Dachau: Our Biggest Failure

When we arrived in Munich we knew we had to visit the concentration camp Dachau. It was a different experience than I personally imagined it to be. 

Personally, I knew of course that it would be hard to endure. To walk upon the grounds where so many were murdered. To put myself in their shoes. Buy I was never prepared for what I felt. 

Our hostel had a walking tour through Dachau, however, there were simply not enough people going for them to do it that day. So we actually experienced it on our own. Which has its pros and cons. Obviously we aren’t as enlightened about the history as maybe someone on a tour would be, but we had enough time to deal with our emotions. Which were many. 

Dachau is fairly easy to get to and it is free to explore. You take a train and then a bus. It was weird being on a bus to this place because as we got closer and started seeing some of the walls, we all just knew we were there. The bus got completely somber and quiet. 

It is weird too, there are houses and communities sorrounding Dachau. Children playing in the streets. Yet beyond the communities and the children was the final resting place for millions. 

When you first walk in, the door we’ve all seen in history books greets you. We went midwinter so the feeling of death was definitely felt. 

The sign at the door reads “arbeit macht frei” or work sets you free. A mockery to those walking in. A promise of hope they never had. The first sign that this would be an angry trip rather than a sad one. 

Walking in, you see the land on which the slaves in the camp were made to stand and wait on every morning. Wearing nothing but thin shirts and pants regardless of the weather. Punished and sometimes even killed if they moved. 

The  way goes through the exact same path these people walked through. You enter to your right where their belongings were taken, their names exchanged for numbers, and their identity cut by means of their hair and clothing. 

The museum like environment continues. Making the whole place ominous. But what was interesting is that the cleanliness and the way in which everything was arranged almost made me feel like it didn’t happen. Like it couldn’t have. Because how could it? But the reality sets before you rather quickly. The imagery of the dead and the survivors still haunt me at night. The stories of their torture keep me awake. 

Back through the field you walk across to the barracks, where thousands were crowded in wooden “beds.” Despite the weather, despite illnesses, despite anything. Like chickens in a chicken farm awaiting their slaughter. 

As you walk out of the barracks to the back of the camp you see the amount of barracks that once were built here. 

All signifying hundreds of people who’s life ceased to exist for being born a certain way or religion. By this time, my blood was boiling. It was a weird feeling, seeing everyone around me crying. Sobbing even. And all I could do was sit there clenching my fist because I couldn’t handle the amount of ignorance and nonchalant behavior that allowed this to happen.

As the tour continued, through the aura of death and the stagnancy of the frigid air. We met the end. 

The place where 150 deaths occurred on an hourly basis. These people thought they were taking a shower, a luxery many hadn’t had in months and sometimes year. That day, they thought that for the very first time a courtesy would be shown to them. A small kindness. Only to walk to their deaths. To walk in and never walk out. The gas took at times up to thirty minutes to kill everyone, think about that. For thirty minutes being unable to breathe, seeing everyone dying around you, and knowing you won’t be getting out alive. Losing hope. Wishing it ended. 

For your body to never have a final resting place. Rather cremated in ovens. No funeral. No memoir. No family crying over your death. Nothing. As if they were born but to die. Existing only for slaughter. A waste of space. A life not worth living. 

As if this wasn’t enough, it never fully hit me until I walked out. Because I could. Because regardless of how I felt, I wouldn’t come an inch to what they went through. Because I came of my own volition and walked out when were done. Because work didn’t set me free. 

And so while we are out there, chasing avenues, not every Avenue we seek will be glorious. Or happy. This one showed me a side of me I didn’t really know. One filled with anger and rage. Because these people, dehumanized and murdered, these people were born for a reason they may not have been able to fulfill. Because we failed them. The world failed them. My church, the Catholic church, failed them. My country failed them. And we can not fail again.