Internment In Concentration Camps And Its Consequences

It remained for Nazi Germany to design the most satanic psychological experi ment of all time, the independent variables consisting of brutality, bestiality, physical and mental torture on an unprecedented scale. What were the effects of this massive assault on the human spirit, on man's ability to assimilate such experiences, if he survived physically? While the terror of the Nazi concentration camps has been indelibly engraved in the history of Western civilization as its most shameful chapter, little systematic study has been addressed to the subsequent lives of that minority of inmates who were fortunate enough to escape physical annihilation and lived to tell about their nightmare. Dr. PAUL MATUSSEK, a respected German psychiatrist, aided by a small group of collaborators, performed the task of identifying a group of victims (mostly Jews but also political prisoners), who, following their liberation, had settled in Germany, Israel, and the United States. By careful interviews, questionnaires, and psychological tests he brought to bear the methods of sensitive clinical inquiry on the experiences of those who dared to reminisce and who were sufficiently trusting to share their feelings and memories with clinical investigators. It is a telling commentary that many people, even after the passage of years, refused to respond.

It remained for Nazi Germany to design the most satanic psychological experi ment of all time, the independent variables consisting of brutality, bestiality, physical and mental torture on an unprecedented scale. What were the effects of this massive assault on the human spirit, on man's ability to assimilate such experiences, if he survived physically? While the terror of the Nazi concentration camps has been indelibly engraved in the history of Western civilization as its most shameful chapter, little systematic study has been addressed to the subsequent lives of that minority of inmates who were fortunate enough to escape physical annihilation and lived to tell about their nightmare. Dr. PAUL MATUSSEK, a respected German psychiatrist, aided by a small group of collaborators, performed the task of identifying a group of victims (mostly Jews but also political prisoners), who, following their liberation, had settled in Germany, Israel, and the United States. By careful interviews, questionnaires, and psychological tests he brought to bear the methods of sensitive clinical inquiry on the experiences of those who dared to reminisce and who were sufficiently trusting to share their feelings and memories with clinical investigators. It is a telling commentary that many people, even after the passage of years, refused to respond.

The camp is nothing if not diverse: in kind, scope, and particularity; in sociological and juridical configuration; in texture, iconography, and political import. Adjectives of camp specificity embrace a spectrum from extermination and concentration, to detention, migration, deportation, and refugee camps. And while the geographic range covered by contributors is hardly global, it is broad: Chile, Rwanda, Canada, the US, Central Europe, Morocco, Algeria, South Africa, France and Spain. And yet—is to so characterize the camp to run the risk of diffusing what in origin is a concentration into a paratactical series of “identity particularisms”? While The Camp does not seek to antithetically promulgate a universalist vision, it does aim to explore the imbrication of the particular and the universal, to analyze the structure of a camp or camps, and to call attention the role of the listener in the construction of the testimony. For, by naming what cannot be said, is not every narrative of internment and exclusion a potential site of agency, articulating the inner splitting of language that Giorgio Agamben defines as the locus of testimony: “to bear witness is to place oneself in one’s own language in the position of those who have lost it, to establish oneself in a living language as if it were dead, or in a dead language as if it were living.”

At the age of 6, I discovered a jar of brightly colored shells under my grandmother's kitchen sink. When I inquired where they had come from, she did not answer. Instead, she told me in broken English, "Ask your mother. " My mother's response to the same question was, "Oh, I made them in camp. " "Was it fun?" I asked enthusiastically. "Not really," she replied. Her answer puzzled me. The shells were beautiful, and camp, as far as I knew, was a fun place where children roasted marshmallows and sang songs around the fire. Yet my mother's reaction did not seem happy. I was perplexed by this brief exchange, but I also sensed I should not ask more questions. As time went by, "camp" remained a vague, cryptic reference to some time in the past, the past of my parents, their friends, my grand parents, and my relatives. We never directly discussed it. It was not until high school that I began to understand the significance of the word, that camp referred to a World War II American concentration camp, not a summer camp. Much later I learned that the silence surrounding discus sions about this traumatic period of my parents' lives was a phenomenon characteristic not only of my family but also of most other Japanese American families after the war.

The first comprehensive history of the Nazi concentration camps In a landmark work of history, Nikolaus Wachsmann offers an unprecedented, integrated account of the Nazi concentration camps from their inception in 1933 through their demise, seventy years ago, in the spring of 1945. The Third Reich has been studied in more depth than virtually any other period in history, and yet until now there has been no history of the camp system that tells the full story of its broad development and the everyday experiences of its inhabitants, both perpetrators and victims, and all those living in what Primo Levi called "the gray zone." In KL, Wachsmann fills this glaring gap in our understanding. He not only synthesizes a new generation of scholarly work, much of it untranslated and unknown outside of Germany, but also presents startling revelations, based on many years of archival research, about the functioning and scope of the camp system. Examining, close up, life and death inside the camps, and adopting a wider lens to show how the camp system was shaped by changing political, legal, social, economic, and military forces, Wachsmann produces a unified picture of the Nazi regime and its camps that we have never seen before. A boldly ambitious work of deep importance, KL is destined to be a classic in the history of the twentieth century.

Between 1942 and 1945, the U.S. government wrongfully imprisoned thousands of Japanese American citizens and profited from their labor. Japanese American Incarceration recasts the forced removal and incarceration of approximately 120,000 Japanese Americans during World War II as a history of prison labor and exploitation. Following Franklin Roosevelt's 1942 Executive Order 9066, which called for the exclusion of potentially dangerous groups from military zones along the West Coast, the federal government placed Japanese Americans in makeshift prisons throughout the country. In addition to working on day-to-day operations of the camps, Japanese Americans were coerced into harvesting crops, digging irrigation ditches, paving roads, and building barracks for little to no compensation and often at the behest of privately run businesses—all in the name of national security. How did the U.S. government use incarceration to address labor demands during World War II, and how did imprisoned Japanese Americans respond to the stripping of not only their civil rights, but their labor rights as well? Using a variety of archives and collected oral histories, Japanese American Incarceration uncovers the startling answers to these questions. Stephanie Hinnershitz's timely study connects the government's exploitation of imprisoned Japanese Americans to the history of prison labor in the United States.