Andrew Post, 2016 Ideas Incubator Fellow, USA
I’d visited the barren flagpole that marked the Ludlow Massacre. In Walsenberg Colorado on April 20, 1914 the National Guard killed dozens of workers striking from work in the mines. I’d traveled through the deserted highways of the American West. Highways that run through current reservations where passengers in air conditioned cars slide over sites of silenced massacres, such as Sand Creek Massacre. I’d even stood in Plaza Mayor in Madrid, where authorities of the Spanish crown conducted procesos de fe, torturing and burning conversos—the Sephardic Jews victim of the Spanish Inquisition. Today we visited a place called Treblinka.
I’d visited the barren flagpole that marked the Ludlow Massacre. In Walsenberg Colorado on April 20, 1914 the National Guard killed dozens of workers striking from work in the mines. I’d traveled through the deserted highways of the American West. Highways that run through current reservations where passengers in air conditioned cars slide over sites of silenced massacres, such as Sand Creek Massacre. I’d even stood in Plaza Mayor in Madrid, where authorities of the Spanish crown conducted procesos de fe, torturing and burning conversos—the Sephardic Jews victim of the Spanish Inquisition. Today we visited a place called Treblinka.
Preparing to
visit a site where 900,000 Jews, Roma, and prisoners of war were murdered was
unlike my previous confrontations with mass death sites. What would this place feel like? Can the death of so many
become tangibly infused into a place? Tomasz Cebulski, a genealogist and expert
in comparative genocide studies, advised the following: we as the living who
make the journey three-quarters of a century after the Holocaust will never
know the full pain or loss. Empathy can only stretch so far when our fates are
safe within a luxury coach bus, prodding along a rainy highway in a non-warring
nation-state. Why, then, make this demanding journey? At the end of this day I
find two reasons. First, identifying the steps of genocide is not only a
reflection on the past, but meditation on the present and preparation for the
future. Second, it is a necessary paradox of the living to try to commemorate
the dead. These points are not separate from each other.
The Path to
Genocide
A theme in our first four days as HIA Polska Fellows has been the progression of a genocide, from classification to extermination and denial. The thriving culture of Jews living in Warsaw in 1939—who made up one third of the city’s population—were labeled, ostracized, and imprisoned under German Nazi occupation. The multiplicities of Jewish life were first forced to wear armbands of the Star of David. SS mandates enforced the confiscation of Jewish property and enforced separate curfews for Jews, Poles, and Germans. Soon 400,000 Jews were confined to the 1.3 square miles of the “little” and “large” ghettos, connected only by a foot bridge. We have attempted to trace the fading outlines of the Warsaw Ghetto where remnants of original structures are now topped with not-so-sleek office buildings. This misty morning we whisked by the cold stone memorial of the Umschlagplatz, where over 300,000 Polish Jews were forced into over-packed train cars, destined for death at Treblinka.
We have witnessed the progression of the Warsaw ghetto genocide. Yet the conversation and discussion of today urged each Fellow to realize that this is not some dark nightmare of human history. As Cebulski said, “human beings unfortunately have a certain malfunction.” This malfunction is the systematic murdering of targeted populations. As we talked about today, this malfunction has repeated itself in our own lifetimes: Rwanda, Bosnia, Darfur. Our job as active humans, is to question how this happens, why this happens, and to raise awareness to instances where patterns of genocide are or have the potential to happen again. How is this done?
A theme in our first four days as HIA Polska Fellows has been the progression of a genocide, from classification to extermination and denial. The thriving culture of Jews living in Warsaw in 1939—who made up one third of the city’s population—were labeled, ostracized, and imprisoned under German Nazi occupation. The multiplicities of Jewish life were first forced to wear armbands of the Star of David. SS mandates enforced the confiscation of Jewish property and enforced separate curfews for Jews, Poles, and Germans. Soon 400,000 Jews were confined to the 1.3 square miles of the “little” and “large” ghettos, connected only by a foot bridge. We have attempted to trace the fading outlines of the Warsaw Ghetto where remnants of original structures are now topped with not-so-sleek office buildings. This misty morning we whisked by the cold stone memorial of the Umschlagplatz, where over 300,000 Polish Jews were forced into over-packed train cars, destined for death at Treblinka.
We have witnessed the progression of the Warsaw ghetto genocide. Yet the conversation and discussion of today urged each Fellow to realize that this is not some dark nightmare of human history. As Cebulski said, “human beings unfortunately have a certain malfunction.” This malfunction is the systematic murdering of targeted populations. As we talked about today, this malfunction has repeated itself in our own lifetimes: Rwanda, Bosnia, Darfur. Our job as active humans, is to question how this happens, why this happens, and to raise awareness to instances where patterns of genocide are or have the potential to happen again. How is this done?
Our Path to
Action
There is no one answer. We as Fellows are beginning to discover possible ways to check this malfunction. Maybe we want to hold the Polish government accountable to their constitution, and will camp outside their office until they know the complaints. Maybe we have worked in the office of the Ombudsman, yet refuse to be satisfied by circumventing answers pertaining to the human rights of half the Polish population. Maybe we are medical researchers who prioritize patient-doctor communication, or designers who fight cyberbullying with creative campaigns. Or we may probe into how Warsaw’s past and present could teach us about issues and places dear to our hearts, such as the decades of impunity in Honduras that threaten to instill a generational negligence towards violence.
Based on the conversation and action I have observed among this cohort of Fellows, I am inspired by how we all want to stall this continual human malfunction that is genocide. I am excited too, to see how and if we can focus our efforts to target certain sources and signs of malfunction. Yet effective action in whatever we choose will be demanding.
I have no doubt that we individually can act, and have acted. But what does our harmonious action require? Today at Treblinka, I witnessed a sprinkling—an inkling—of something that may assist us in acting not only concertedly, but in concert. This moment came as we huddled under the canopy of leaves lining the path of the monument’s walkway. I treaded over sopping leaves and stared upwards at the spectrum of greens that were nonetheless vibrant in a grey sky. Being in a forest brimming with life—and having many happy associations of witnessing natural beauty in wild places like this—made the contrast of the atrocities and murder of Treblinka that much more difficult to reconcile. These very trees had witnessed the mass murder on an incomprehensible scale. They were also the same one’s featured in one man’s nostalgic photo album from Treblinka labelled “The Good Old Days.” These trees were burned and chopped to prepare the places of extermination. They also comfort and remind us of natural beauty in the site of some of the most unnatural ugliness of humankind. What can they tell us?
I decided to record the scene using my phone. It’s a two-and-a-half-minute recording. It begins with rain pattering the trees and curious birds warning of the storm. Our earnest conversations flutter on in the background, then increasingly the foreground. I walk around to sample the eager conversations from our group and our sister tour group. There are discussions about who is to blame for inaction in genocide, about the rain, about the correct usage of Nazi, about interviews, and much more. Human conversation is good, but much more is said. The recording ends with the crescendo of the patter rain on leaves, chatter from the trees.
This excerpt is abstract, yes. Far-fetched? maybe. Yet during this entire recording the chatter of living human voices is inescapable. We are wondering, worrying, and talking of important things. But we are also going on with business as usual in a place of tragic significance—of unspeakable significance. This work is about demanding our rights and helping to voice the rights of marginalized groups, yes. But it is also about listening to things that reach beyond the worlds of human injustices. Our causes and qualms are pressing, but they will find realization only if they listen and adapt to the voices around them, and give pause before speaking over the voices before them.
Honoring and remembering are not always about facts, arguments, and preventative educations. Honoring death is a human ritual, but it is rarely routine.
There is no one answer. We as Fellows are beginning to discover possible ways to check this malfunction. Maybe we want to hold the Polish government accountable to their constitution, and will camp outside their office until they know the complaints. Maybe we have worked in the office of the Ombudsman, yet refuse to be satisfied by circumventing answers pertaining to the human rights of half the Polish population. Maybe we are medical researchers who prioritize patient-doctor communication, or designers who fight cyberbullying with creative campaigns. Or we may probe into how Warsaw’s past and present could teach us about issues and places dear to our hearts, such as the decades of impunity in Honduras that threaten to instill a generational negligence towards violence.
Based on the conversation and action I have observed among this cohort of Fellows, I am inspired by how we all want to stall this continual human malfunction that is genocide. I am excited too, to see how and if we can focus our efforts to target certain sources and signs of malfunction. Yet effective action in whatever we choose will be demanding.
I have no doubt that we individually can act, and have acted. But what does our harmonious action require? Today at Treblinka, I witnessed a sprinkling—an inkling—of something that may assist us in acting not only concertedly, but in concert. This moment came as we huddled under the canopy of leaves lining the path of the monument’s walkway. I treaded over sopping leaves and stared upwards at the spectrum of greens that were nonetheless vibrant in a grey sky. Being in a forest brimming with life—and having many happy associations of witnessing natural beauty in wild places like this—made the contrast of the atrocities and murder of Treblinka that much more difficult to reconcile. These very trees had witnessed the mass murder on an incomprehensible scale. They were also the same one’s featured in one man’s nostalgic photo album from Treblinka labelled “The Good Old Days.” These trees were burned and chopped to prepare the places of extermination. They also comfort and remind us of natural beauty in the site of some of the most unnatural ugliness of humankind. What can they tell us?
I decided to record the scene using my phone. It’s a two-and-a-half-minute recording. It begins with rain pattering the trees and curious birds warning of the storm. Our earnest conversations flutter on in the background, then increasingly the foreground. I walk around to sample the eager conversations from our group and our sister tour group. There are discussions about who is to blame for inaction in genocide, about the rain, about the correct usage of Nazi, about interviews, and much more. Human conversation is good, but much more is said. The recording ends with the crescendo of the patter rain on leaves, chatter from the trees.
This excerpt is abstract, yes. Far-fetched? maybe. Yet during this entire recording the chatter of living human voices is inescapable. We are wondering, worrying, and talking of important things. But we are also going on with business as usual in a place of tragic significance—of unspeakable significance. This work is about demanding our rights and helping to voice the rights of marginalized groups, yes. But it is also about listening to things that reach beyond the worlds of human injustices. Our causes and qualms are pressing, but they will find realization only if they listen and adapt to the voices around them, and give pause before speaking over the voices before them.
Honoring and remembering are not always about facts, arguments, and preventative educations. Honoring death is a human ritual, but it is rarely routine.
