because it is what I conclude from my individual reactions that should be judged.
Upon my arrival at the entrance to the living quarters (which is where the memorial is) I felt a heavy, almost physical weight in my chest. I thought about how many people walked through that gate not knowing what their fate would be. Perhaps at the beginning of the war they didn't even worry. Some likely thought this was just a temporary inconvenience. Towards the end of the war I'm sure it was fear and resoluteness that occupied their minds. Immediately after this feeling settled I became concerned with getting a good picture. And while taking the picture - so that it looked just right - I felt ashamed. But yet I also felt that I should capture this image well because it is so meaningful.
Walking through the door brought another wave of emotional responses. It's was empty, clean, boring. There were a couple nicely painted buildings and a few plaques. Scattered around were some impressively large trees. I felt much the same way I did in Pompeii. Where is the evidence of suffering? Where is the humanity and loss of humanity? It is just a section of earth and structures of wood. Then I read the first plaque while listening to the audio guide. I looked into the faces of the people in the picture who were lined up for roll call for sometimes hours on end. That was not right. I turned to the expanse of gravel that had bored me minutes earlier and I could see in my minds eye the humanity. The loss of humanity. It broke my heart and made me mad. No one should ever be treated like that. No one. But still it felt my response was not enough. Like I didn't really understand the terribleness of this place. My anger and sadness was lacking. It did not match the immeasurable pain experienced there in the past.
As I walked through the rest of the memorial site, these responses continued to cycle. I saw the bunk houses with their smoothly sanded and well constructed bunk beds standing uncountable in tiny rooms. I saw the crematorium dustless and cold tucked away so the scent of burning bodies would permeate the camp but at least you couldn't see the cottage like building that housed the flames. I saw the guard towers empty and looming evenly placed around the perimeter surrounded by green grass and partial sections of fencing. I felt fear and sadness. I felt like a tourist.
It is strange how your human experiences bring mental shame on you just because of where you are situated. I found myself exhausted by the emotional cycle. (How dare I be exhausted by so little). I grew hungry. (How dare I be hungry in this place). I was tired. (You do not know what tired is). All I wanted to do was sit down. (We stood for up to 72 hours in solitary confinement ). I wanted to go see other sites. (We wanted to go home).
At one point during my time at Dachau, I sat down and just reflected on all the thoughts I was having and this battle to understand but feeling so emotionally removed. I was overwhelmed by this thought that I should feel more deeply. That because I wasn't sobbing uncontrollably that my humanity was in question. It's a terrifying thought to feel your emotional response to the Holocaust is inadequate.
I still don't quite know how one should feel when visiting sites of tragic loss. Most of my time at Dachau was spent trying to reconcile mixed intellectual and emotional responses. Like I said before I'm neither proud nor ashamed of those responses. I think the struggle to connect is what makes the experience the most powerful. And in the end what matters is how you encorporate that experience into your life going forward.
I did have one really strong and clean cut response during my visit. It made me believe that while my head and heart might not connect on some aspects I certainly hadn't lost my humanity. It reassured me that going forward I will be a better person.
"The Bunker", as it was known to those held captive in the camp, was a place of extreme terror. There were no rules. No tortures that were off limits. And often no real reason for being sent there or being released. Every prisoner in the camp feared being sent to "The Bunker" and every prisoner inside of it feared never leaving alive.
"The Bunker" is the concentration camp jail.
The first room I entered was the guard's office. I cannot explain the reaction I had walking in there. I wanted to tear that room apart. I want to punch every single person that ever sat in that room in the face. I wanted to cry. I wanted to spit on the images of the men who wardened that jail throughout the camp's existence. I was mad.
I think my reaction was so strong because I understood this place. In this space my emotional-intellectual disgust met with my personal experience disgust.
This empty, white walled room was the office of people who disrespected human life on a whole new level. I immediately connected it to our offices at work. The portraits of the wardens on the walls became portraits of my coworkers. The write ups about their conduct made my soul scream "how could you do that?!". I know how a jail is supposed to be run. It is never supposed to be run like that.
I was angry because I understand the power those guards had and how completely they abused it. Abuse of power became a sport. Some guards became professional athletes.
I was angry because I understood the suffering of the people forcibly contained in that building. I have seen what a few days of solitary confinement can do to someone when they are healthy, well fed, given light and exercise, are allowed to sit down, have books to read and people to talk to, and do not have to fear daily torture. My heart literally hurts at the thought of what removing those basic elements would do to a person.
I became a guard to gain insight as to why people do terrible things. Those insights were supposed to come from interactions with people on the other side of the bars from me. I became a guard to ensure there was a least one person who cared for the dignity of - guilty - people. The guards at this jail took those positions for the absolute opposite reasons.
People say you can't know how you will react until you are in a situation. I think to some extent that is true but after visiting Dachau I feel I can say with reasonable certainty I would have fought. I would have joined the resistance on either side of the bars. There were pockets of resistance within the prisoner population and within the German population. There were people who fought for humanity. I would have been one of them.
I went to Dachau to see, to understand. I went to know what humans are capable of. We are capable of great atrocity. That will never be me. I am alive and imbued with respect for the lives of others.
"Never again"
- memorial plaque, Dachau
