He who does not remember history is ...

Trip Start Jun 01, 2002

Trip End Aug 22, 2002

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Flag of Poland Oswiecim, Poland
Wednesday, June 5, 2002

"He who does not remember history is destined to repeat it"

The infamous Aushwitz (Oswiecim)- Birkenau concentration camps are situated an hour or so from Krakow. Travelling by train it was hard not to envision the cattle cars moving along the tracks, crowded and shuffling slowly through beautiful countryside.

For some reason I had thought this area would be flat and desolate. Instead, rolling green hills and woodlands. From amidst the gravel of the tracks sprout red poppies. A strange symbol in an area of such sadness. Some of the grey buildings beside the tracks appear to ahve been there a long time. I couldn't help but wonder if these scenes were similar to that viewed by the Nazi's victims sixty years ago.

I was horrified to see how much of a tourist attraction Auschwitz has become. I had thought the place would be maintained as closely to original as possible with certain amendments to cope with the influx of visitors. Instead a carpark has been built at the entrance and kiosks sell film. That gripe made, the information provided here is extensive and moving beyond the carpark into the grounds, it becomes a sensory overload.

It is strange to view a place in colour when I have always envisioned it in black and white. Instead of a misty, gloomy day, it was bright sunshine and heat. The barracks are built of red stone, two or three storeys high with iron barred windows and strong wooden doors. There is grass between the buildings and pale gravel roads. All this enclosed by pylons along which would have run electrified wire.

1. Entrance to Auschwitz

My visions of Aushwitz were of grey coloured desolation and small buildings, not these instituion-like structures. These buildings could easily pass for a nineteenth century school. A scary thought.

There is no atmosphere of horror or sadness to this place, except in certain areas. Walking through the grounds I felt nothing, it is as though the Nazis achieved their mission of eradicating every trace of their deeds. However inside Block 11 the magnitude of what occured here is almost overwhelming. Block 11 is the infamous "The Death Block". Here death sentences were passed, prisoners tortured, starvation sentences committed, Cyclon B first tested.

The walls of the halls are lined with photographs of the man and women shot at the "Wall of Death" between Blocks 10 and 11. Their expressions are of fear and confusion; many expressions of confrontation, almost daring the photographer to carry out the threat. There is one photograph of a Polish officer which struck me as the most moving. Polish officers are renowned for the bravery and he is no exception. He stares at the camera with an expression of total comprehension as to the fate that will befall him. Unlike nearly every other photograph, his gaze is not of fear, hate or pride. He simply knows what will, and did, occur.

The cellars of Block 11 are eerie, almost frightening. Unlike most of the other rooms the walls have not been painted. Prisoners etchings made into the walls remain. As does the oppressive atmosphere of death and fear.

2. Strange sights, Auschwitz

This is the only place during the day where I felt truly frightened.

Piles of human hair, spectacles, artificial limbs, suitcases, hairbrushes, pots and pans are just some of the macabre souveneirs stripped of the inmates of the camps. Even more disturbing are the piles of textile woven from women's hair and sold during WWII. It is horrifying realisation after horrifying realisation. These prisoners were stripped of their worldly possessions, photographed, tattooed, shaved and clothed in prison garb. Physical, mental tortures endured or in most cases, claimed life. It is incredible that so many inmates managed to maintain their dignity and faiths during their time in these camps.

Arrival at Birkenau. The grounds are 175 hectares, enclosed by barbed wire, divided by two railway tracks and small wooden barracks stretching into the distance. Grass has grown tall between the buildings.

Even in the heat of summer these buildings are cold. Bunks are stacked in here three tiers high, with two heaters for an entire building and one bathroom. Some have etchings in the walls. Poignantly, a barrack for political prisoners has a mural painted on its roof that depicts the labours of the prisoners.

The sound of workmen restoring the site adds to the eerie atmosphere.

From the entrance, the railway tracks stretch away to the far ends of the grounds. It is here, in a glade of trees and grass that the crematoriums and gas chambers were housed. Most were destroyed beyond recognition in an attempt to erase the grisly site but the piles of rubble that remain continue to be a powerful presence. Flowers line the memorial site, brought here by visitors form all over the world.

One visitor that day was an elderly gentlman, a survivor of Birkenau. He and his friend had returned from Canada to see the place they had survived. The two elderly gentlemn quietly walked about the ruins and the barracks, lost in thought and photographed the area.

One thing I wonder is the motivation for people to visit such places. Is it a macabre interest, a desire to remember or need to pay homage?