Stolen Legacies

The Public Programs department at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum hosts events throughout the country in partner institutions on every coast. Although the Public Programs team travels to each location to ensure the careful execution of the presented program, my status as an co-op student does not grant me travel responsibility. This past Wednesday's event, however, was located in Pikesville, MD, a twenty minute drive from my house, the perfect opportunity to attend my first off-site event. 

The program involved a panel discussion with two USHMM historians and Dina Gold, the author of Stolen Legacy: Nazi Theft and the Quest for Justice at Krausenstrasse 17/18 Berlin. The novel, which is set to release in a revised paperback version this coming November, follows the story of Author, Gold's, journey to reclaim the property taken from her Jewish ancestors following the expulsion of the family to England. Gold's decade long discoveries resulted in restitution for her family in the form of monetary compensation, memorial plague in front of the Berlin building, and a stolperstein, or "stumbling stone," for her great-uncle who passed away during the Holocaust.

Dina's story is a rare example of a successful reparation application. Her novel sheds light on the importance of perseverance, as learning about one's ancestry can provide necessary explanations to one's existence in the present. Following the end of World War II and the discovery of the true extent of war crimes committed by the Nazis and partnered powers, pressure existed to force guilty nations to pay victims back for the lives lost. Germany, for obvious reasons, became a symbol of reparation due to the focus placed by Allied powers. War crimes in countries such as Austria, however, were largely ignored. In fact, the procession of reparations for Austrian Holocaust victims until 2003. 

Allied powers and guilty countries may be blamed for this lack of action, but this can be explained in part due to the looming question of what constitutes an "appropriate" reparation. How much monetary compensation is equivalent to the loss of a loved one, whole families and entire cultures? These are questions that cannot be simply explained by a restitution institution. 

An important part of creating a "successful" application involves obtaining a certificate proving the need for reparations. In Dina Gold's case, this came in the form of a document listing her great-grandparents as the previous owner of the estate in Berlin. For reparations associated with death, a death certificate is needed to prove that the person was, at one point, a live member of society and is now deceased. With the enactment of the Final Solution and the mass extermination of European Jewry, family members of the deceased were no longer notified with official death certificates from the Third Reich. The number of deaths grew too exponentially, and, frequently, there no longer existed surviving family members outside of the concentration camp to whom a certificate could be mailed. The result has been countless rejected applications for reparations as the death certificates of those claimed to have been murdered during the Holocaust are very slim. 

The topic of reparations and restitution, no matter the form is of interest to many that study the decades following World War II and the Holocaust. The news of the genocide spread around the globe quicker and farther than any other genocide, increasing interest in pursuit of compensation for all victims. Unfortunately, few have successfully sought and received reparations. Dina Gold's story is a rarity, but her overwhelming pull towards uncovering her family history, showcases the need, particularly with the fading of the World War II generation, of learning about one's ancestry. 

Capital Roaming

Even though I haven’t had a full semester of classes since last fall, I have yet to lose my cheap college student, trying-to-save-money-now-to-pay-off-school-loans-later attitude. Every morning, I take a commuter train into Washington, D.C. from Baltimore and then take the metro to my office at the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum. Despite record-high temperatures recently in our nation’s capital, I frequently opt to walk from Union Station to avoid paying the metro fare.

While walking to work, I cannot help but be reminded of my previous morning commutes. One wouldn’t presume that D.C. and Oswiecim are even remotely similar, but I begin to miss my Polish life, particularly when I walk to USHMM. Upon entering the respective workspaces, differences are apparent, as a site of mass murder bares authenticities not possible for a memorial to sites of mass murder. When walking around the community, however, I still manage to pass stands selling Polish sausages and various cafes and bakeries. I hold my own opinions of which country houses a greater population of quality bakers, biased greatly by prices, but the déjà vu moments are frequent and welcome.

I think about my time in Poland daily. These moments lack great significance and mostly revolve around a general longing for my calm life, amazing friends and abundance of cheap, fresh food. Although no time-stopping epiphanies occur, I drew one conclusion on a recent walk to USHMM: Poland and the U.S. are not all that different. Sure, the culture, customs, language, law, politics, economies, infrastructure and, of course, food, but underneath all of this exists two societies of human beings. And, as a human being, we work for high reputations, value nationalistic pride, and naturally seek deflection over admittance of guilt. For more information, see the 2016 presidential election and recent comments by certain Polish ministry officials.

Near the National Mall exists a memorial to the Japanese internment camps created during World War II. History curriculums, particularly in grade school, frequently omits this dark part of our nation’s history. Of course, other atrocities at larger scales occurred during this time period, but this should not take away from the horrors experienced as a direct result of U.S. governmental actions. The memorial is aesthetically pleasing, particularly with the backdrop of autumn in D.C. However, my overly critical view of atrocity memorialization cannot help but notice the small printed apologies to the Japanese community that easily fade into the background of the large monument.

I could share my uncensored opinions of this corner memorial, but it is more important to see the similarities to criticisms of Polish and German education systems. While visiting various institutions in Germany and Poland as a part of my outside research, I learned of the decline and growth of Holocaust education in schools. As an outsider, it is easy to criticize Poland or Germany for, at some point in history, refusing to educate its youngest generation on respective dark histories. Returning from the “outside” to the United States, I am now able to see how we, as a nation, deflect our own histories in a very similar way, further proving, that Poland and the United States are the same in as many ways as they are different.

History surrounds us at all times. Even if I no longer pass burial ground and crematoriums on my walks to work, World War II and the Holocaust are permanently embedded in my daily life.

            

The Uncondemned

Part of my position at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum involves assisting in the development, execution and analysis of public programs enacted by the Museum. Public Programs consist of any sort of outreach event opened to the public. These events take place all over the country, with regional offices in the Northeast, Southwest and West coast. Although I have only finished my second week in this position, I have already had the opportunity to participate in the Film Screening of a new ground-breaking documentary entitled, The Uncondemned.

The documentary follows the story of a group of international lawyers sent to Rwanda following the 1994 genocide. The 100-day Rwandan Genocide left almost 1 million Tutsis dead at the hands of the Hutu majority. Despite events in Cambodia and Bosnia, Rwanda would be the first to use the International Criminal Court since 1946. It would also be the first time rape, constituted as a war crime in 1919, was tried in the ICC as a crime of war.

Rape is synonymous with war, as the display of sexual power easily pairs with intergroup conflicts. The documentary follows the pioneering efforts of a band of young activists, faced with institutional backlash and lack of resources, determined to hold the guilty accountable for their crimes of sexual violence. Even more profound, however, are the young women from Rwanda who courageously stepped forward to speak the truth that so many others overlooked. The story of this group and their trial at the International Criminal Tribunal of Rwanda inspires the never-ending effort to not forget the past, while progressing towards eliminating future genocidal activity.

After the screening of the film, a panel formed comprising of Sara Darehshori, one of the former prosecutors for the International Criminal Tribunal of Rwanda, and Michele Mitchell, the film’s co-director. Questions from the audience attempted to shine more light on the process Darehshori and others underwent in order to change the international criminal justice system. Sexual violence is a unique war crime, in that acts of rape or sexual assault occur almost in conjunction wartime and long periods of violence.

Unfortunately, however, these crimes are frequently overlooked for the “more important” crimes. During the Holocaust, for example, SS guards often boasted of raping Hungarian Jews selected to go to the gas chambers the following day. This is not to diminish the crime of mass murder, but the lack of criminal charges against SS officials committing acts of sexual violence and rape allows for an entire aspect of victim suffering to go unheard. Sara and the other lawyers and activists in Rwanda fought to get these crimes heard, even though outside organizations were solely focused on crimes associated with mass murder.

The use of rape as a war tool and intimidation tactic dates back centuries, yet the first trial of rape as a war crime, did not occur until the late 1990’s. I am very grateful for my co-op for many reasons, but above all, I appreciate the knowledge and connections associated with my many jobs. On a daily basis, I learn something new about the Holocaust, genocide, international justice or atrocity prevention. Perhaps I am still influenced by my childhood dreams of becoming a teacher like my mother, as I firmly believe that learning is the most powerful tool we have to overcome the hate pinning societies against one another. Listening to a story and learning from the experiences of others never ceases to connect us, as cheesy and obvious as that sounds. Sara and the International Criminal Tribunal of Rwanda, through the never-ending pursuit of young activists, listened to the women of Rwanda, and the world learned, but the learning is not over.

Reverse Culture Shock

When people warn you about culture shock, they are often referring to the transitional period between arriving in a new place and assimilating in that environment. I found that the transition back to a familiar place constitutes as another form of culture shock, one that I am calling “reverse culture shock”.

            

I moved back to my hometown of Catonsville, MD one week ago; strange does not even begin to describe the feeling of living once again on American soil. In this first week, I re-learned seemingly basic American customs, such as speaking English at normal paces, jay-walking, transportation services that (sort of) run on time, working for 8 hours without breaks, and eating meals in 5 minutes or less. I can ask strangers for directions and understand every food item in the grocery store. I drive everywhere instead of biking or walking, causing me to spend more money on transportation than food for the first time since high school.

            

Honestly, the oddest thing about the United States upon returning from Poland, is that everyone speaks and understands English. I began my work at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum this past Monday. Last week, at this time, I relied primarily on nonverbal signs to communicate with my co-workers, and now, my entire position revolves around communicating with a team of other English-speakers.

Let’s back up: my six-month co-op experience is rather unique in that I combined two 3-month programs. The second half of my co-op is an intern position in the Project Management and Public Programs sections of the Marketing Department at USHMM. This position is a refreshing break from the history-heavy, content-based co-ops I sought out in the past. In this position, I will have the opportunity to share the knowledge I have acquired about the Holocaust through the development of events and projects.

I have yet to have a job, excluding my work in customer service, that relies on collaboration and teamwork. The constant conversing with project managers, creative directors and program developers has been useful in my exploration of different work environments. All this talking, however, is surprisingly daunting. I never thought I would have to re-accommodate to speaking English in a professional setting, especially considering it is the only language in which I am fluent. I am almost grateful for the bumps I encountered over the past week, as it reminds me that I lived in Poland for three months, something I seem to frequently forget.

When embarking on an international co-op, obvious concerns revolve around assimilating into a new culture and learning to live in this new environment. I spent little time exploring how this culture translates into the work environment. Returning the United States, I faced different challenges and accommodations with each environment I re-acquainted. Water is free in restaurants, windows have screens, coffee is not instant, “fresh” produce isn’t actually fresh, and English is spoken as quickly and efficiently as possible. Slang, abbreviations and short sentences prevail, contradicting my adjustments to the calmer, slower life of Poland. I diagnosed my condition as “reverse culture shock,” but this has an unnecessary negative connotation. The opportunities and experiences are still surreal, and my transition home promotes constant reminders of my Polish past. Not many people have the opportunity to miss other countries besides their native land. So, I do miss Poland, even if it is the country I love to hate.            

How to Say Goodbye

I have known for three months now that September 30th would be a difficult day. Today marks my transition to the second half of my co-op. This occupational and institutional transition also comes with a geographical transition: this Monday I will begin my position in the project management department at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. Today I had to say goodbye to Poland and the oddly rewarding memories I made over the past 90 days.

For the first time in my life, I was speechless for three days in a row. No matter how hard I tried, I could not mentally process that I had to leave. Have you ever seen the movie, "Click"? It's a rather stupid Adam Sandler romantic comedy, but the point is, he ends up dreaming up the entire plot and waking up at the end of the movie realizing it was all a dream. That is what I am feeling right now. It seems unreal that I worked at Auschwitz in Poland for three months and now I am returning to the United States. I am, however, returning with a new appreciation for Poland, profoundly greater knowledge of the Holocaust and the role of Auschwitz, too many books, too little money, a new lifelong and international group of friends, and even a tattoo. Although, what I am leaving behind is far greater. How does one say goodbye to a place that witnessed millions of murders and, ironically, my personal, professional and academic growth? How does one say goodbye to family, as co-workers and friends quickly became? How does one say goodbye to European airlines that give out full sandwiches and unlimited drinks, unlike the semi-stale pretzels and spoonful of water given to passengers aboard airlines from the United States? And, no I am not bitterly writing this post on the airplane while watching newly released movies.

I know I wouldn't not have had this experience if it wasn't for the Northeastern co-op program and, of course, the never-ending work of Malgosia Wosinska. However, I cannot help but be frustrated it's the seemingly constant farewell bids.  I hate goodbyes, but, then again, so does everybody. I did my best to take my mother's advice and replace "goodbye" with "see you later." It was a little awkward returning to Auschwitz II-Birkenau and say "see you later!" to the almost 5km piece of land, but in most other circumstances it worked. 

The success of saying "see you later," lies in its sincerity: I genuinely know that I will return to Oswiecim. I don't know when or with whom, but a town that saw me run, fall, break things, mature, learn and grow, deserves to be re-visited. When I find myself in Cologne, Berlin, Furstenberg, Kraków, Warsaw, Bielsko or Oswiecim, I have countless places to stay with the best company.

I will miss going to a corner shop and being able to buy pierogis and fresh bread for 10 cents. I will miss Poland's version of Italian food and sushi. I will miss the buses and trains that always seem to make me question where I would survive the never-ending turbulent trip. More than all of this, however, I will miss the people I experienced it with. 

To Andrea, Manish, Micha, Stephan, Macej (Matt), Anna, Kasia, Kasia II, Teresa, Edyta, Piotr, Piotr II, Jacek (Polish dad), Andrezj, Kiara, Dorota, Patricya, that one cab driver, pierogis, cini-minis, the police officers that drove me to the ATM, and, of course, Malgosia: thank you. Thank you for not only dealing with my presence, but also supporting me through the most difficult and rewarding experience of my college career. 

Na Razie, Poland.

Malgosia, Manish and I on our last day of work