Treblinka Site Visit

Genocide: Memorialization, Memory and Forgetting

The serene beauty of Treblinka makes any attempt to understand its dark past a veritable challenge. In an idyllic meadow, amidst the melodious chirping of birds and calming swaying of trees, lays one of Poland’s many mass graves.  In addition to the gentle sprinkling of purple and yellow wild flowers, thousands of jagged, granite stones pierce the earth like teeth, forming a strangely beautiful garden of death. On this small plot of land, between July 1942 and August 1943, approximately 900,000 Polish Jews from the Warsaw ghetto—roughly 6,000 each day—met their fate in one of history’s forgotten extermination camps. 

The tragic reality that Treblinka remains largely forgotten, hidden in the figurative shadow of the more infamous Auschwitz-Birkenau, can be attributed to its efficient and highly successful record of extermination. Unlike the many survivors of Auschwitz, whose prolific accounts of human resilience went on to enshrine that death camp in the teleology of the Holocaust, only about 60 people survived the horrors of Treblinka. For many of those who emerged from Treblinka with their lives, survivors’ guilt and even complicity with the evil acts committed against others in the camp kept survivors from testifying. Without survivors’ accounts, there can be no memory; without memory, Treblinka was shrouded by a long period of complete silence. 

With the construction of the memorial at Treblinka in the 1960s, a permanent, physical reminder of Nazi crimes was established on the site in hopes that the world would not forget the immense loss of life that took place there. Yet the effectiveness of this memorial, and other similar sites, is difficult to gauge. Genocide memorials struggle to communicate effectively the relationship between mass killing and the retention of memory through structural forms. At Srebrenica, rows of white stele line the hillsides where the remains of victims still being unearthed from unmarked, mass graves are laid to rest during an annual commemoration. Countless memorial stupas in Cambodia, like the one at Choeung Ek, serve as charnel houses for the millions of victims of the killing fields. At the immense National Memorial Centre in Kigali the bones, clothing and identity cards of victims seem to hang within the walls in a sense of suspended animation while hundreds of thousands of bodies are interred in the gardens outside. Although they may be shocking, these memorials give visitors an understanding of the crimes they commemorate.

The perplexing nature of the memorial at Treblinka lies partially in the abstract form of commemoration. There are no physical remnants of the camp or its victims at Treblinka to establish connections to the past. All buildings were immediately torn down once the Nazis had realized their objectives. The authentic structures and property of the victims that often serve as tangible bridges between past and present have vanished from the earth; as a result, the site is vanishing from memory. Today, the thousands of stones scattered about the landscape serve as the primary indication of the site’s importance. Without the educational component provided at the small museum nearby, it would be impossible to conceive of the memorial’s importance. But by visiting Treblinka and learning about Poland’s tragic loss of memory regarding lesser-known Holocaust sites, there is a strong feeling of responsibility to rectify past crimes and revive the lessons of the Holocaust in the international consciousness. But how can this be done effectively? Does visiting genocide memorials really spur visitors to action?

Visiting sites where immense, inexplicable atrocities took place can be profoundly disconcerting. It can be an overwhelming, emotionally exhausting experience that provokes a metaphysical crisis for individuals and societies. It is an eerie, surreal experience to stand in a place where so many people met their fate. One cannot help but sense the void left by all the missing souls. During my first visit to Rwanda, I visited numerous sites that were presented as perfectly preserved, macabre tableaus with no explanation of what had occurred there. They evoked strong and conflicting emotions, but without providing any context for the crimes. I felt particularly frustrated by my inability to comprehend the immensity of the killing. Josef Stalin once said, “The death of one man is a tragedy. The death of millions is a statistic.” Herein lies the rub. Without being able to comprehend the fact that genocide is an individual murder replicated on a massive scale, it is impossible to do anything about it. Until we humanize the victims of mass atrocities, mankind cannot mourn, memorialize or move forward towards justice and reconciliation. 

This is exactly why genocide memorials are so important. At many sites around the world, educational components that balance pathos and ethos help put the complexity of genocide into a broader, human context while also presenting a better understanding of the specific case at hand. The U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum and the National Memorial Centre in Kigali have been particularly successful in this respect. After touring both facilities, I developed greater historical awareness to ground me as I began to understand the progression of events that culminated in two of the most appalling moral failings of the 20th Century. This allowed me to develop a richer sense of respect and responsibility through engagement in a highly personal process of observation, analysis and reflection. After visits to memorial sites, I am always left with new ideas about how to begin the difficult process of understanding the act of genocide and taking action against intolerance. 

First and foremost, consider how to approach genocide. Humanity cannot continue to sanctify the act by placing it outside the realm of understanding. By labeling genocide an abstract, esoteric phenomenon, the topic cannot be approached, studied or understood. Under the right circumstances, all people have the capacity to commit acts of unspeakable evil. Only by humanizing the inhumane act of genocide can one begin to break the subject down and understand it for what it is. 

That is why it is so important to make visits to memorials very personal. Personalizing the visit serves to establish a point of reference for visitors to begin identifying with victims (and even perpetrators), places, and events that seem far removed from their own experience. At the National Memorial Centre in Kigali, there is a narrow corridor called the Children’s Hall. The space is filled with pictures of precocious, smiling children whose adorable images—often the only photo the parents possessed—are accompanied by descriptions of the child’s disposition, their favorite foods, what games they liked to play, their last words and how they met their fate. I was able to draw parallels between children in the display and myself by recalling my own hopes and fears at that age. Thus I began to comprehend how the deaths of thousands of children like me led to an entire generation’s loss of innocence. Sharing my perceptions of these evocative images and stories removes the pedantic barrier to understanding and helps others connect to the issue on an emotional level.

Finally, bearing witness and sharing one’s experience with others is a simple yet important means of ensuring that future generations learn from the failures of the past. From the mass graves of Kigali to the killing fields of Choeung Ek, the hillsides of Srebrenica, and the serene clearing of Treblinka, I have seen the undeniable evidence of humanity at its worst. These sites draw countless visitors each year for a variety of reasons. Those with personal connections come to commemorate the loss of loved ones or gain a deeper understanding of shared experiences of persecution. Others simply come to satisfy a morbid curiosity through engagement in “dark tourism.” There is no right or wrong reason to visit genocide memorials; it is what visitors do with their experiences that matter. Though the term “witness” denotes a certain level of passivity, bearing witness is an extremely easy and important aspect of memorialization and education. Anyone, regardless of their motivations for visiting the sites, can bear witness. After visiting such memorials, it is important reflect on one’s own experience and to tell and retell the stories of those who no longer can. Witnesses must strive to educate future generations about past abuses and honor the memory of the dead by informing others about violations of minority rights while there is still time to act. 

Attempts to understand and prevent genocide do not need to be grandiose; small efforts to simplify the problem need to be made and real solutions proposed. We all have the capacity to do good or evil; doing good is not as difficult as it may seem.

- Andew Dusek (US Fellow)