Museum Musings

Last week, along with a friend, I visited an Imperial War Museum in London. There, WWII fighter planes dangle from the ceiling and a jeep is frozen just before it drives off the second floor. We guessed how many uniform-clad school children running about could be jammed into the single-man bomb shelter, and we squinted at paraphernalia and pamphlets. We laughed at the sassy letters evacuated children wrote to their parents, and we commented on clothing styles, many of which we find on streets today. We walked in silence through the holocaust exhibit, which bars anyone under the age of 14, and watched in rapture as Hitler spoke.

A quote from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone stuck out to me as a child, and to this day it comes to mind when I hear Hitler speak. Harry has just received his wand at Ollivander’s when the wandmaker says, “I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter . . . After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great.”

An interviewee in an exhibit film mentioned how remarkable Hitler was. He related that Hitler, a fairly ordinary man, took a society of scientists, poets, artists, and businessmen and “fooled” them into following him towards a belief most find horrendous, disgusting, and incomprehensible. Yet, as we stopped at a map showing the numbers of Jews who fled to various countries, I was reminded of the flight numbers we’re seeing today with Syrian refugees. As we read the numbers of Jews murdered during the holocaust, I was reminded of genocides taking place now. As I viewed pamphlets detailing Aryan ideals, I was reminded of horrific racial struggles in my own country today. Looking at all of these things happening in our world right now, I am forced to think of the many ways I am susceptible to being fooled.

I walked through the museum pondering why we ever choose to spend our time learning of horrors that fill our past. Why, on a lovely Wednesday morning, did we choose to fill our hearts with pictures, videos, and statistics that feature human depravity at its ugliest? I think part of it is curiosity. A part of it is connecting with one another, even across generations. I think the largest part is trying to make sense of what we are experiencing now and, perhaps, finding hope in the knowledge that these particular horrors were ultimately overcome.

I found myself particularly moved by the exhibit and the emotions it evoked. It reestablished that elementary school teach reasoning, "learn from the past". It made me realize that I don't ever want to be fooled.

A piece of the Berlin Wall.