Author: Jess!

Photographs are Powerful

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Photographs are powerful, and that is why I have decided not to take any today.

On Wednesday, May 22nd, we visited the death camps Auschwitz-Birkenau and walked through the various blocks and monuments. The first two blocks of Auschwitz-I we viewed contained various photographs of the camp. Our guide stressed to us no less than four times that prisoners could not take these pictures. They were not allowed to and did not have the equipment or means to do so. The SS took most of the photos of daily camp life on display. We saw only one photo illegally taken by a member of the Sonderkommando only addressed as Alex, who may have been Alberto Errera, a Jewish-Greek officer imprisoned at Auschwitz-Birkenau.

Sonderkommando was the name given to units of camp prisoners (who were primarily Jewish) who were handpicked by German soldiers to do a variety of difficult and emotionally arduous tasks around the camps. Their primary task was to dispose of the bodies of the dead in the crematoriums. Because their work was both immensely strenuous and necessary for the death camps to operate, they had access to marginally better living conditions that allowed them to more easily smuggle in forbidden goods— goods like a camera.

The photograph, one in a series of four known as “the Sonderkommando photos,” was an act of protest. It documented the Nazis burning murdered bodies. It was later passed on to the Polish resistance. The photos stand in contrast to the less horrific photos of the SS, which, concerned with not leaving evidence of their crimes, were primarily of empty buildings or groups of people who had just disembarked from the train. The Sonderkommando photos are much less precise, owing to the secrecy in which they had to be taken, but fully display the true atrocities of the camp.

As such, even photographs taken today at Auschwitz-Birkenau hold a special meaning. Photos are technically allowed almost everywhere in the camps, but that does not change the significance of taking them. Unlike many of the prisoners at the time, the visitors of today now have the means to document the horror and the trauma stored within the camps. While recording and acknowledging the truth can be an act of resistance, it can also enforce the status quo. When visiting the camps and taking photos, it is integral to acknowledge that you possess a unique kind of power— one that the SS had but the prisoners did not. Taking a photograph today at Auschwitz-Birkenau is a privilege that should not be taken lightly.

A Wartime Writer Remembered

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Dutilleul’s story may have ended sadly, but Aymé‘s story is one of remembrance.

The Montmartre neighborhood in Paris, France, is a bustling arts district with a rich history. Many artists, musicians, and writers have called it home over the years, including the famous Claude Monet, Vincent van Gogh, and Erik Satie. Within the vibrant neighborhood lies a quiet plaza dedicated to Marcel Aymé, a novelist and playwright and one of the most prolific writers out of Nazi-occupied Paris. And within that plaza, one can find the curious statue of the man who could walk through walls.

The statue lies in the heart of the neighborhood, where Rue Giradon and Rue Norvins meet. Jean Marais, a famous sculptor, painter, and writer, built the statue in 1989 in remembrance of Aymé— nearly twenty years after his death. The face is of Aymé himself. The statue’s body is a reference to Aymé’s famous short story, “Le Passe-muraille,” often translated as “The Walker-through-Walls.” Aymé tells the tale of a man named Dutilleul, a resident of Montmartre who works a dead-end office job and discovers one day that he is able to walk through walls. This power turns his life around until one day, while departing from a midnight tryst, Dutilleul finds his powers failing. Legend has it he is still stuck in the wall to this day, something that the statue is clearly in reference to.

“Walking through walls cannot really serve as an end in itself. Rather, it is the first step in an adventure, which calls for continuation, development, and, in short, a payoff. ” (p.6)

While the short story may sound more amusing rather than political, “Le Passe-muraille” was written in the backdrop of World War II, like the vast majority of Aymé’s work. Far from being a conformist, Aymé’s writing is strange, magical, and fiercely critical of the powers that be. During the war, Aymé wrote biting commentary on the Vichy government of southern France and the Nazi occupation of northern France, picking apart everything from the rationing system to the self-serving ways of many of his peers. Following the war, he continued to protest against the new French government in his works, which were often censored at the time. While Marcel Aymé was a complicated figure who by no means fit the mold of the perfect resistor, it is heartening to see his legacy preserved as the witty, satirical, and critical writer he was in life.

Celebration & Remembrance in Bayeux

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Photo on a window of a pharmacy in Bayeux, France.

One of the most striking features of the town of Bayeux and others like it across the Normandy Coast is the sheer appreciation and celebration of the Allied powers in World War II. They are all very much places steeped in time, still ever aware of the war even eighty years later. The flags from the various Allied countries are scattered throughout town, with seven of them flying in a roundabout outside of the hotel we are staying at. I can see them from my window as I write this. The walls of buildings downtown are covered in drawings that optimistically evoke the liberation of France, depicting smiling Red Cross medics and American soldiers with beers. “Thank you” is written on windows in French and English, and historic black and white photos of the town during the forties are taped on the doors of restaurants and stores.

It is almost overwhelming, especially when considering the difficult hand the French were dealt in World War II. Coastal villages like Bayeux were often harmed by the very same forces that were supposed to liberate them— something that seems very much at odds with the more positive nature of remembrance in the towns.

A photo of a destroyed Caen following the Normandy Bombings, which were conducted by Allied forces. (https://www.frenchtoday.com/blog/french-culture/caen-ww2-war-story-france/)

But the treatment of French civilians by the Allied forces is not entirely forgotten. A portion of the Caen Memorial Museum is dedicated to the Allied air campaigns over the French coast. It is remarkably frank in regard to the harm the raids caused the French. Aircraft decimated towns including Caen and Le Havre in hopes of stalling German advancement and by the end, it is estimated that over ten thousand civilians lost their lives in the fire. These facts don’t paint a pretty picture and it’s true that the Allied liberation of France was often met with apprehension.

In many ways, this makes the French acknowledgement and appreciation of its fellow Allied powers all the more meaningful. It is difficult to not only reconcile but also choose to celebrate, and all the more admirable that the French are able to do so while acknowledging the past. To the residents of Normandy; merci pour votre amour et votre gratitude. I’m certain they have not always been easy things to give.