It’s one of those local points of interest–and importance–that can easily be taken for granted. We all have them in our frame of reference. Stuff we never seem to get around to. In my case: It’s the Florida Holocaust Museum in downtown St. Petersburg. I’d never been there.
It’s a must-visit kind of venue, we all acknowledge, but it’s also assuredly depressing, we all know. At some point, however, the raw emotion-driven inertia needs to be overcome. The FHM needs to be seen and absorbed. It’s important that we never forget.
As of last week, I can no longer say I’ve never been there.
My ultimate, lasting impression: It’s a visceral reminder of what constitutes the quintessential definition of evil. The horrifics of sheer calculation in the perverted pursuit of killing.
You are immediately reminded why you have deferred this experience. My God, it’s the chronicle of mass murder committed in the debauched name of efficiencies and logistics. You shake your head, you glance away, you curse the barbarity. You notice an older woman in tears reading the details of accompanying concentration-camp photos. You wonder what her story is.
Content and context informs you that gas chambers and crematoria were preceded by a demonic slippery slope that morphed Jews–as well as gypsies, homosexuals, the mentally retarded, communists, Poles, Slavs and Jehovah’s Witnesses–from non-Germans to non-persons to non-humans.
Under the Nuremberg Laws, for example, Jews weren’t just prohibited from being lawyers, tax collectors, dentists, nurses, veterinarians and journalists, they couldn’t even buy lottery tickets or own carrier pigeons. They were that marginalized before they were murdered.
Adding ignominy to the nightmare: more historical context. Much of the world, including the U.S., shamefully did too little.
Before leaving the FHM, visitors are graphically reminded that genocide didn’t die out with Nazi Germany. It remains a blight on the human condition. Mankind must remain vigilant. Good people cannot afford to do nothing. Not “knowing” is no excuse.
I was reminded of an experience of several months ago, when I had visited the Dachau concentration camp just north of Munich. Among the memorials and inscriptions was this one from a survivor:
“First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out, for I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out, for I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the gypsies, and I did not speak out, for I was not a gypsy. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out, for I was not Jewish. Then they came for me. And there was no one left to speak out for me.”
That one still haunts.