The overcast skies and flitting snow provided an ominous background. A silence, which should have seemed eerie but did not, was punctuated only by the occasional voices of visitors. The grounds offered a surprisingly good opportunity to photograph the architecture, monuments, and symmetry of this man-made environment. I was hesitant to take pictures, as if the location is too sacred or too stained with human sin to allow photography. But it was allowed, and it offered one of the best ways of communicating the location’s message that so desperately needs to be shared.
On the grounds of an abandoned munitions factory in the southern part of Germany, the home to some of my ancestors, more than 200,000 people were imprisoned and tens of thousands died at a camp that was the only one in Germany to use gas chambers. It is a painful memory, but much of Dachau Concentration Camp remains intact, with original structures dating to a different era, but one whose evil does not seem so far away.
I have characterized my recent journeys as exciting, relaxing, and an opportunity to spend time with friends and experience new places and cultures. I find it challenging, though, to articulate how I felt after visiting the concentration camp. Although it differed dramatically from all my other destinations in Europe, it proved to be the most educational, beneficial, and moving opportunity I had.
Only a few miles outside one of Germany’s largest cities, the grounds of Dachau remain open to the public as a museum and a memorial. From walking tours in Munich, the birthplace of Nazism, to German laws forbidding Holocaust denial, to the actual camp, Germany makes no attempt to hide its darkest period which witnessed some of the world’s worst atrocities. The way in which Germany approaches Dachau speaks volumes of their sincere desire to never forget what occurred there and to preserve what is not only a historical landmark, but also, more importantly, a living memorial. This approach sheds light on an important part of German history and culture. Dachau, and the Holocaust and Nazism in general, occupy a central role in 20th century German history. Historians, the government, and German citizens, however, do not want to erase this place and what it represents from the history books or collective memory. In fact, as my tour guide was quick to point out, Germans recognize the overwhelming importance of sharing this site with everyone in order to raise awareness and ensure that such a tragedy can never occur again.
The freedom with which the subject is discussed and with which Dachau can be explored renders it a ripe location for education. A visit to Dachau bears relevance to the philosophy of law. A key argument in the subject is the debate between natural law and positivism. While natural law holds that reason is the ultimate source of law, positivism asserts that effective power is the ultimate source of law. Positivism enjoyed substantial support prior to World War II, but the fact that the actions of the Nazis were technically legal in Germany was an embarrassment and a blow to the idea of positivism. Natural law subsequently experienced increasing support. No longer could it be accepted so widely that there existed no higher laws than those of men. Experiencing Dachau brought this debate to life. No longer just a conceptual argument in class, I witnessed what physically remains of the Holocaust, which had significant implications for this philosophical debate. My visit not only applied to what I was studying, but also it motivated me to learn about the history which left behind Dachau as a physical witness to what occurred there only a few decades earlier.
The past, no matter how painful or distressing, holds invaluable lessons for how we are to live today. These lessons should encourage us to remain ever-vigilant to the affairs of our own world and to act when presented with the Dachaus of today.
Words and photographs provide a good introduction to Dachau, but walking the grounds and learning about them are a humbling and compelling experience which must be understood personally. The story must be learned, shared, and used as a most valuable lesson. Germans are quick to do so; now the responsibility falls on you and me.
I normally take pictures of myself and friends in the cities I visit, in a symbolic way of saying I left my mark on a city. Dachau was different, though, as I refrained from including myself in any picture out of a subconscious realization that Dachau was to leave its mark on me.
All images and text in this essay copyright Connor Bindner
