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Levi divides people who have experienced prison life, or other harsh circumstances, into two groups: those who talk about their experiences and those who keep it to themselves. Levi acknowledges the validity of both reactions and explains that those who speak often do so because they are asked to speak by “friends, children, readers, or even strangers” (169) who want to understand what happened. He acknowledges the challenges of this position; after all, those who speak are untrained witnesses to human history, not “historians nor philosophers” (169-170).
One persistent question, or collection of questions, has to do with escape, rebellion, or some other method of avoiding the difficult truth. At first, Levi explains, an optimism can be observed in persons for whom “the idea of imprisonment is firmly attached to the idea of flight or revolt” (171), especially because “escape cleanses and wipes out the shame of imprisonment” (171). Levi points out complications around these ideas. For example, Soviet prisoners of war “should have died instead of [surrender]” (171) and Japanese wartime soldiers gave up only to be “regarded with great contempt” (171). According to popular stories and films, a “typical prisoner is seen as a man of integrity” (172) whose ingenuity and resilience were eventually rewarded, an image that has little to do with the reality Levi and his fellow prisoners faced while in the Lagers. Some prisoners did deserve such stereotypical description, like the Allied prisoners of wars, but for “the pariahs of the Nazi universe” (173), weak and spiritually beaten, escape was difficult to contemplate, as well as risky. Levi mentions that, for Jews especially, escape may have led only to more suffering; they had neither knowledge nor familiarity of their surroundings and there were many barriers between them and their home countries. The commandants of the Lagers were extremely careful to ensure that as few prisoners as possible could escape; this matter was of the greatest import because an escapee means that the world may learn “things that the world must not know” (175). In reality, however, escapes were unlikely, but when they did happen, escapees were “punished with death by public hanging […] preceded by a ceremony […] in which the imaginative cruelty of the SS ran amok” (175-176). Levi recounts the story of two Polish escapees to prove his point, explaining that the violence of their deaths “served very well to crush at its inception any idea of escaping” (177).
Levi remembers a child asking him why he didn’t escape and the same child presenting him with a drawing illustrating how Levi should have made his escape; this encounter “illustrates quite well the gap that exists and grows wider every year between things as they were down there and things as they are represented by the current imagination” (178). Levi laments this movement toward “simplification and stereotype” (178).
Levi also remembers being asked in “an even harsher accusatory tone” (179) about rebellion as often as escape. Insurrections did take place at times, but the thought of a mass escape was inconceivable as there was no refuge for escapees in the hostile surroundings of the Lagers. Few leaders could emerge from such an oppressed state, and the typical prisoner “was at the limits of depletion” (181).
Another question that also comes up is one of escaping or fleeing the Nazi machine before it became so powerful. Levi points out that many political exiles and intellectuals under threat did leave Europe, and “it was a hemorrhage that bled Europe irremediably” (182). Though these individuals were able to emigrate elsewhere, most families could not leave their homes due to poverty and a lack of resources. In general, decisions that concern leaving one’s homeland are also difficult and painful, so the process is not as easy as some may assume. The borders within Europe at this time in history were “practically closed” (185) so free movement was impossible.
Levi discusses the visible “premonitory symptoms of the slaughter” (186), as well as the ways in which individuals found “a way to deny the signals, ignore the danger, manufacture those convenient truths” (186). The reality of what eventually happened was impossible to imagine despite these signs, so Levi cautions his readers against making the “error that consists in judging distant epochs and places with the yardstick that prevails in the here and now” (187). Levi concludes this point, and the chapter, with a reminder that today’s fears are just as legitimate as those of this era; travel documents are easier to obtain today, so “why aren’t we fleeing ‘before’?” (188).
In this chapter, Levi reflects on the publication and distribution of his 1947 book titled If This Is a Man. Ten years after its initial run, the book “came back to life” (189), and it was eventually translated from Italian into at least eight languages and adapted for radio and the stage. When the book reached a German readership in 1959, Levi realized that though he had written the book “for Italians, for my children” (190), “those against whom the book was aimed like a gun were they, the Germans” (190-191) were also reading.
Levi explains that he does not desire revenge, but he believes that “[a]lmost all, though not all [Germans] had been cowardly” (191). He did not trust his German publisher to produce the book faithfully until he received a letter from his translator. The translator wrote to Levi of their similarities: they were the same age and the translator had studied in Italy. He was “anomalous” (193), having felt disgust towards Nazism and faked an illness in order to avoid the army. The translator went to northern Italy to study literature, and there he joined the Italian forces against the Fascists. The translator “had an affinity” (194) with Levi’s book, desiring the project of translation “as a way to continue his daring and silent struggle against his misled country” (194). Once Levi’s personal suspicions were alleviated, only his “linguistic suspicions” (195) remained, so he and his translator learned to work together and to compromise. A strong and faithful work of translation was the result, and Levi includes a letter of thanks in this chapter that he sent to his translator after the book was published in German. This letter became the preface to the German edition of If This Is a Man.
Levi goes on to discuss letters from German readers of his book that he received between 1961 and 1964. He pays particular attention to a letter he received from a couple who represent, to Levi, the upper middle-class German who was “not [a] fanatical but [an] opportunistic Nazi who repented when it was opportune to repent” (203). He responded to this letter with rage, explaining to the reader that “[t]hose who voted for [Hitler] certainly voted for his ideas” (204) and therefore, any act of dodging responsibility as this letter-writer attempted to do is reprehensible.
Levi credits other letter-writers as individuals who have “read the book attentively, often more than once” (206) and appreciated the book for how it has taught them about what happened. He includes excerpts from their letters to demonstrate the importance of their words. Levi explains in detail an epistolary friendship he developed with one letter-writer who “was the only one ‘with clean credentials’ and therefore not entangled in guilt feelings” (228). This friendship was “long and fruitful, often cheerful” (228), and Levi values the curiosity that they both possess and that bound them together in their correspondence.
Levi concludes the book with some final thoughts on various points he makes earlier in the book as well as changes in the world that have taken place since his imprisonment in Auschwitz. Germany has become “‘respectable,’” (230) and a new generation is on the verge of adulthood, “bereft not of ideals but of certainties, indeed distrustful of the grand revealed truth” (230). Levi points out the challenges of speaking with young people and the “risk of appearing anachronistic” (230) when speaking about an event that “happened to an entire civilized people” (230). Levi warns readers that such an event “can happen everywhere” (231), as it “only awaits its new buffoon” (231). No country in the world is protected from “a future tide of violence generated by intolerance, lust for power, economic difficulties, religious or political fanaticism, and racialist attritions” (231).
Levi acknowledges the negative outlook that states “there is a need for conflict” (231) and that small wars exist in society everywhere, as a way to save us from a conflict that encompasses all people. Levi rejects these arguments, asserting instead that “[t]here do not exist problems that cannot be solved around a table, provided there is good will and reciprocal trust” (232). As well, Levi explains that violence comes from violence; after all, “[m]any new tyrants have kept in their drawer Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kampf” (233).
The final paragraph of the book addresses one last stereotype, the one that applies to “our ex-guardians, the SS” (234). He believes that to stereotype them as torturers is not correct: “they were not monsters, they had our faces, but they had been reared badly” (234). More responsible than they are the “great majority of Germans, who accepted in the beginning, out of mental laziness, myopic calculation, stupidity, and national pride, the ‘beautiful words’ of Corporal Hitler” (235).
These final chapters of The Drowned and the Saved are the last that Levi wrote for publication before his death. His words warn against mythologizing the Holocaust, a way of remembering the Holocaust that contemporary books and films appear to have embraced. The presentation of stereotypes has directly fed the difficult and inappropriate need some people have to ask questions of and to offer feedback to survivors of the Lagers. Though Levi does not criticize the practice outright, he does lament the direction of such conversations as they only create more distance between what actually happened and how it is remembered by history today.
When Levi’s first book was translated into German, he had the opportunity to work closely with his German translator, and this relationship only superficially parallels the collaborating he discusses at length in the chapter about the gray zone. Unlike Levi’s work on the Special Squad, this collaboration with the Germans had a healing effect on Levi. As well, the letters that Levi exchanged with Germans are another kind of collaboration; his discussion of these epistolary exchanges reveal his desire to engage with each individual and to show each letter-writer that their words were valuable and meaningful, even when he disagreed with them and when they inspired feelings of anger and frustration.
Levi’s final words of caution are all too timely, but his last sentences of the conclusion also ring of compassion and humanity. He discourages his readers from assuming the members of the SS are all monstrous and evil, continuing his pattern of acknowledging evil but not offering much analysis of the behavior. Evil, hatred, and cruelty do not appear worthy of Levi’s time and language, whilst the humanity of individuals, even ones who make bad decisions like the Germans who voted for Hitler, warrant focus and careful examination.
By Primo Levi
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International Holocaust Remembrance Day
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