This time my destination is Munich, Germany.
My steps are on a wet road, and an old music is playing in my ears.
“Arbeit macht Frei.” (Work sets you free). Although this phrase written above the entrance gate contradicts the situation I’m facing, I remain silent. I adjust my bag on my shoulder and move towards the gate. The attendant, who also sees a few people accompanying me, opens the iron gate and lets us in.
Old stone roads, stone buildings, drought, and the air of mourning give the sensation of the concentration camp. Even though I express my reluctance to be guided, we wait for our German guide together with the Spanish group accompanying us, at the insistence of my dear friend.
There are a total of seven buildings. The buildings in front are in an L shape, while the others look quite straight. A vast area… I’m sure my feet will ache. While I continue to observe in my own way, my friend grabs my arm and pulls me out of my absent-mindedness.
“Leyla, I’m very excited!” she says, but unfortunately, I can’t share in her excitement.
“Why are you so excited? The air even smells bitter. Imagine how many people’s blood is in the place where you’re stepping, think about it.”
“I’m excited to learn new things. Also, the guide is said to explain everything in detail. I hope it will be useful for my thesis.”
I understand the excitement of my friend, who studies German history. When our guide, a gentleman, comes, we start walking. After greeting everyone and introducing himself, the guide continues his speech. He directs us to the L-shaped building.
Inside, we are greeted by a map that covers almost the entire wall, with marked places on it. From the names written on them, I understand that these places are also related to the concentration camp. It seems like these camps exist at every stop in Europe.
The guide speaks so fast that I would rather read than listen. “I prefer reading over listening,” I say and leave the group. Even though Zeynep makes a few signs behind me, I keep walking.
Thick posters, fixed from the ceiling to the floor, are everywhere. As I move further back, I see things that resemble posters.
I start examining the posters slowly. Newspapers from the past, headlines, pictures of statesmen, and people gathered to be taken to the concentration camp, from the old times… The pictures are not at all comforting, and neither are the writings.
As the background sounds increase, I pick up my headphones that I put in my bag earlier. Convinced that the songs on my playlist are not suitable for this atmosphere, I go online. I type the name of a movie that comes to my mind: The Pianist.
The piano playing in my ears and the suffering I witness. Now we are in harmony.
What I read in an article touches me deeply. I learn about people who couldn’t take a shower for months. Chained women, crying children, and many more…
I can’t grasp these experiences. Were they subjected to these atrocities just because they were of a different race or mindset? This was the dark side of humanity. They wanted to eliminate everyone who disagreed with them. I shake my head from side to side and turn to another newspaper page:
“He is our last chance!”
Manipulating society is done through the media. Newspapers, magazines, radio and TV programs, social media content shape people’s thoughts.
The scene in front of me was such a situation. A headline in a newspaper and a photograph placed underneath…
I can’t bear it anymore and go outside. The building in front of me is the dormitory. There isn’t much inside. Next, there are gas chambers. Although I consider going there, my heart wins the competition between my heart and my mind, and I turn my back to the chambers.
My new destination is the prison. I visit the cells one by one. The names of loved ones, meaningful words, verses from the Gospel and the Torah, oaths, crosses, and some symbols like Star of David are engraved on the walls.
I go out to the yard and watch the black clouds that seem to keep pace with me.
I don’t know how many times it’s playing, but I don’t change the music from the movie The Pianist playing in my ears. There’s a sentence in my mind that keeps turning. Even though I have engraved it in my mind, I take out my notebook and jot it down.
I go outside with Zeynep. We take our seats on the train to go to our hotel. Forgetting is something inherent in humans. I write this to remind people, mostly to myself.
Note in my notebook: “Our freedoms bore witness to their captivity.” (June 24, 2023).
