The First that made the Worst

Discussions of Hitler occasionally mention that at least the trains ran on time, without any consideration of where these mythically prompt trains were running to. Last weekend I went to one of those places. Though the trains didn’t always run there, eventually they did to the detriment of all who rode.

Last weekend I completed the trifecta I never imagined completing. I went to my third former concentration camp, Dachau. The mother of them all. The first camp whose deputy went on to create the worst camp. It was, like the others, a sobering and surreal experience. No trip to a concentration camp is without moments of incredulous shock at the atrocities that were done, but despite being prepared to have that experience, Dachau still found ways to shock.

If you read either of my earlier posts on Auschwitz or Flössenburg I mentioned that on the way to see the first camp Lizi and I discussed visiting more than one to see if the treatment of the camps were the same in Germany as they were treated in occupied Germany. Once again, our theory was confirmed. They are different.

Dachau was created specifically to be a prison for enemies of the state but even though all were prisoners, there was a dedicated prison cell building, The Bunker, behind the massive main building. Where Aushwitz was more preserved (almost no former barracks were removed) Dacahau, like Flössenburg, has had almost all of the barracks removed. Two actual barracks remain and 32 footprints are clearly defined stretching out towards the crematorium. What we think of as the camp itself was only a small portion of the overall installation though.

In addition to the prison camp there were SS Officer quarters, training facilities, farms, and a whole slew of buildings which are not part of the memorial site. Distrubingly, the location was used as an American installation after liberation. The US Army even put prisoners in The Bunker, though they did remove the standing cells which were particularly cruel and inhumane. Then in the late 60s and early 70s as the memorial was being set up the majority of the installation was turned over to the Polizei. It is still being used albeit in a manner that precludes the public from ever seeing it.

The far back corner of the memorial, which would have been inside the heart of the overall installation, was the crematorium area. The first crematorium still stands but when it could not keep up the pace a newer one was built nearby. The newer facility also included a gassing facility disguised as a shower room very much like Auschwitz has, the only difference being that the Dachau facilities were never used. No one understands why which I find interesting in and of itself. Was no one who had run the place asked? Are they sure the rooms were never used? It is a very elaborate system to construct so simply having a go-by example makes little sense yet that’s the best guess we can form now.

It is still a haunting statement so I’ll say it again. The first crematorium was too under sized. It could not keep up. It did not have sufficient capacity. And this was a labor camp, not a death camp.

The atrocities committed here were no less severe than the atrocities committed in other camps, especially to those on which they were done. To say there were perhaps fewer atrocities committed here lessens the fact that none were excusable, allowable, or forgivable. That is not what makes the treatment different in this case.

The memorial at Auschwitz was all about the victims and survivors. Not only were the camps run by Germans, the citizens of the town were removed and taken elsewhere. The city was repopulated by Germans deliberately so that none of the surrounding residents would know what was behind the wall much less what went on there. On the grounds, there were former barracks dedicated to each race, nationality, and religion that had been imprisoned, tortured, brutalized, and attempted to be exterminated. The only real discussion about the captors was one on Rudolf Höss. After touring nearly all of the facility the last two things to see are the crematorium and the gallows on which Höss was hung. At that point it is a feel good story to see that he was hung right next to the crematorium and within sight of where he and his family had lived. Where after the end of a long day of terrorizing, dehumidifying, and desecrating everything good about living this demon went to spend time with his wife and children. He was hung within sight of where he had enjoyed life and family. And fuck him for making us feel good about him being hung, too.

My visit to Auschwitz was so powerful I still feel the need to discuss it in detail when the point of my post is a different camp. It is that emotionally strong.

The memorial at Flössenburg had a great deal about the captors. Here the captors were not just Germans, they were fellow Germans. This was where they were from. Where they had lived and played and grew up. At the end of the war this area was still German. There was a lot about the victims and survivors here, but they shared the stage. While most of the buildings here were torn down, even the footprint of the camp was removed. Today there are houses that were built upon the location of some former barracks of the camp. There is no barrier between the town and the memorial. It is open, wide open to the city that remains.The Mound of Ashes and crematorium are hidden from view of the town, but that was where they were originally built—out of sight.

The memorial at Dachau has memorials to the victims and survivors. I was there three weeks after their liberation anniversary. There were several 90+ year old survivors that had been in attendance for the ceremony. There was information about what happened, the history, the coverup, and how the process spread. It was regularly “cleaned up” for propaganda visits, at least early on. It did serve as a model for other camps. At one spot there was a board showing the “career arc” of the leadership of Dachau. It showed where the important members of the leadership went on to serve, set up, or be a part of the overall labor and death camp systems.

Living in Germany, not just visiting it, has given me a unique opportunity to get to know Germany and its people. I have friends, close friends who are German and I can talk with them and pick their brains on life and living here. When you first come here they tell you that most Germans do not want to talk about the 12 year period that includes that dark time. There are 2000 other years of German history to discuss. But I’ve been here long enough now that they’ll talk to me about that part too. It isn’t that I dwell on it, it’s just that it is that 12 year period that has allowed me to come do what I do here. And the question that we all want to know is how can these people, who are so kind and helpful today, have been led down that path.

Looking back 2000 years into German history explains the reason they are the way they are. It explains why they could be led down the path they were led. But looking back over the last 75 years explains where they are today. They have taken such a shift that all life is sacred to them now. I had a massive hornet nest in my shed. Not bees, not wasps, hornets. Ugly, nasty, loud, big stingers that stay on the insect not in your arm, huge hornets. Not only is there no hornet spray in this country, you can get fined up to 50,000 Euros for willfully damaging or killing them. One of my projects at work is to replace guy wires on an antenna that is in danger of falling down. If it falls it has the potential to land on other buildings and possibly even kill humans if they’re unlucky and happen to be where it goes down. The whole project, to save a structure and make it safe for people, was threatened because of an ant hill at one anchor point. If the ants had not decided on their own to move the project would have been canceled. Why mention that here? Because of the life I found in the camp. Ant hills and wasps. I don’t think the ants show up, but the wasp does. Life moves on, and a respect for life is now evident. Not just in the memorial site but throughout the country.

Life rules. Life is good. And that is what memorials like this hope to convey to their visitors.

Flossenbürg

Back when we were traveling to Auschwitz for a visit I suggested to Lizi that we also go to a concentration camp in Germany later so we could see if there was a difference in the way the camps are treated in occupied territory rather than inside Germany. Once we completed our trip through the death camp though, neither of us had a desire to visit another.

But of course, the best laid plans of mice and men, right?

Not far from where we live, about a half hour, is the Flossenbürg Concentration Camp. Unlike Auschwitz which was a death camp, this one was "merely" a labor camp. The main emphasis here was labor and not eradication although it served both purposes. 

Quite some years ago I first heard of the theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer. He could be considered a German theologian though he was born in Poland since at the time of his birth Poland was swallowed up by Russia, Prussia (later Germany), and Austria-Hungary. When I began researching my soon to be home before moving on a whim I searched for camps and saw how close Flossenbürg was which in turn let me to a brief search on it and discover that it is where Bonhoeffer was held and executed. Not that a camp needs to have a "most famous" inmate, but he would certainly rank as among the most well known. 

One of the few things my Dad wanted to see on his visit was a camp, so I used this opportunity to finish the observational experiment started two years before. At the start of Dad's trip we visited Nürnberg and went into the Congresshalle. As the largest piece of Nazi architecture left, it has been made into a very well done museum. There is a steel and glass shaft-like protrusion that seems to pierce the building and as you make your way through the exhibit you end up at the tip hovering over the open air, bombed out courtyard that would have been a stadium covered portion of the complex. The displays were very well done and didn't display either pride or necessarily shame in what was done. Rather they were informative and explained how what happened had. But the center courtyard, that was different.

After touring the displays that showed before, during, and after pictures you make your way to the center where the bombed out building was left. Very stout building, so it isn't crumbling, but the pockmarks, the grass, trees, and even weeds growing in the center of this building is very much a middle finger in the air to the bigoted shitheads that built it. I know I've used that phrase before, but it is just as accurate here.

There was a display about the building which also mentioned a spot nearby where they had constructed sample seats which, like all the buildings at the Nazi complex, had used stone quarried from Flossenbürg. So this served as a tie to the bookend excursions of the trip.

A colleague I work with from nearby Weiden told me he doesn't go to the city Flossenbürg because with the camp it just has an air about the whole town he finds depressing. He has even told me that when he goes into the woods nearby that the weather is colder and more repressive. That was not the experience I had though. We had the top down in the Peugeot as we cruised the backroads to the town. We parked at the bus stop and walked on to the site which was itself very strange indeed.

I mentioned in my Auschwitz post that someone lives right next door and can look down into the complex. In Flossenbürg they not only look down into the former camp, they knocked down most of the barracks and built houses on the site. A road goes through the houses and then through the site, there is no fence or barricade. There is even a restaurant that looks down into the site. The old wall is mostly gone, but several of the towers remain.

Walking through the few buildings that remained I didn't take many pictures. Until the end when I took pictures all the way back out. There were stories about the camp, it's history and growth, as well as detailed listings, pictures, and information about both the captors and the captees.

One particularly memorable "escape in place" attempt is chronicled well and also includes the spot in the wall he crawled and hid among the pipes between the floor and ceiling. It describes how he almost gave up hiding because the hiding place was as bad as being dead. I call it "escape in place" because he didn't go with them when they evacuated the Jews, rather he hid, then he was still open about being a prisoner but avoided detection as having been on the supposed to have been evacuated group.

There was an entire library full of books on the inmates of the camp. Famous or not, they have their histories indelibly inked as much as is known separated by country of origin. 

In another spot there were plates with pictures and biographies of the camp's staff. Not just the head, but the guards. It talks of where they came from, where they went, if they disappeared later, and if they were discovered as several of the more cruel were.

The site still contains part of a prison complex (weird because the whole place was a prison) where the non-working laborers were kept, the laundromat/washroom, the kitchen, and the administrative SS Headquarters. Much of the city was taken over by the SS guards, but the HQ building is by far one of the nicest, most imposing structures that remain.

As I walked through the exhibits in the laundromat and kitchen there were paths to the parts of the building left un-converted. Some of the walls and floor were covered with glass, or metal grates, but it was possible to step off and into the spaces that had been occupied when the camp was operational. For example, the shower heads were removed, but the tiles on the wall and floor remained. I walked in awe examining the ceilings imagining when it was operational. Running my hand along the same tiles, walking the same floor tiles that seventy years ago had been touched and tread by the captive laborer prisoners.

The sense of tactile actions allows someone to become more connected to anything observed. I long to touch and become a piece of the historic and infamous locations I get to see. There was an authentic set of stairs with well-worn handrail full of patina that I slid my hand down imagining connection to the prisoners of once ago. In this manner I became a part of what I was observing.

At the back of the camp is what they called the Valley of Death. Overlooking it they have built a chapel but the Valley of Death is the part of the camp the town cannot see into from their bedrooms, or their front yard. Surrounded by trees and down a slope is where the worst things happened.

There are many monuments from countries honoring their dead. There is a HUGE mound covered in grass called the Mound of Ashes. It does not take a smart man to understand what lies beneath. A small field with concrete pads is marked as the location where executions by gunfire took place. And in the corner stands the crematorium.

At one point a railway track was added to ease the transportation of bodies from the camp to the crematorium which was really just outside the boundary fence of the camp. At this point the original gates of the camp were set up as the first memorial to the camp by former prisoners. These gates are right next to the crematorium. 

My travels through the camp culminated at the crematorium. I walked past it a few meters to see the original camp gates. It is connected to the ubiquitous walking trails throughout this country. This one through the woods. Unlike the last crematorium I was in at Auschwitz, this one had not been destroyed by retreating forces. It had been in operation when the camp was liberated. Inside were the small rooms where bodies had been stacked and prepared for burning. And the ovens themselves.

I did not use my sense of tactile connection in this building. I have no desire to be connected to the folks that orchestrated this travesty. I care not if they were following orders, or even if they themselves were prisoners forced to toil away at the macabre task. The despair and gloom Klaus made reference to centered on this spot. I could feel it here.

On the way back out, I took pictures to chronicle my visit and to use when I explained it. Previously I had no desire to visit another concentration camp. Currently I still had no desire to visit this one twice.

One thing that was poignantly different was that here I found out that after the war the courts extended the statue of limitations to allow prosecution of Nazis involved in concentration camp atrocities. Many of the guards that had disappeared were found years later and recognized by the former prisoners and brought to justice.

Justice here is used rather loosely though. While many were convicted and even sentenced to long terms including sometimes life, most got out after three to ten years. It has taken me quite some time to process the fact that after the war the only people that really had the heart and desire to go after and prosecute were either victims that had survived, or family members of victims that had perished. The country wanted to, needed to, and did move on. They didn't brush it under the rug and forget about it per se, but the overwhelming desire was to get on with correcting the path of the country. It was not, and is not, a sense of ignoring the past, but not vehemently punishing those that did what was done. I'm still not sure I have processed that level of information.

One thing that I am sure of, this visit helped me to better understand what happened afterwards. It helped me in processing my thoughts of the first visit. I finally finished and posted my Auschwitz visit after seeing this site. 

When I got here I was told that the Germans don't like talking about this 12 year period of their history. There are thousands of years of history to discuss instead. But if it were not for this 12 year period, I would not be here today. The reason I can work here is due to that time, so it is incredibly interesting and necessary to view for me. But in the minds of modern Germany it is like Alsace and Lorraine were from 1918 on, spoken of never, but thought of always.

 

Meeting around the world

I have long said Serendipity takes me everywhere. From time to time I have an incident that I can use to prove it. Yesterday was one of those incidents.

On the way back from the US last Saturday I began talking to a guy sitting behind me. I had flown from Mobile to Houston from which the flights would go to Newark then Munich. This gentleman and his wife were headed to Geneva but would be in Berlin the next weekend. My plan was to either go to Muenster to see the Anabaptist cages atop the steeple or to Berlin so I mentioned I might be there, too. He gave me his card and after landing in New Jersey went our different ways.

Friday night I looked at the map, Berlin is a huge city in case you didn't notice, and saw that where I figured our bus would be was near their hotel which in turn was near the two sites I most wanted to see. Unfortunately I missed both but that's a different story. I emailed him in the hopes that we might meet up to break bread or at least have a coffee or beer. 

Upon arrival in Berlin we had a native Berliner (not the doughnut) join our group and took a tour of the whole city. We made stops at the Brandenburg Gate (where I hummed the Concertos, thank you Mr. Blessey), the Wall, and Checkpoint Charlie. 

At Checkpoint Charlie I walked around and took in the sights. I found it particularly interesting to watch one lady drive through the intersection without even checking up on the gas going from the former West to former East Berlin. Arriving back at the bus I had about 5 minutes until we left when I thought to check my email again. He had responded about forty-five minutes before and said they'd be at Checkpoint Charlie for about an hour.

Hastily I went to my other phone where I had saved his number and to my dismay I did not save the number just the email. As I reached into my pocket to pull out his business card, who do you think walked in front of me? Mr. Lopushansky.

We only had a few minutes to laugh and comment about the unlikeliness of what had just transpired. He had just told his wife something told him he needed to go across the street when they met me. She took our picture a few times and we shook hands. We both parted with a smile on our face and the thought in our minds that no matter how much of this great big world we see it just keeps getting smaller and smaller.