I Know What Happened Here

The first time I rode a train through Germany was eerie. Sometimes still, I'll be standing at a train station in misting rain, and the same feeling will hit me again: I know what happened here. World War II and the Holocaust were not terribly long ago. Furthermore, Germany's fabulous infrastructure of rail lines and roads are remains of wartime construction and maneuvering.

Maybe I am becoming a little too Anne of Green Gables-y with my imagination. But perhaps some emotions are just so strong that they leave behind echos. I get the same feeling when I am alone in the battlefields at Gettysburg. I know what happened where I am standing, and I can't help but think about the story this place could tell. So when I am at a old train station here, I wonder who else passed through, where were they going, and whether they knew. However, normally, such thoughts rarely cross my mind. Germany is different from the country it was in 1933 to 1945. And I am often too caught up in my modern day stresses and worries to think about history. Nonetheless, there are still just these moments where it hits me: I know what happened here.

Last Saturday, my friend Anna and I went on a hike up to the Philosophen Weg (Philosophers Way), which winds around the Heiligenberg (Holy Mountain) bordering the Neckar River. Having heard about ruins of a Kloster (monastery) on top, Anna and I began a rather convoluted trip to the summit. However, what greeted us before we reached the Kloster was this huge outdoor amphitheater. We had been expecting to find ruins from the Middle Ages, but it was obvious this strange edifice was built rather recently. From further exploration, we discovered that the structure is one of about 45 "Thingstätte" or "Thingplatz" built during the Third Reich.

The Nazi's Thingstätten were part of the "Blut und Boden" (blood and soil) movement of Joseph Goebbels. A "Thing" harkens back to ancient Nordic/Germanic outdoor gatherings. The Nazis attempted to recreate these gatherings with shows of propaganda, meetings, or youth rallies. Originally, 1200 Thingstätten were planned; however, the movement was rather unpopular (probably because of the rainy German weather) and lost favor with the Nazis in 1936. This particular one was built from 1934 to 1935. Strategically located on the "holy mountain," it is nestled between two different monasteries' ruins. During the reign of the Third Reich, it was often used for youth rallies because of its close proximity to the university. Today, it is still used for various concerts or festivals.

There were very few people around, the sun was shining, and there was a slight breeze rustling the grass. Nothing could have been more eerily normal. There are reminders from the Third Reich everywhere. They are in the mountains, the death camps, the streets, rail lines, and within the people. I can't help but wonder how much these little unconscious elements affect the people who have grown up in Germany, who must claim what happened as part of their history. The other day, I was trying to read this German article about artwork. What I understood from it is that, in modern German artwork and much of the artwork of Europe, there is often a void. This reoccurring void symbolizes a sort of moral rift in our history. It represents the genocide that tore a hole in our humanity. I don't think it will be possible anytime soon to get away from this void. Because even though it is often subconscious, it is there seeping into normal everyday.