Letter from a stranger

When we visited the concentration camp at Rivesaltes a fortnight ago, the inaugural exhibition was a display case full of sealed envelopes. Inside were letters written by anyone who had related memories they wanted to share; not necessarily of Rivesaltes itself but of camps, exile, and deportation more generally. Visitors were invited to choose an envelope, write their own address on it, and post it in a box provided for the purpose, or contribute a letter themselves.  We both chose an envelope, and the letters arrived today.

Mine was from a resident of Switzerland, a page and a half remembering a visit to Auschwitz in 2002.

We walk to the dreaded place : the changing room, the gas chamber with its collapsed ceiling, the ruins of the ovens. I leave the group. I need a moment of solitude and remembrance. In front of the memorial stones, at the moment of deepest pain, the clouds are torn apart, the sun appears. Just a few seconds. The sky closes up once more, the sun disappears. I am overcome.

Later, my unknown correspondent writes:
... it is necessary to preserve them. As proof, obviously, to set up against denial, but also and especially to embed them in our collective memory, to transmit them to new generations ... so that they realise that horror is not invincible, and every struggle against injustice, every form of resistance is worthwhile.

On the last day of what has globally been a pretty horrible year, a call to remember the victims of horror seems sadly apposite. With so many echoes of the 1930s in daily displays of demagoguery, hatred, and xenophobia, it's even more important to remind ourselves what they can lead to if left unchallenged.

Note: all the letters will be published on the web sometime after the exhibition closes. Recipients can also reply to the letter they receive if they wish.