George Stevens' 1959 film, The Diary of Anne Frank. Stevens had seen the war firsthand.
I very clearly remember watching the movie The Diary of Anne Frank on television when I was about 12 years old. I was horrified by the story. I struggled to understand the seemingly “normal” aspects of the story--young Anne’s personality, her relationships, and her ideas--within the larger context of being in hiding, of Nazis, of war. The ending of the film did little to explain what came next, and I had really only a very vague understanding of the fate of Anne, her family and fellow Annex dwellers.
To me at the time, World War II was an epic story of clean cut Americans going off to war with great pride and victory to come. The story of the Holocaust, which I later came to learn, seemed somehow something other…it did not fit with images I associated with that war.
All of these vague ideas were the product of a child’s understanding of war, comprised of bits and pieces picked up through movies, television and books. At the time, the Vietnam War was over, but its shadow lingered over late 1970s childhood. To me, that more recent war was scary and unpleasant; I did not understand any aspect of it, and its later filmic representations would do little to help me come to a clear understanding of what it had been all about.
Out of all of this, however, I still had a very clear sense of relief. Relief that what had happened to Anne, in World War II in general, and in the Vietnam War as well, was over. That was all history to me. Final. Long ago. These were the stories from times I never knew and could only imagine.
A few years ago, I was volunteering at the Holocaust Museum in Skokie, Illinois. I served as a docent, taking school kids through the exhibits. The kids ranged in age from high school students to fifth and sixth graders. I worked hard on creating an experience for them that would help them grapple with some of the same feelings and questions I had had when I was young. I was now a teacher with years of experience researching, teaching and writing about war. I knew a lot more that I did when I was 12 years old, but there was one encounter that truly surprised me.
One of the accompanying teachers on a visit of kids to the museum chatted with me as the students were getting ready to go into the area where a Holocaust survivor was to speak to the students. She asked me why I volunteered there. I surprised myself by answering her with a very clear reason, one that I had really not even thought about consciously, but there it was.
I told her that when I was young I used to look upon the Holocaust as something that happened a long time ago and would never happen again.
I had grown into adulthood watching things that were just as bad happen again and again. Genocide, torture, racism, violence, and targeted killing of groups had not ceased over the years. And over those years I slowly came to accept that that nightmare of the past was not really past. I told her that I felt it was the responsibility of adults to teach kids about these things in order to equip them with knowledge and encourage their compassion for and commitment to building a more humane and just world.
As I said this, I realized that I might sound naïve and pretty idealistic. In the face of so much suffering and violence throughout the world, it can sometimes seem that it is just easier to turn away.
But kids grown up into this world and need our help. I still hold fast to my ideal. As I remember my own awakening to some of the world’s most horrifying experiences, I see myself, eyes focused on the images on a screen, wondering why, wondering what happens next.
To me at the time, World War II was an epic story of clean cut Americans going off to war with great pride and victory to come. The story of the Holocaust, which I later came to learn, seemed somehow something other…it did not fit with images I associated with that war.
All of these vague ideas were the product of a child’s understanding of war, comprised of bits and pieces picked up through movies, television and books. At the time, the Vietnam War was over, but its shadow lingered over late 1970s childhood. To me, that more recent war was scary and unpleasant; I did not understand any aspect of it, and its later filmic representations would do little to help me come to a clear understanding of what it had been all about.
Out of all of this, however, I still had a very clear sense of relief. Relief that what had happened to Anne, in World War II in general, and in the Vietnam War as well, was over. That was all history to me. Final. Long ago. These were the stories from times I never knew and could only imagine.
A few years ago, I was volunteering at the Holocaust Museum in Skokie, Illinois. I served as a docent, taking school kids through the exhibits. The kids ranged in age from high school students to fifth and sixth graders. I worked hard on creating an experience for them that would help them grapple with some of the same feelings and questions I had had when I was young. I was now a teacher with years of experience researching, teaching and writing about war. I knew a lot more that I did when I was 12 years old, but there was one encounter that truly surprised me.
One of the accompanying teachers on a visit of kids to the museum chatted with me as the students were getting ready to go into the area where a Holocaust survivor was to speak to the students. She asked me why I volunteered there. I surprised myself by answering her with a very clear reason, one that I had really not even thought about consciously, but there it was.
I told her that when I was young I used to look upon the Holocaust as something that happened a long time ago and would never happen again.
I had grown into adulthood watching things that were just as bad happen again and again. Genocide, torture, racism, violence, and targeted killing of groups had not ceased over the years. And over those years I slowly came to accept that that nightmare of the past was not really past. I told her that I felt it was the responsibility of adults to teach kids about these things in order to equip them with knowledge and encourage their compassion for and commitment to building a more humane and just world.
As I said this, I realized that I might sound naïve and pretty idealistic. In the face of so much suffering and violence throughout the world, it can sometimes seem that it is just easier to turn away.
But kids grown up into this world and need our help. I still hold fast to my ideal. As I remember my own awakening to some of the world’s most horrifying experiences, I see myself, eyes focused on the images on a screen, wondering why, wondering what happens next.