The Holocaust exhibition at the
Imperial War Museum details the slow-burn rise of the Nazis that would
culminate in one of the most heinous acts of human history. It demonstrates in
often harrowing and graphic detail the acts and the actors that would turn the
world’s stomach. Within those walls are images of normal people, helpless
families torn apart by industrialised death camps; fathers, mothers, and
children would never see each other again. Ordinary soldiers, hardened by years
of battle who became violently sick upon discovering the camps. Simple-minded,
average bureaucrats who would stoop to the depths of depravity in order
orchestrate Hitler’s final solution. One is left to wonder how something like
this could ever have happened.
The Holocaust exhibition is just
the most extreme example of the exhibits on display at IWM that can lead you to
question how inherently ‘good’ people may actually be. From the First World War
through Cold War history to the Falklands, Northern Ireland and the current War
on Terror, IWM attempts to show how conflicts develop and evolve through their
lifespan, as well as focusing on their devastating consequences. You can view
the heavily armoured ‘pig’ vehicle that British soldiers used on British soil
as Northern Irish families were torn apart by decades-long violence, art
depicting the futility and horrors of the most recent War on Terror, First
World War gas masks that look like horror film props, and an area dedicated to that
most terrifying weapon of all; the nuclear bomb. It is hard not to be shocked
by the brutality of conflict.
And yet next to these vehemently
anti-war exhibits are others that seem to romanticise warfare, like the Family
at War exhibition that details the lives of an ordinary British family
surviving the Blitz. I found myself fascinated by their stories, and perhaps
spent longer in this section of the museum than any other. At the top floor of
IWM is the final exhibit, coming directly after the Holocaust display, entitled
‘Extraordinary Heroes’ and dedicated to telling the stories of Victoria and
George Cross medal winners. Again, here I was fascinated by the tales of people
who pushed themselves beyond their limits to become role models for bravery and
sacrifice.
The IWM captured the dissonance
between my disgust at the horrors of war and the deep interest in individual
war stories that I continue to have. It begs the question that if I, and so
many of us, have a deep aversion to conflict and do not wish to see people harmed
or killed, why do we still have such a deep fascination with war? There is
something about warfare that seems to be deeply linked to humanity, despite the
fact that we often refer to acts committed in conflict as inhuman. Wars have
occurred for as long as humans have existed, and there is no denying the
political benefits of waging a “good war”. Margaret Thatcher revitalised her
support from the UK public by winning a war half a world away in the Falklands,
and George Bush surged to a landslide victory in 2004 after launching
disastrous campaigns in Iraq and Afghanistan. A quote that always sticks with
me from the documentary that accompanied the incredible TV show Band of Brothers is from the daughter of
one of the men of Easy Company, who died in his 90s well over half a century
after the war ended, and asked to be buried next to his comrades who had died
back in 1944/45. He had come home from war, had a family, an entire new career,
made new friends and lived a dozen different lives, and at the end he felt
closest to people he had known for no more than a few years a lifetime ago. A
quote on the wall of IWM from Harry Patch, the last surviving First World War
veteran tells the same story: “I tried for 80 years to forget it, but I can’t.”
He died in 2009 and was buried with full military honours nearly a century
after his service. Hundreds of people lined the streets to view his funeral
procession, waving Union Flags.
People are fascinated by war
stories, and there is more to our flirtation with conflict than just the action-movie
excitement. As Thatcher’s and Bush’s election victories and the stories of
brothers-in-arms demonstrate, war unites people in a way that nothing else
does. We are never more together than when we are against someone else. This
tribalism has run through the human experience for as long back as you care to
look. Petty differences within groups are forgotten when you have to unite
against another enemy, and this “us-vs-them” mentality gives life meaning.
Humans are a social species, and the need for a strong, positive in-group image
is key to our mental health. Our family, friendship groups, and those we
associate with make up a huge part of who we are. This is not always a bad
thing, but unfortunately the intense comradeship nurtured by warfare
demonstrates that all too often our similarities are defined by our opposition
to something, or, more specifically, someone else.
Looking at social identity
through the lens of conflict highlights the darker side of humanity, the very
human phenomenon that we often refer to as inhumane. When we consider someone
to be like us we feel a strong connection to them. We want to protect them and that
relationship, and when pushed that can lead us down a very dark path. The most extreme
form of this is demonstrated by a quote in IWM from an SS colonel on his
reasoning behind supplying the Nazi Einsatzgruppen with gas vans to enable
their murder of “subhuman” Nazi enemies: “What was uppermost in my mind at the
time was that the shootings were a great strain on the men involved and that
this strain would be removed by the use of gas vans”. A Nazi commander,
directly responsible for one of the most heinous atrocities ever committed, was
concerned about the strain that mass extermination was putting on the health of
his men. That is why it is wrong to call war and atrocity crimes inhumane.
Unfortunately, they are not just a human phenomenon, but a uniquely human phenomenon, caused in part by our desire to protect
our own group regardless of the cost to others who we view as different to
ourselves.
War can bring out the absolute worst
in humanity, but it also brings us together in a way that nothing else does. Why
it takes something as extreme as conflict to make us feel united is something
to be reflected on. This phenomenon of uniting against a common enemy flows
through our culture as well, with any number of films, books, TV series
building on that theme of coming together to defeat an evil ‘other’. Even in
science fiction, if the Earth is united it is against an alien foe. Are our
relationships defined by what we are opposed to? Do we have to have an enemy in
order to be united? Could we ever see ourselves as one group, one human race,
with no need for an enemy to fight against to give ourselves a sense of
meaning? Why am I, as someone who would consider myself to be anti-war in most
circumstances, so fascinated by the stories of comradeship, bravery and heroism
that warfare produces? Is it in human nature to fight, or is the centuries-long
history of global conflict something that we can eventually turn our back on?
The Imperial War Museum cannot
answer these questions, but it certainly makes you think about them.
No comments:
Post a Comment