The House
at Number 48
March
30 2026
Future
historians will be scratching their heads
about
the rise of the Reich
and
the Hitler youth
goose-stepping
down Kurfürstendamm
in
the torch-lit shadows
of
Kristallnacht.
Because
apparently
no
one was a Nazi back then.
The
war generation
who
seemed positively offended
the
question had even been asked;
of
course they opposed the Nazis
even
resisted,
and
instead of stealing from their Jewish neighbours
insist
that they hid them
like
the good Christians they were.
And
the following generations
who
are genuinely ignorant
that
their forbears were complicit
or
had simply looked away;
going
about their business
like any
good German
who
follows the rules.
Yet
these descendants still quietly live
in
the houses that were stolen
and
never returned
to
the dispossessed Jews,
admire
the paintings
that
were the ill-gotten gains
of
their Aryan overseers.
All perfectly
legal, of course,
because
such regimes
are
scrupulously by-the-book,
as
if ticking-off every box
absolves
them of their crimes;
a
bureaucratic army
of
diligent scribes
documenting every
detail
of
the 1000 year Reich,
never
imagining a future in which
they’d
incriminate themselves.
Fortunately,
while individuals forget
the
nation doesn’t.
There
are monuments, memorials
and
laws against;
an
exemplar to the world
of
owning up to history.
Collective
guilt
as
cover,
official
remembrance
for
the many injustices
never
punished or made good.
Of
course, the world goes on
as
it rightly should
so
why not forget?
Why
not bury old hates
instead
of disinterring skeletons
resurrecting
bad blood?
Why
give the laid-to-rest a second life
and
let grievances fester
instead
of letting them lie?
Because
if truth is the first casualty of war
and
its progeny are stillborn
then
history gets rewritten,
revision
distorts,
and
impunity wins.
And
because if history’s not to rhyme
let
alone repeat
we
must not only remember the past
but
also acknowledge
our
common humanity.
That
we, too, would have owned slaves
condemned
the gays
and
murdered Jews,
slaughtered
Tutsis
and rounded
up the Kosovars.
Or
pick your own atrocity,
so
many come to mind.
Because
it’s too easy
to
demonize the perpetrators;
they
aren’t the devil’s spawn
or
the progeny of aliens,
they
are us.
And
like us, they were products of their time,
immersed
in the culture
as
are fish in the water
in
which they swim.
After
all, accepted norms have changed
and
the past was a different place.
And
even now, enlightened as we think ourselves
human
nature dictates
that
the tidal force
of
conformity and contagion
too
easily swamps our better angels
and sweeps us
out to sea;
blaming
“the other”
and
seduced by purity
— purity
the
great bugaboo
of
true believers.
But
even if we had gone along to get along
and
kept our heads down
could
we claim innocence?
Isn’t
wilful blindness
just
as complicit?
Bystanders
not
denying, as the bad actors will
or
pretending to have resisted,
but
simply deflecting
as
if we didn’t know;
shoulders
shrugging and hands turned up.
Conveniently
forgetting
so
the judgement of posterity
will
not fall on us.
When
historians dissect the body politic
like
forensic pathologists
searching
for what went wrong
how
will we defend ourselves?
Will
the blood be scrubbed from the killing floor
the
murder weapon disappear?
All
the circumstantial evidence,
prepared
for burial
in
a mass grave
or
unmarked plot.
https://www.bbc.com/audio/series/m002l4ys
Not
the kind of poem I want to write. Because it sounds preachy and
self-righteous. Because it’s a topic better suited to prose.
Because there’s too much to say and it goes on too long. And most
important, because it should be self-evident.
I
was certainly raised with an unambiguous knowledge of the Nazi
atrocities and their loathsome ideology. But we live in an
unfortunate age of gross historical revision: of forgetfulness,
denialism, and vile prejudice; of anti-semitism and revisionist
apology. Amazingly, a generation is coming of age ignorant of
this seminal event in human history. The educational system has
failed, and social media has poisoned what’s left.
So
unfortunately, a poem like this is a necessary corrective. And as I
listened to this podcast — which distills the history of Naziism
into one small personal story — realized that while it was
interesting enough to me, there are so many young people for whom
this story would come as a revelation. I can just hear them saying
“who knew?”!!
Are
the people living in 48 guilty of wilful denial? Or are they
genuinely unaware, protected from the truth by previous generations?
The podcast makes the point that while Germany as a nation is an
exemplar in acknowledging its historical guilt (btw, putting Japan to
shame), the granularity of history is missing: the individuals,
who are still benefiting from their forbears’ complicity. To quote
Faulkner: “the past is never dead. It’s not even past.”
So
many possible titles I might have chosen: ones that might tempt a
reader, or one that would highlight my most heartfelt point. But
instead, I chose to pay homage to the story that inspired this. An
intriguing title in itself, one that I imagine might arouse a
potential reader’s curiosity. Which is one thing a good title
should do.
