When Teaching Becomes Tricky

When I enter a museum – I can put on one of two hats. I can be the budding museum professional my graduate program is preparing me to be or I can suspend my disbelief and morph into a casual museum visitor. One allows me the freedom to examine exhibitions with a critical eye and the other lets me sit back and enjoy the ride. Before I entered the halls of the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C. I knew that I wanted to explore the space unburdened by a flurry of emotions. It was my first time visiting, and I really wanted to analysis what all the hype was about without getting too invested.

Fortunately, that was not the case. I managed to maintain my composure throughout the main exhibit spaces and thought I was home free, until I stumbled upon Daniel’s Story: Remember the Children. Watching parents and their families follow one Jewish boy’s experience in Nazi Germany prompted many emotions and made me wonder: how do we deal with heavy issues such as the Holocaust in a way that children can connect to? I had not seen any adults crying in the main exhibit space but saw many distressed children trying to understand what happened to Daniel. As I followed this fictitious child from his home to a ghetto and concentration camp, I wondered what roles museums play in helping facilitate difficult discussions within families.

The Hall of Remembrance, U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum, photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Daniel’s Story: Remember the Children, a special exhibition designed for children ages 8 and older, aims to engage a multi-generational audience and further communication about the Holocaust between parent and child. [1] But are kids more ready to have these conversations than their parents are? Parents want to protect and shelter their children from the harms and evils of the world – so I can imagine that taking on a subject as loaded as the Holocaust does not come easily. In my mind, it’s akin to having the sex talk – parents can build up difficult conversations so much that communication is overcome by fear of the unknown. Parents don’t know how to start the dialogue. Kids want the facts. Daniel’s Story gives parents a tool to explore a rather large and emotionally charged topic with their children in a safe and monitored environment.

Together, families can explore a chronology of events from pre-Nazi Germany to the Jewish ghettos to the Aushwitz-Birkenau concentration camp. Visitors can walk into Daniel’s house from before the war, experience the streets of Germany as he would have, journey with him to the work camps, and follow pages of his diary as it explains the events taking place. The environment is multifaceted and features audio, video, text, photographs, historic objects, and interactives. Visitors learn from the start of the museum experience that Daniel survives to share his story with them. Museum exhibition designer Darcie Fohrman explains on her website that the exhibit is “sensitive to young visitors, telling children what they will see before they see it.” [2] In this way, the difficult topic of the Holocaust is outlined, explored, and able to be processed by families.

After visitors learn that the American soldiers liberated Daniel and his father from the concentration camp but we not able to save Daniel’s mother and sister, they are led to a reflection room. In this space, children can write letters or draw pictures for Daniel and families can sit to talk about the subject matter. The exhibit gives no inclination to why the Jews were hated so much, so the letters posted around the room reflect everything from encouragement for Daniel to questions not yet answered. How is a child supposed to make sense of something so complex? What responses can parents give? Daniel’s Story does not provide all of the answers, but its interactive nature and thought provoking premise helps bring parents one step closer to educating their children about the truth.

[1] http://www.darciefohrman.com/projects/daniels-story

[2] Ibid

Who Owns History?

Thinking more about our discussion on Tuesday, and having read this New York Times article and the reactions to it, I want to explore the topic of “ownership” of the Holocaust a little more.  I am increasingly frustrated with the point of view that any one group should “own” history. It is critical that we respect those who lived through traumatic events, and those who are still affected by them today.  These survivors and descendants deserve the chance to tell their story and have their voices heard.  However, they do not “own” history.

The centrality of Jews in the story of Auschwitz and the Holocaust must remain.  However, efforts to overhaul the exhibitions at Auschwitz in order to serve a more educational purpose are a natural evolution.  Critical sites like these should not become historical footnotes of interest to small, directly affected groups.  Rather, they should share their lessons with the world.

Shared authority is one of our guiding concepts as public historians.  While we usually look at it from the perspective of museum professionals needing to give up some of their control, we shouldn’t forget that shared authority works both ways.  This concept also means that the “owners” of history also need to be less protective of their story, and allow it to be told in a way that will be instructive to a broader audience.

The Men with the Pink Triangle: Breaking the Long Silence

German Concentration Camp Chart of Prisoner Markings from the Unites States Holocaust Memorial Museum. Photo Public Domain.

The word “holocaust” is of Greek origin and means “sacrifice by fire.”  But that is the easy definition.  The Holocaust means many things to many different people.  It is about remembrance of the victims, recognition of the strength of survivors, and acknowledgment of what happens when humans fail to tolerate others’ differences.  In 2005, the United Nations General Assembly designated January 27, the day Auschwitz-Birkenau was liberated, as International Holocaust Remembrance Day to not only to honor the memory of victims, but to educate and raise awareness about genocide worldwide. [1]  While the proportional majority of Holocaust victims were Jews, Nazi policies before and during WWII targeted a wide range of people designated as inferior.  The horrifying breadth of Nazi genocide has lead to many blanket statements such as, “During the era of the Holocaust, German authorities also targeted other groups because of their perceived “racial inferiority”: Roma, the disabled, and some of the Slavic peoples.  Other groups were persecuted on political, ideological, and behavioral grounds, among them Communist, Socialist, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and homosexuals.” [2]  So with such a wide range of victim groups, how do we move beyond categories and numbers?

The planners of the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum were worried about the same thing: “there was concern that the millions of individual deaths that made up the Holocaust would be lost in a story of mass death and overwhelmed by a fascination with the technique of destruction.” [3]  One way to avoid this was the identity-card project, where visitors were given a card identifying them with a victim of the Holocaust.  In Preserving Memory, Edward T. Linenthal brings up how this project served “subtly to extend the boundaries of memory to connect visitors with some oft-overlooked victim groups” such as homosexuals. [4]  Linenthal also mentions that Dr. Klaus Muller, who prepared the identity cards for homosexual victims, had plans for a special exhibit on gay victims for the museum.

Since Linenthal’s book was published in 1995, I wondered what progress had been made since then.  It did not take me long to find a page for the traveling exhibition “Nazi Persecution of Homosexuals 1933-45.” Began in 2003, the exhibition has since travelled coast-to-coast on display at colleges and universities, museums, and community centers.  The exhibition includes reproductions of 250 historic photographs and documents examining “the rationale, means, and impact of the Nazi regime’s attempt to eradicate homosexuality.” [5]  Since I couldn’t experience the exhibit personally, I visited the online exhibition to learn more.

Upon visiting the site I found a substantial amount of content that stood out and provided valuable perspective into the homosexual experience during the Holocaust.  I appreciated the historical context in the write-up and video on Paragraph 175, which was the “legal” means that the Nazis used to suppress homosexuality.  Another section, clearly marked For Teachers, provides identity-cards of homosexuals that faced persecution at the hands of the Nazis.  Unfortunately, the teacher resources expand no further than the cards, including no lesson plans or classroom discussion outlines.  In fact, throughout the whole online exhibition there is a feeling that something is unfinished.  Compared to the meticulous planning and presentation of the live exhibitions at USHMM, this online resource is basically a compilation of links.  It is a nice resource, but not something that “will motivate gays to ‘take responsibility for this part of [their history]’” and break “an unholy tradition of silence.” [6]

My study of Nazi persecution of homosexuals, combined with my reading of Maus by Art Spiegelman, made me wonder if there were any alternative mediums of interpretation of homosexual Holocaust victims.  Spiegelman, a graphic artist, utilizes his craft to help him understand his father and document his family’s past.  While I was unable to find anything quite as “alternative” as Maus, I did come across the trailer for the 2000 award-winning documentary film Paragraph 175, which tells of the story of five of the ten remaining homosexual victims of the Holocaust.  It is very telling that these men’s stories are some of the last “untold” recollections of life in Nazi Germany. A quote from the Baltimore Sun in response to “Nazi Persecution of Homosexuals 1933-1945” says it well- “[This] new exhibit shows how slow prejudice is to wither, if it ever does.” [7]  The silence surrounding story of homosexuals during the Holocaust seems to be changing.  In coordination with the current LGBTQ movement, this “forgotten” history may gain increased visibility and study in the field of Holocaust scholarship and remembrance.

[1] “International Holocaust Remembrance Day,” http://www.ushmm.org/museum/exhibit/focus/ihrd/comment_post.php.

[2] “Introduction to the Holocaust,” http://www.ushmm.org/wlc/en/article.php?ModuleId=10005143.

[3] Edward T. Linenthal, Preserving Memory: The Struggle to Create America’s Holocaust Museum (New York: Penguin Books, 1995), 171.

[4] Linenthal, 187.

[5] “Traveling Exhibitions: Nazi Persecution of Homosexuals 1933 1945,” http://www.ushmm.org/museum/exhibit/traveling/details/index.php?type=current&content=nazi_persecution_homosexuals.

[6] Linenthal, 188-89.

[7] “Traveling Exhibitions: Nazi Persecution of Homosexuals 1933-1945.”

Control Issues: Memory and the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum

Glenn Levy Photography;March 6, 2000; United States Holocaust Memorial Museum

Do museum curators have a right to be control freaks when it comes to interpreting sensitive or cultural history? After reading Preserving Memories by Edward Linenthal I came away with the question of who should control the memory of the Holocaust in the United States. The survivors? Or does authority lie with those outside of the events of the Holocaust such as museum curators?

In Preserving Memories, by virtue of its location on the National Mall in Washington, D.C. and its title, the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum (USHMM) carries the American memory of the Holocaust.    As a museum, it also carries the weight of responsibility of interpreting the accurate history of the Holocaust. The overall interpretive narrative of the museum is meant to preserve the tragedy of the Holocaust in the minds of Americans through its exhibitions and the physical space itself.  According to the permanent exhibit creator Ralph Appelbaum, even the physical materials of the building—stone, glass and steel—are used to “create a ‘whole environment that supports the interpretive story…a play in three acts: Nazi Assault…Final Solution…and Last Chapter [1]’” The physical space, coupled with the powerful emotional interpretation allows the visitor to go on the journey that the victims of the tragedy went through during World War II [2].   As such, the interpretation of the memory of the Holocaust in this space lies primarily with the curators and designers. This authority of memory was acquired through the use of photographs and artifacts from survivors [3].  Utilizing these artifacts however, brought with it challenges, as the museum staff found that the artifacts were not without their own interpretive stories.  To use these artifacts, the museum staff found that they had to negotiate terms of control of narratives with the survivors.

United States Holocaust Memorial Museum Bridges from Wikimedia Commons

Do museum curators have a right to be control freaks in their own museum? Perhaps they do, when the content is not as challenging or as recent as the Holocaust.  Holocaust survivor and photographer Yaffa Eliach challenged the USHMM’s control over the interpretation of the exhibit “The Tower of Faces.” This exhibit uses photos of Eliach’s Lithuanian town of Ejszjszki, which was purged of its Jewish inhabitants during World War II first by the Einsatgruppen, then by Polish Partisans [4].  The museum staff wanted to use Eliach’s “survivor photos” to focus on the dramatization of the activities of the Einsatgruppen (Nazi killing squads) to tie in with the museum’s overall narrative.  As a survivor Eliach wanted to focus on preserving the living memory of her town instead [5].  Despite tension over the control of interpretation of that space and the photos themselves between Eliach and the museum staff, Eliach’s interpretation was ultimately preserved in the gallery.  She remained actively involved in the installation and planning of the exhibit [6]. The issue ultimately came down to ownership of the objects, the photographs which could convey the message of the gallery.  Though the exhibit worked in the space, should the curators have deferred to Eliach’s interpretation?  Certainly, if they wanted to use her photos they had to give her some consideration [7]. But her agenda did not initially support the museum’s narrative.  Was the museum right to hand over authority of the interpretation of this “objective” space to Eliach? Who should ultimately control the narrative of the Holocaust story at the National Mall?

Outside of museums control of the narrative of the Holocaust is mostly given to the survivors due to the authority of their own experience.   The testimony of a Holocaust survivor is often the strongest form of evidence and authority. However, what happens when the survivors themselves are not reliable? This was the case of Herman Rosenblat who lied to publishers about aspects of his Holocaust experience depicted in his memoir.  Publishers remarked that they did not fully fact check Mr. Rosenblat’s story, but accepted his story as a survivor of the Holocaust despite certain implausible details [8].

USHMM wants visitors to “not think about the exhibition as a ‘narrated interpretation of one particular view of the past.’’ [9]. By omitting stories that do not fit in with the interpretation of the narrative of the museum and adding those that many survivors would not want brought to light in the museum, the museum is in fact exercising its control over the memory of the Holocaust within the space. However, hopefully like the “Tower of Faces ” exhibit, the USHMM will do more negotiating and sharing of authority over the memory and interpretation of the Holocaust in the United States.

[1] Linenthal, Edward. “Chapter Four.” In Preserving Memory: The Struggle to Create America’s Holocaust Museum, by Edward Linenthal, 167-192. Penguin Books, 2001. pg 168

[2] lbid., 168-170

[3] lbid.,171

[4]lbid., 176

[5] lbid., 184

[6]lbid., 184

[7] lbid., 184

[8] Rich, Motoko, and Joseph Berger. “False Memoir of Holocaust is Cancelled.” The New York Times, December 28, 2008: 1-2.

[9] lbid., 168

Up Close and Personal

I get emotional every time I read a Holocaust survivor’s memoir, watch the movie Life is Beautiful, or view Holocaust themed works of art. Beyond the inevitable tears, my immediate reaction to stories about the Holocaust includes anger, disillusionment, and the realization that I can never truly understand the horror that millions of people experienced. Because of this, I was surprised when I did not cry during my 2005 visit to the Auschwitz-Birkenau Concentration Camp in Oświęcimiu, Poland. Instead, I remember nervously laughing with my undergraduate classmates as I searched for, and failed to find, an emotional connection to the site.

Photo by Logaritmo, November 28, 2007. Wikimedia Commons.

My experience in Poland made me realize that I feel more emotionally and intellectually connected to the past when reading a poignant Holocaust memoir, such as Art Spiegelman’s Maus: A Survivor’s Tale, than I did when I stood among the stark, empty barracks of Auschwitz. A graphic novel that relies heavily on illustration to convey its themes, Maus is one of the most effective Holocaust narratives I have ever read. I attribute that effectiveness to Spiegelman’s unique choice of genre and to his decision to focus the book on the heartbreaking experience of one individual, his father Vladek Spiegelman, and his family.

The success of Maus rests on Spiegelman’s seamless merging of language and illustration. Taken together, they reveal an emotional current that would be impossible to convey with text alone. Words cannot adequately express Vladek’s wife Anja’s emotional and physical collapse when she learns her son had been killed or Anja’s father’s devastated expression when he realizes he is being taken to his death [1]. Spiegelman’s technique of vividly describing and illustrating his characters’ pain rapidly cements the reader’s emotional investment in the story. Once this is accomplished, Spiegelman can easily and effectively convey his chosen themes.

The novel’s combination of illustration and dialogue allows Spiegelman to subtly employ his themes rather than explicitly state them. This encourages a close and dynamic reading of the book, which increases its effectiveness as an educational tool. Without acknowledging it in the text, Spiegelman depicts Jewish people as mice, German Nazis as cats, Polish people as pigs, and Americans as dogs. Occasionally, the Jewish men and women must wear pig masks in public to conceal their identities and blend in with their Polish neighbors. This hoax, blatantly obvious to the reader, goes unnoticed by the Nazis and Poles [2]. Spiegelman’s illustrations allow him to creatively highlight the ridiculousness of Hitler’s discrimination against Jewish people and insistence that Jewish people were a distinct race [3].

Photo of Art Spiegelman, 2007. Photo by Chris Anthony Diaz, April 30, 2007. Wikimedia Commons.

By focusing on the experience of his own family, Spiegelman effectively conveys universal themes of loss, sacrifice, love, memory, and identity. When Vladek’s father climbs a fence to join his daughter and her four children as they are being sent to one of the camps, his sacrifice gives a face and a story to the unnamed men and women who made similar decisions [4]. It may seem contradictory, but I believe that Spiegelman’s narrow scope, which fosters the reader’s connection to the fate of Vladek and his extended family, ultimately reveals more about the Holocaust than a visit to an actual concentration camp. I argue that the public needs an anchor, something to grasp onto, if they are going to try to understand an inhumane and inexplicable event. Spiegelman’s accessible format and intimate portrait of one family provides that anchor. Auschwitz lacked that personal connection and perhaps that is why I did not shed tears or feel strong emotions while I was there.

When I returned from my college trip to Europe, my classmates and I designed a public exhibition to show our fellow students what we had learned about the Holocaust. My group constructed a Lego and wire model of Majdanek, a labor camp in Lublin, Poland that we had also visited. Looking back, I question that decision and wonder what concentration camps and other sites of atrocity can really teach us now. The stories aren’t there anymore. The stories are in autobiographies, oral histories and memoirs/graphic novels like Maus.

[1] Art Spiegelman, Maus: A Survivor’s Tale. 1: My Father Bleeds History (New York: Pantheon, 1973), 122 and 115.

[2] Ibid., 64.

[3] Ibid., 4.

[4] Ibid., 91.