A haunting play that confronts us with the dangers of fascism is now on display at Detroit Public Theatre. "Here There Are Blueberries" uses a powerful narrative to shed light on the atrocities committed by the Nazis during World War II.
The story revolves around a photo album donated to the Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C. The album appears to be an ordinary snapshot album, but it contains photographs of high-ranking SS officers, including Karl-Friedrich Höcker, who worked at Auschwitz. What sets this album apart is that it lacks any images of Jewish prisoners, instead showcasing carefree moments of the SS personnel on their "vacation" grounds.
Through a series of interviews with descendants of the SS officers and museum curators, the play masterfully unravels the mysteries behind the album. It raises an uncomfortable question: how did these individuals come to be so detached from the atrocities they committed? The more we learn about the daily lives of the SS-Helferinnen (or "helpers") division, who worked as telegraph and radio operators under the regime, the clearer it becomes that ignorance is a far cry from plausible deniability.
As I watched this play, I couldn't help but think of a T-shirt I once bought at a Pagan Summer Solstice festival: "No Nazis in Valhalla," with "Nazis fuck off" written in runes. The reactions of the German woman who approached me after buying that shirt - a mix of recognition, grief, and dissonance as she grappled with the possibility that some of her family members were not good people - echoed my own experiences as I confronted the horrors of the Holocaust.
The play poses a crucial question: can we truly disconnect from our actions and their impact on others? Human beings who commit atrocities often compartmentalize, shielding themselves from the full weight of their guilt. However, it's essential to acknowledge that the defense of "following orders" is no justification for brutality. As our country teeters on the brink of fascism once again, we must remember our collective humanity and confront the horrors we've witnessed.
The play's director, Amy Marie Seidel, highlights an integral truth: when artists speak the truth, they connect with others on a fundamental level, allowing us to understand each other in ways that transcend power dynamics. The hope is that this play will inspire every individual to take action, to make a difference from their seat.
As I left the theatre, overcome with grief and disorientation, I felt a deep sense of empathy for those who'd been affected by such atrocities. It's essential for us to create spaces where we can process our emotions, to support one another in this fragile balancing act between carrying our grief and continuing to live with dignity.
Until November 2, the "Here There Are Blueberries" play will be on display at Detroit Public Theatre, reminding us of the dangers of fascism and the importance of human connection.
The story revolves around a photo album donated to the Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C. The album appears to be an ordinary snapshot album, but it contains photographs of high-ranking SS officers, including Karl-Friedrich Höcker, who worked at Auschwitz. What sets this album apart is that it lacks any images of Jewish prisoners, instead showcasing carefree moments of the SS personnel on their "vacation" grounds.
Through a series of interviews with descendants of the SS officers and museum curators, the play masterfully unravels the mysteries behind the album. It raises an uncomfortable question: how did these individuals come to be so detached from the atrocities they committed? The more we learn about the daily lives of the SS-Helferinnen (or "helpers") division, who worked as telegraph and radio operators under the regime, the clearer it becomes that ignorance is a far cry from plausible deniability.
As I watched this play, I couldn't help but think of a T-shirt I once bought at a Pagan Summer Solstice festival: "No Nazis in Valhalla," with "Nazis fuck off" written in runes. The reactions of the German woman who approached me after buying that shirt - a mix of recognition, grief, and dissonance as she grappled with the possibility that some of her family members were not good people - echoed my own experiences as I confronted the horrors of the Holocaust.
The play poses a crucial question: can we truly disconnect from our actions and their impact on others? Human beings who commit atrocities often compartmentalize, shielding themselves from the full weight of their guilt. However, it's essential to acknowledge that the defense of "following orders" is no justification for brutality. As our country teeters on the brink of fascism once again, we must remember our collective humanity and confront the horrors we've witnessed.
The play's director, Amy Marie Seidel, highlights an integral truth: when artists speak the truth, they connect with others on a fundamental level, allowing us to understand each other in ways that transcend power dynamics. The hope is that this play will inspire every individual to take action, to make a difference from their seat.
As I left the theatre, overcome with grief and disorientation, I felt a deep sense of empathy for those who'd been affected by such atrocities. It's essential for us to create spaces where we can process our emotions, to support one another in this fragile balancing act between carrying our grief and continuing to live with dignity.
Until November 2, the "Here There Are Blueberries" play will be on display at Detroit Public Theatre, reminding us of the dangers of fascism and the importance of human connection.