Auschwitz, 2010
These are its vital statistics:
Between May 1940 and the wintry end of January 1945,
It efficiently ushered at least 1.1 million people out of existence;
Today, it and its Doppelgänger, two miles away,
Comprise 450 acres, 150 intact buildings, 300 ruins,
Including the remains of four gas chambers and crematoriums,
Not to mention original railroad tracks, red-brick barracks,
Hundreds of thousands of artifacts — mounds of hair and shoes,
Artwork, uniforms, knives, jewelry, suitcases, teeth;
In 1945, it was liberated by Stalin's Soviet soldiers;
In 1947, the Polish government assumed responsibility for its upkeep;
In 2001, it greeted 492,500 visitors to its sinister purlieus;
In 2004, with Poland's acceptance into the European Union,
It became a not-to-be-missed destination for foreign tourists;
Today, it's considered a UNESCO World Heritage site,
An honorary designation reserved, almost exclusively,
For civilization's most profound sources of lasting culture and beauty —
A profound distinction, indeed;
In 2009, it welcomed more than one million pilgrims
To its rapidly deteriorating confines,
And on "peak days," 30,000 fascinated or stupefied spectators
(A not insignificant number of the curious from the world over)
Were captivated, mesmerized, by this refuge, preserve, sanctuary,
Who, for whatever personal, ideological, spiritual, political reasons,
Traveled the forty brief, well-marked miles west of Krakow,
To enter into its somber, sobering, saddening amusement park,
Tweeting and Facebooking friends back home,
Snapping pictures and shooting videos of the main-gate sign,
Which, by now, has become an Orwellian-doublespeak cliché —
Arbeit Macht Frei —
Listening, with aghast attentiveness, to disembodied tour guides
Reciting, through wireless microphones, into headphones,
The litany of this house of horrors' barbaric grotesqueries,
Its guests believing that mere empathy and imagination
Will allow them to walk in the footsteps of those who perished
For no reason other than that evil trumps human kindness, love.
And so it is, this March 2010,
That a forty-eight-person staff of professional preservationists
Is working, furiously, maniacally, around the clock, to conserve evidence,
Make certain that those traveling to it get their money's worth,
Don't leave feeling short-changed, cheated, deceived
(No matter that time is effacing, erasing, exterminating its history),
So that they can get a hands-on sensation of evil incarnate,
Without risking anything more than a few hours, a few dollars,
Then contemplate the sickness in us all, in the safety of their homes.
03/05/10 - (2)
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