After World War II (WWII), Charles de Gaulle stressed that France liberated itself rather than being liberated by Anglo-American troops. Over time, the French narrative evolved, leading to the construction of memorials and the holding of celebrations that honored the contributions of Allied soldiers.

Before WWII, Argentan l'Orne (Normandie) served as a vital locomotive repair and maintenance facility. D-Day and its aftermath proved disastrous for Argentan. Allied bombers targeted the locomotive repair depots six times on June 6th and 7th. The US 80th Division finally liberated Argentan on August 20th following the battle of the Argentan-Falaise Pocket, resulting in the near-total destruction of the town. The town's postwar survivors described a relentless bombardment that resulted in bitter memories, partially because no American soldiers remained to explain events, according to author Richard Overy. Because the ports in Normandy remained critical supply depots, the region underwent a second occupation for over a year. By October 1944, 152 American soldiers stood trial for rape. Although few locals mention Normandy's post-war suffering, ample evidence confirms that the liberation and its aftermath created mixed feelings.

Post-war France witnessed the return of pre-war political polarization. General de Gaulle's priority became the re-establishment of French pride and the unification of a divided country. De Gaulle's primary method was crediting the country's liberation to the Free French Divisions and lauding the Resistance. The government ignored lingering resentments concerning bombing and sexual abuse while prioritizing the French agency of self-liberation.

In 1950, Argentan erected a monument honoring the Resistance, concentration camp deportees, victims of Nazi atrocities, and those killed during the Allied bombing. The site chosen was the recently renamed Place du Général Leclerc, honoring the Free French 2nd Armored Division commander. In addition, the town renamed numerous streets memorializing individual Resistance members. Post-war accounts and local histories reconfirmed the French narrative of self-liberation, which embittered the Anglo-American Allies. The most noted tension occurred when de Gaulle refused to attend the 25th D-Day anniversary celebration.

French attitudes began to change with de Gaulle's death in 1970. On the 1978 anniversary of D-Day at the US cemetery at Colville-sur-Mere, France's President Giscard d'Estaing welcomed America's President Jimmy Carter, which broadcast on international television. As Michael Dolski says in his book D-Day in History and Memory, the memorial site's creators intended to "impress upon alien people the sacrifice made by Americans." Kate Lemay's book, The Triumph of the Dead, expresses the view that "the US war narrative has come to dominate Norman tourism." Over fifty percent of the cemetery's annual 1.5 to 2 million yearly attendance consists of French visitors.

However, Dolski believes the earliest seeds of the change came with the 1962 Hollywood blockbuster The Longest Day. Produced with an international cast and production team, the film projected an air of authenticity and inspired efforts to memorialize events. For example, one scene of a paratrooper dangling from a Norman church tower inspired Ste. Mere Eglise, the drop site, to establish a museum in 1964 dedicated to American paratroopers. In 1974, another film site opened with the Pegasus Bridge Museum. Later, Saving Private Ryan became one of the most popular films in France and ignited further interest in the Allied invasion at Normandy and the sacrifices of the soldiers involved. After the film, local French governments expanded and professionalized their small regional D-Day museums. More recently, in 2014, a new museum opened as Le Falaise Memorial des victims civiles de guerre (The Falaise Memorial to Civilian Victims of War). In addition, French historians began exploring the nation's guilt over defeat and collaboration. WWII Resistance specialist Olivier Wieviorka's extensive work, The French Resistance and The Resistance in Western Europe: 1940-1945, confirmed that the Resistance committed over a thousand acts of sabotage on D-Day, provided invaluable intelligence, and saved nearly 4000 Allied airmen; but they did not liberate France.

In 2017 the mayor of Argentan dedicated a monument to the US 80th Infantry Division, which had liberated the community. Until the erection of this marker, Argentan's only recognition of war-related events in the town center were two monuments that supported the DeGaulle narrative. The first was the town's central granite monument honoring local soldiers who fell in World War I. The shrapnel damage on the stone's back from the American siege in World War II served as a non-monument, with no further explanation provided at the site. In addition, a prominent statue honors the French Resistance and all of the French victims of WWII.

The story of the evolution of Argentan commemoration leading to the dedication of the US 80th Infantry Division Monument is representative of the overall French evolving narrative regarding liberation. In 2014, a young high school student named Tristan Rondeau researched the little-known story of the struggle of the US 80th Infantry Division, which he calls "their baptism by fire." Visiting veterans and their children often sought him out. Rondeau accepted invitations to the 80th Infantry Division's reunions in the United States, where he interviewed the surviving soldiers who had fought in Normandy. Rondeau continued his WWII research at university and wrote several articles about Argentan's liberation. The Argentan mayor attended one of Rondeau's lectures and was surprised to learn that there was no memorial to the division. According to Rondeau, the mayor subsequently proposed a small display as part of a planned city hall plaza redesign.

Unrelated but on a parallel track, a local shooting club had approached the city mayor about having a World War II-themed parade, swing dance, and a re-enactment camp featuring the US 101st Airborne, resulting in two previous liberation anniversary days in 2014 and 2016. The mayor added commemorating the 80th Division monument to coincide with the August 27th event in 2019. A US Grant tank and two American half-tracks led military trucks filled with US and Free French reenactors in battle gear. Period cars and bicycles followed with costumed children and families portraying the civilian flight before the German invasion of 1940. An afternoon ceremony commemorated a granite monument engraved with 129 names of US 80th Division dead.

The liberation narrative and the resultant celebrations in France have evolved over time due to post-war politics and the influence of media and entertainment, with Argentan as a prime example. At first, the town followed General de Gaulle's lead with commemorations of the Resistance with minimal recognition of civilian suffering or Allied contributions. After De Gaulle's death, Normandy and the French joined the Allied narrative of the defeat of the Third Reich, influenced and encouraged by global films and the arrival of tourists searching for Lieux de Memoire or "where it had all happened." Notably, the American Cemetery has left a deep impression on the French, who frequently make return visits with friends and family. The cemeteries have become personal and local, with many communities regionally commemorating Allied soldiers' sacrifices in liberating their own part of Normandy. The nation's collective memory joins the spread of World War II monuments globally by uniting the Anglo-American version of events with the uniquely French version expressed in the memorials throughout the land.

(Edited by Brad Poss and Laura Bailey

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Memory is a fragile beast, whether it is the recollections of many or of one. History has shown the world that the greater the event, the greater and more diverse the memory becomes. This is no more evident than with the recollections and influences of the Holocaust and the ruins of the Auschwitz-Birkenau Concentration and Extermination Camp.

Auschwitz is no longer a destination that is solely intriguing to historians and researchers. It has become a place of interest for the average tourist and school groups alike with roughly two million individuals annually entering the infamous gates. What makes a representation of pure evil so popular among tourists? While each individual has their own reason to witness the gravity of such a site, many of the pilgrimages are a direct relation to the battle between collective and individual memory. World War II framed Auschwitz as a symbol for global victimization while various groups have attempted to claim it as their site of suffering alone.

Unlike individual memory, collective memory functions with an anchor to the remembrance. A site of memory is essential for the public to share in communal grief, traditions, beliefs, etc. Auschwitz-Birkenau has evolved into what some call a global symbol for victimized people, likely due to the shared relationship between individuals who have underwent some form of brutality and seek a physical location to attach their pain. Few sites are more capable of holding such atrocious acts as Auschwitz. Regardless of whether all of those individuals who recognize a familiarity in the pain are associated with the original tragedy of the Holocaust, the pain connects them and creates a new communal memory for Auschwitz. Amos Goldberg aptly describes the attachment: “[mnemonics] (museums, memorials, artistic representations, and commemorative practices) are initiated, or carried to fruition, by particular individuals and groups, acting out of various particular motives.” This is especially the case with Auschwitz-Birkenau. The group is no longer strictly Jews or Poles or Catholics; the group now includes anyone who has experienced brutality, and “[in] a world of victims, this is the undisputed capital city.”

At a site where most of the focus and acknowledgement is on the victims, it also allows for recognition of the agents of evil. An Auschwitz survivor, Eva Szepesi (Diamant), was asked what the site meant to her. Her response was telling:

“Auschwitz has two meanings for me: First, the past. It was hell, demons, the devil, fear, anguish, powerlessness! The second is in the present. I actually never wanted to touch the ground of Auschwitz again but, then I had the feeling and the need to return to the place where my mother and younger brother Tamas were murdered. It is now as if I am going to the cemetery, it is good for my soul when I can go there and light a candle and say a prayer for my beloved family. My message for future generations is [that] young people should pay attention and open their eyes as they go throughout the world, self-reflect, do not hate! As I have lived to see what hate can do! Young people should be respectful of one another. When they see injustice, they should fight against them. Don’t look away! Never forget the story!!!!”

For Ms. Szepesi and many other survivors, the site possesses a sacred-like quality. This idea is a foreign concept for those who are not intimately connected with such a location. As Holocaust survivors become fewer, the function of sites, such as Auschwitz-Birkenau, take on a new role. It truly becomes a memorial as the physical connection to this aspect of history is quickly reduced. Not only does it stand in memory, but it takes on the new purpose of standing as a symbol of strength through pain. While it shifts to include all victims globally, it still must maintain the tether to its past. It must remain a reminder, according to Vashem, of those whose only choice was “to [rebuild] new families forever under the shadow of those absent; new life stories, forever warped by the wounds; new communities, forever haunted by the loss.”

A site as powerfully emotional as the Auschwitz-Birkenau Memorial impresses itself into the memory and heritage of those who do not even have a direct connection. Keith Lowe says that, “Auschwitz has become such a globally recognized symbol that it is now stamped upon our collective memory in a way that no other memorial site can rival…this too brings problems, because, unfortunately, alongside status comes envy.” The Jews were not the sole victims at this site of suffering. However, most associate Auschwitz with the Jewish population, thus eliminating the observance of the remaining factions imprisoned and massacred at the site.

A sense of envy over the Jewish recognition has erupted in the past causing some individuals to petition for cultural ownership of the site. Lowe reminds readers that, “[there] have always been plenty of people who can see the moral power of a place like Auschwitz, and who want to acquire some of that power for themselves.” He goes on to say that “[the] first group who tried to claim ownership of Auschwitz after the war were the Polish Communists.” Under the command of the Polish Communists at the site, the Jewish population was eliminated once again with the obliteration of the physical reminders of their memory. Nowhere on the memorial signage were the Jews mentioned nor did the site’s tour guides speak of the Jews or other ethnic groups who suffered there. Lowe reiterates this point saying that, “[tour] guides at the museum also used to speak only of ‘victims’ and ‘people,’ with no mention of their ethnic or religious origins. From the perspective of the Polish Communists, the Jews and the atrocities visited on their population was inconsequential to Polish suffering at the hands of the Nazis. The Polish Catholic Church also made an attempt to grab that power beginning in the 1970s with the establishment of a convent on the grounds. This tug of war for recognition of suffering continued into the 1990s. After much protest, the convent was removed although the Catholic church still stands at Birkenau.

It begs one to ask how many times a group of people have to be dishonored? Surely, they deserve recognition at the site where so many of them were eliminated. However, history has taught us that the past is not black and white. It is gray with a combination of identities who can and adamantly try to lay claim to prominent sites of memory. With ruins, such as those at Auschwitz, where so many different nationalities perished, it is impossible to establish a single cultural representation. In an effort to satisfy the portrayal of them all, Young states that “the blocks at Auschwitz-I were converted into national pavilions, each with an exposition devoted to the national memory of a different country’s citizens at Auschwitz. Here, Belgians, Hungarians, Austrians, Jews, and others from nineteen countries were invited to remember their own. When this effort was made to include the numerous diverse who had suffered, the Jewish community felt diminished. According to Young, the “Jews came to see in this pluralization of memory a splintering of Jewish suffering into so many national martyrdoms.”

Though not currently readily debated, the question still exists as to who can rightfully claim representation at Auschwitz. One must only look to the history to understand the veritable victim and embodiment of the memorial. Though a brutal reminder of humanity’s capacity for evil, the memorial site of Auschwitz-Birkenau is essential to collective and individual memory. No one population is able to claim sole title to the site. However, most agree that the Jewish community reserves a right to claim it as a personal site of memory. In the end, history has taught us that without heeding prior examples, then society is doomed to repeat the atrocities. Though the past edges closer to repeating itself, embracing Auschwitz-Birkenau as an international symbol for all victims will help ensure that the site will not soon be forgotten.

(Edited by Brad Poss)

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The life of Gunnery Sergeant John Basilone has been a cultural touchstone for different American communities throughout World War II and after the advent of his fame. Even today, Marines and Italian-Americans alike view Basilone as someone who represents their own struggles and achievements. Through memorials, many of which are not generalized to apply to a broader swath of people but are very specific to Basilone himself, these communities, and American society as a whole engage with Basilone's story and those he has come to represent.

John Basilone's story is one that sits at the crux of the American ideals of patriotism, heroism, and duty. Together, the Basilone memorials symbolize a hero from the creator's perspective – an American warrior, a distinctly Catholic, Italian-American Marine who went above and beyond the call of duty and became in some ways representative of all Marines and Italian-Americans because of it.

Born to Italian immigrants in 1916, as one of ten children, John enlisted in the Army in 1936 and served until 1939. He then enlisted in the Marines and was made a machine gunner with the 1st Battalion, 5th Marines. Along with his buddies, he shipped off to Guadalcanal. It was there that Basilone pulled off the exploit that made him a celebrity overnight.

During a night attack by the Japanese 2nd Division in October of 1942, Basilone took charge of a small band of troops and held a portion of the Marine line with his machine gun in hand. He ran through the jungle for ammunition, repaired his men's jammed guns, and transported the hot, heavy machine guns in his squad to where they would be most effective. Though many accounts – some fanciful and embellished – exist of that night, they all agree on one thing: with uncommon bravery and calm, John Basilone and his men held off a steady assault of Japanese troops despite the darkness, dwindling supplies, ammunition, and men.

Though most memorials made in Basilone's honor are specific to his heroism that night on Guadalcanal, his story does not end there. In his book 'Hero of the Pacific: The Life of Marine Legend, John Basilone', war correspondent, and Marine James Brady describes how John was
"ordered to the States as an officially anointed hero" only to journey with other contemporary celebrities groomed to be "traveling salesmen assigned to show the flag, boost morale, and sell war bonds."

John was endearing to the American public. More so, he was a fighting man at heart – he wanted to be "back with his buddies," serving on the battlefield as was his purpose when he enlisted. This desire to be with his comrades – one understood by his new bride, fellow Marine Sgt. Lena Riggi – prompted John to leave his celebrity life behind and return to
battle. John Basilone lost his life on February 19, 1945. The first day of fighting at Iwo Jima. He was posthumously awarded the Navy Cross for his heroism in leading the charge against a Japanese fortification that had kept American troops pinned on the beach.

Basilone's valor and heroism during the war have since been the impetus for creating numerous memorials erected in his name that only serve to solidify the idea of the heroism he embodied. Among these memorials are bridges, school buildings, a statue in his hometown, a road in Italy, an
official stamp by the USPS, two battleships, and an obstacle course at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego.

Tributes continue to be made to honor him as recently as January 2020, when the keel was laid for the USS John Basilone. Additionally, each September, the John Basilone memorial day parade runs through his hometown of Raritan, New Jersey. Why is John Basilone, a Gunnery Sergeant in World War II, a figure whose experiences are still relevant and compelling to warrant continuous memorialization throughout the near century after his death? Why is the myth of John Basilone still held so dearly after all these years?

Marine Corps war correspondent Cyril O'Brien said of the hero, "'Basilone is someone you can hang your ribbon on because he was so outstanding, but you're really talking about the people beside him as well." Basilone himself made sure that everyone knew that "Only part of the medal belongs to me; pieces of it belong to the boys who fought by my side on Guadalcanal." Once the Medal of Honor hung upon his uniform, Basilone represented the heroism of every Marine – those who served before him, those who served with him, and those who served after him.

In this same way, Italian-American communities memorialize John Basilone to recall the struggles and triumphs of Italian immigrants and their descendants throughout American history. Again, Basilone
personifies the best of the best – a son of immigrants, undeniably a patriot and hero in a time when it was doubtful Italian-Americans, particularly those who were devout Catholics, could be either. As Michael Frontani writes in his essay "Becoming American," "The image Basilone presented, inseparable from the American values underpinning its construction, challenged prevalent perceptions about Italian-Americans as
dysfunctional, foreign, and often criminal."

The statue that stands in the middle of Raritan, New Jersey's Veterans Park, serves as a reminder of all John Basilone's image and figure came to epitomize during his life and in the years after his death. Unveiled on Raritan's Basilone Day in 1948, the statue is no minimalistic, generalized representation of a war hero. A rugged, virile Basilone stands tall with his machine gun cradled in his too-big hands, reminiscent of Michelangelo's David, indicative of the larger-than-life status Basilone took on after that night on Guadalcanal. His curly hair and defined features, modeled after photographs of Basilone, give him a decidedly Stallone-like quality.
A crucifix and dog tags rest on his bare chest. The significance of this
statue is twofold: first, it delivers the clear message that Americans – be they Marines, Italians, both, or neither – celebrate men of action, bravery, and strength. Second, it delivers the message that these same Americans, spread across diverse communities, come together to celebrate a
distinctly Catholic, Italian-American Marine.

The John Basilone memorials deftly combine official and vernacular memory: while upholding the idyllic American war hero, they also allow local communities, like those of the Marines and Italian-Americans,
to engage with their remembrances of lost comrades, individual struggles, and shared victories. And yet, in the case of Italian-Americans, the Basilone memorials also serve an additional purpose; while
encouraging respective communities to engage with their own
experiences, the Basilone memorials also encourage American society as a whole to accept and engage with a historically ostracized community and their culture.

Writing of the Life magazine spread of Basilone's homecoming in 1943, Fontani describes "the Basilone image, fully formed – an image intended not only to spur bond-buying and enlistment in the Marines and other services but also to place Italian-Americans squarely within
American culture and society." The memorials are representative of the traits and experiences that Marines and Italian-Americans hold dear and remain treasured within those communities. Still, they also represent those traits to American society as a whole. What is so significant about the Basilone memorials is that they represent the American ideals of heroism, bravery, patriotism, and sacrifice. They do so through the specific lens of the experiences of an Italian-American Marine.

In the story of John Basilone and the memorials that preserve it, Americans have a hero who embodies the triumphs of our best men and the joys of our most ordinary. He was, as James Brady describes him, "an authentic hero, the real goods. He was a warrior who fought with
an extraordinary courage and resolve... he would be rewarded by a nation with medals and gratitude." As John Basilone was rewarded in life, Americans still honor our debt to him for his story. Through the memorials dedicated to him, the story of John Basilone serves as a
valuable cornerstone for the preservation and sharing of American values. It allows American communities to celebrate and memorialize their own stories through the story of one hero.

(edited by Laura Bailey)

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World War II (WWII) brought enemy combatants to America's shores as prisoners of war (POWs). The physical signs of the POW camps have mostly disappeared, while the experiences of the prisoners and those who interacted with them have faded from collective memory.

The Second World War did not touch the continental United States' physical shores as it did across Europe and Asia. American cities and their civilian populations were left physically untouched by the horrors of total war. One part of the war that did reach America was the presence of enemy POWs, secured in camps scattered across the United States. Today, most of the physical remnants and memories of the POW camps have faded away. All that typically remains of the camps are concrete slabs or dilapidated buildings. The memory continues to fade with the passing of the prisoners, guards, and civilian populations who lived around the camps.

Hundreds of thousands of Axis prisoners served their internment in the United States, spread out in almost every state. These prisoners often found themselves in rural areas of the nation, providing labor to local farms. While estimates vary due to the size and duration of some camps, there were approximately 500 to 700 prisoner-of-war camps spanning the nation. According to author Keith Warren Lloyd, most of these prisoners (371,000) were German; fifty thousand were Italians, and four thousand were Japanese.

Despite the favorable living conditions and the Axis powers' increasingly desperate strategic outlook, prisoners tried to escape. Throughout the war, less than 1% tried, or 2,222 in total, according to David Holley. Those who did make it out were typically caught or surrendered relatively quickly due to the rural limitations of the areas they found themselves in. At the war's end, only twelve remained unaccounted for. There are a few unique stories of prisoners escaping toward the war's conclusion for fear of being repatriated to Germany's Soviet-controlled sectors. Some of these escapees, such as Georg Gaertner, secretly lived in the United States for decades. Gaertner became the last to "surrender" in 1984 after living under an assumed name in the United States for over 40 years, as related by Holley.

Arizona had 23 POW camps during the war whose labor was used in local agriculture, as noted by Lloyd. Camp Papago Park was one such park straddling Phoenix and Scottsdale, Arizona. The last German POWs left Camp Papago Park in March of 1946, returning to a Germany that lay in ruins. As time passed, the camp's physical remnants began to disappear as development took place in the area. Most of the camp is now the Arizona National Guard Papago Park Military Reservation and commercial and residential developments. It seemed destined that the experiences at Papago Park, which included one of the most remarkable tales of a POW escape, would fade into memory in the desert sand. However, in December 1954, the Papago Park POW's escape story resurfaced. An Arizona journalist named Lloyd Baker for the Phoenix Gazette wrote an article marking the tenth anniversary of the escape from Papago Park. Baker was able to track down Jürgen Wattenberg, the leader behind the escape, who eventually shared the details.

Camp Papago Park, or as it was officially known, Service Command Unit 1982, primarily housed approximately 3,000 naval prisoners, or Kriegsmarine. The camp had a history of minor escape attempts and lax security. Compounds 1A and 1B within the base housed the rowdier groups of prisoners and camp officers. The German POWs' duty was to be difficult, tie up enemy resources in any way possible, and ultimately escape, resulting in clever, often comical ways to disrupt American guards. As detailed by Lloyd, the disruptions included rowdy singing and disorderly conduct after drinking contraband beer or liquor fermented from prisoner rations to refusing to come out for roll call. One comical instance of insolence was when a group of POWs ordered civilian clothes to aid in their escape from a Sears catalog by the US Postal Service. A group of prisoners, under the leadership of Jürgen Wattenberg, eventually developed an escape plan to reach Mexico, attempting to return to the war effort or tie up American resources in the subsequent search efforts. This escape plan involved digging a tunnel from their compound, under the barbwire parameter, and out to a canal.

Work on the tunnel began in September 1944 with teams using hand tools between 2 pm to 2 am, only advancing a few inches daily against the rugged desert rock. Their main obstacle was what to do with all of the excess soil created by tunneling. Some were disposed of in garden boxes, toilets, and other areas, but this could not handle the excavated volume. The prisoners came up with an idea by complaining they did not have adequate athletic fields and could not use the same fields as the enlisted soldiers. The camp commandant allowed the prisoners to construct a field which allowed the prisoners to dispose of their soil unnoticed.

The Germans completed the tunnel in mid-December and planned an escape on December 23, 1944, while many guards would be on leave with a 16-hour break between roll calls. Serendipitously for the POWs, the German army launched a massive offensive on December 16, 1944, known as the Battle of the Bulge. The offensive's surprise and initial success bolstered the Papago POWs' morale. Escapees gathered in groups of two or three, known as Fluggruppen or flight groups, resulting in 25 members within ten groups. These groups had to individually devise their escape routes upon leaving the camp to maintain operational security from one another.

Most of the escapees would be captured or would surrender in just days. The FBI, military, border patrol, law enforcement, and other entities were all involved in the manhunt that made national news. Two Tohono O'odham (Apache) scouts were also hired for their tracking abilities and were able to assist in locating and capturing some of the fugitives. One by one, they were arrested, except for the leader, Wattenberg. His plan of going north and hiding in the mountains until search efforts died down was initially successful. Eventually, being the last one, he began his trek south and was captured due to his accent giving him away when asking for directions.

Two monuments reveal the stories of German POWS and their infamous escape from Camp Papago Park. The first marker is in a bronze plaque style with an inscription on a concrete podium. Due to fear of vandalism, it was initially relocated to the nearby Arizona Military Museum but is not currently on display. The second marker is a bronze manhole cover with inscription and artwork and remains placed at the tunnel exit location along the canal, which is a popular running path. Both pieces carry reminders about the escape, distance, and significance of the event.

The Camp Papago Escape monuments are slowly forgotten, just like the rest of the Axis POW experience. They originally served as a pilgrimage place for the Germans POWs and American service members who served there but have lost their meaning to current generations. World War II is a part of American national identity, but many elements of the war are disappearing. As Kate C. Lemay states, "Many, if not most, U.S. war memorials from the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries have completely lost their dedicated meanings to contemporary audiences."

(Edited by Brad Poss and Laura Bailey)

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The quaint medieval town of Dachau, Germany has an array of beautiful sights to entice visitors, yet it has become a popular travel destination due to its ugly past. Dachau is the site of the Nazi regime’s first concentration camp and served as the model for the others that followed.

At least 41,500 people died at Dachau between 1933 and 1945 in increasingly gruesome circumstances as the Second World War progressed. Immediately after the war, the camp’s survivors committed to bringing their harrowing experiences to light through a series of provocative public exhibitions. The graphic nature of these presentations were criticized by both the local populace, who still held onto the widely publicized “clean camp” image, and the Bavarian government in the name of self-preservation. Meanwhile, the continuing evolution of the site into an internment camp and court for Nazi criminals, and eventually into a refugee camp, has resulted in a stripped-down and cleaned-up physical space, deceptively reconstructed over time. With foreign opinions at the forefront of concern, Bavarian authorities have likewise sterilized and manipulated the Dachau survivors' education and memorialization efforts through increasingly inhibitive guidelines. What visitors see today is little more than a highly curated and pristinely manicured shell of the original camp that dangerously obscures the collective memory of the camp's sordid history and the Holocaust in toto. In other words, what contemporary visitors will not see or learn at the former Dachau camp vastly exceeds what they will. Consequently, the Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial Site has unwittingly perpetuated the propagandized "clean camp" image the survivors originally sought to dispel, thus missing the mark as both a testament to Nazi atrocities and a memorial to its victims.

The Nazi regime opened its first concentration camp on March 22, 1933, on the outskirts of Dachau, Germany. What began as a detention camp for political prisoners soon became the template and training ground for others in what would become a vast network. As an internment camp for political prisoners, Dachau initially aimed to detain Communists, Social Democrats, trade unionists, clergymen, and other political dissidents. Eventually, "asocial" groups such as Roma, homosexuals, Jehovah's Witnesses, and others were also targets for Dachau. After Kristallnacht, Jews, too, began arriving en masse. In the camp's twelve-year operation, the number of prisoners skyrocketed from the initial maximum capacity of 5,000 to an unmanageable 30,000+ by the time of liberation. During that time, Nazi officers subjected these prisoners to inhumane medical experiments, forced labor, starvation, disease, catastrophic living conditions, and various forms of torture and execution. It was this sheer depravity the camp's survivors sought to expose with the first postwar memorial site exhibitions.

However, this would not be the first time the Dachau concentration camp's inner workings were put on display. Historian Harold Marcuse notes, "Long before [Dachau] became a site memorializing Nazi atrocities, it was a showcase for the implementation of Nazi ideology."
As the model for the Nazi concentration camp system, regular tours occurred during the war to German and foreign officials alike. These visitors encountered nothing less than a scrupulously clean and orderly establishment reportedly designed to educate those with asocial behaviors to become productive members of the German racial collectivity. In reality, these tours were highly choreographed deceptions in which the exact locations visited, the activities witnessed, and the prisoners with which the visitors came into contact were all carefully selected and painstakingly prepped. Accounts of prisoner mistreatment and other incidents inside the camp were either justified as legal or necessary, described in fallacious terms, or discussed using only official euphemisms. Consequently, from the very beginning, Dachau (and thereby the more extensive concentration camp system) was publicized as "clean"—a deception Marcuse notes was "apparently quite successful" even "in spite of evidence to the contrary." He adds that "overwhelming evidence suggests that many Germans knew quite well what was going on in the camps" but that this "clean" vision of the camp "offered a convenient, exoneratory excuse" to claim ignorance after the war. Even upon seeing the evidence of Nazi atrocities with their own eyes following the camp's liberation, the greater population still clung to the "clean" camp image.

At one time, "crowds of Dachau residents along the streets and at the factory gate waited hours to get a glimpse of the camp's first detainees." As described by Marcuse, the crowds upon liberation consisted of army units, photographers, and journalists. During the Dachau trials in the months after liberation, camp survivors, assisted and supported by the U.S. Army, installed a documentary exhibition in the camp's crematorium. This exhibition emphasized the horrific reality of concentration camp life through gruesome photographs, detailed pamphlets, and life-sized mannequins demonstrating some of the camp's most notorious torture methods. The primary German reaction to this exhibition's depravity was a pressing need to extinguish the memory of this brutal past. Henceforth, this exhibition was gradually and quietly toned down; graphic images became fewer and replaced with softer themes or charcoal sketches. Over the years, this exhibition of Nazi crimes at Dachau took on many forms, as did the camp. In 1948, Dachau became a refugee camp, and many original structures and attributes were removed, replaced, or repurposed. Street lamps, flower beds, paved roads, restaurants, shops, and more such features became a part of the landscape.

From the beginning of Dachau's memorialization efforts, Bavarian authorities and locals alike attached a great deal of importance to the opinions of foreign visitors. One local taxi driver, as per Marcuse, opined in the early 1950s that "whether we like it or not, it attracts foreigners, and they would be disappointed if there were nothing to see." The key was figuring out how to give tourists something to see while minimizing the inhumanity of its not-so-distant past. The many slipshod attempts to reinterpret the history, lessen the potency of the exhibitions, and beautify the reimagined physical site make it clear that the impressions of foreign tourists were a priority over the survivors' wishes and the accuracy of historical memory in general.

As Dachau has evolved from a concentration camp to one of Germany's top tourist attractions, its administrators have significantly impeded visitors from grasping the horror of the former camp, thanks in large part to several strict guidelines. The first dictates that there shall be no recreations at the Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial Site, and such edicts discount the fact that there's undeniable power in showing versus telling. In supporting a "staged authenticity" concept, landscape architect Dean MacCannell explains, "sustaining a firm sense of social reality requires some mystification." He goes on to say that while the "reality that is sustained through mystification may be a 'false' reality," such mystification is often "required to create a sense of 'real' reality." Ergo, by abstaining from historical, albeit fabricated, recreations of the camp's history, visitors are prevented from forming valuable impressions of the prisoners' day-to-day experiences, the depth of the Schutzstaffel's (SS) depravity, and the original functions of the few structures that do remain.

Likewise, while some aspects of the former camp are reconstructions, the new versions have been stripped of their most haunting features. For example, the gun emplacements and searchlights are missing from the rebuilt watchtowers that surround the prisoner camp, thus softening the gravity of the towers' significance and the camp's true horror. Similarly, the rebuilt barracks reveal nothing about the struggles of daily camp life. Their airiness and modern materials potentially serve to unravel visitors' preconceived notions of the overcrowded and unsanitary conditions the prisoners endured. Schmidl documents one former inmate referring to the reconstructed barracks as 'mountain cottages' and states: "In [them] does not live the horror of yesterday but the fear of contemporaries to get identified with...the monsters...of yesterday." Another of Dachau's guidelines is the exclusive use of text and pictures in place of artifacts, reproductions, and other sensory experiences. Finally, Dachau's strict guidelines often deny visitors the perspective of the perpetrators. For instance, Marcuse notes that visitors are not allowed to enter the watchtowers for "fear that young Germans, some of whom harbor arrogant attitudes, will identify with the power of the SS." All of these aspects distinguish visiting a site in person from reading about the site in a textbook. In this way, the Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial Site has lost much of its potential to engage, educate, and effect change. Thus, by attempting to manipulate the outcome of one's visit, they deny visitors a well-rounded experience and the chance to learn history from all sides.

In contrast, the visitor experience at Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum differs from that at Dachau. Whereas the Bavarian government wanted to demolish as much of the Dachau camp as possible, postwar Poland took a vastly different approach. Charlesworth notes that the Polish parliament in 1947 declared that Auschwitz "would be 'forever preserved as a memorial to the martyrdom of the Polish nation and other peoples." As an indisputable icon of the Holocaust and the best-known concentration camp museum site, Auschwitz is the one to which all others find a comparison. Visitors encounter over a hundred original buildings at Auschwitz, including ditches, fencing, watchtowers, and railroad tracks with unloading platforms. They can see thousands of the prisoners' personal effects and other artifacts in haunting displays, including those connected to the extermination process.

Auschwitz is a concrete reflection of the general public's expectations and assumptions of the Holocaust and what constitutes a Nazi concentration camp. These expectations are missing when visiting Dachau. In fact, with its lack of discernible Holocaust imagery, deceiving reconstructions, and blatant attention to groundskeeping, Dachau paints the opposite picture. Though Dachau contains some of the relevant stereotypes (barbed wire, crematoria, "Arbeit Macht Frei" gate), Marcuse feels that it has "become a representation of the spotlessly 'clean camp' of Nazi propaganda, complete with a museum and churches," especially when compared to the prototypical concentration camp museum site that is Auschwitz.

As the gap between then and now expands, personal connections to the Holocaust and collective memory diminish and become even more pertinent than ever to give visitors the most accurate interpretation of the Nazi concentration camp system. By relying solely on text and pictures while refusing interpretive recreations and authentic reconstructions, Dachau deprives visitors of diverse perspectives and has inadvertently developed into a reverberation of the "clean camp" image of Nazi propaganda. According to professor James E. Young, visitors will never know Dachau's sordid past, only its well-groomed memorial. These visitors have come to Dachau, he says, "to 'see what it was like' [but] being told that this is not what Dachau was like, but only what its memorial is like, may leave some visitors bewildered as to why they have come at all."

Edited by Brad Poss and Laura Bailey

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In Jackson, Michigan, a unique memorial stands as a testament to collective memory. The Michigan U.S.S. Arizona memorial, featuring steel artifacts from two pivotal moments in American history, offers a sacred space where loss is remembered, strength is celebrated, and memories remain for future generations.

Jackson, Michigan, marked the 80th anniversary of the Pearl Harbor attack by unveiling the Michigan U.S.S. Arizona Memorial at Sparks Foundation County Park on December 7, 2021. The heart of this memorial is a steel plate from the U.S.S. Arizona, a tangible link to the past. Adjacent to it stands a matching case housing a steel beam from World Trade Center Tower #2. This space also features a memorial to local homicide victims, all crafted by local firm ALRO Steel. These monuments create a sacred space bridging collective memories of loss and resilience across generations.

Three seemingly unrelated memorials at Sparks Foundation Park honor lives lost in different tragedies, uniting individual grief into collective solace. Just as Jay Winter emphasized the significance of memorials as places of mourning, the Michigan U.S.S. Arizona Memorial allows the community to mourn together. This communal remembrance, as Larry Ray notes, forges a connection between the living and the departed, fostering emotional bonds across time. "Such sites create a community of the living and the dead by inviting visitors to join with an imagined community, where the living and the dead are commemorated and experienced, and contemporary people are emotionally bonded to the dead."

Steel binds these memorials together. The rusting steel plate from the U.S.S. Arizona resembles the Tower #2 beam, blurring the lines between tragedies. In Jackson, known as "the crossroads," steel has deep roots. Its strategic location between Chicago and Detroit fueled its industrial rise with numerous steel-related businesses. However, economic downturns and increased violence hit the city hard. Larry Mentink's son's murder in 1989 led to the Victims of Violent Crimes Memorial, offering solace to grieving families.

The World Trade Center's steel beam, received by the city, found a home beside the Jackson Victims of Violent Crimes Memorial in 2017. Along the park's circuitous footpath, the combined site attracts visitors and runners, highlighting the recurring theme of "metal" as a weapon against innocence.

Stan Mazur, an 84-year-old Navy veteran, saw an opportunity to add an artifact from the U.S.S. Arizona, representing another tragic attack on America. The Jackson County Commission officially requested it, and despite delays due to the COVID-19 pandemic, the Michigan U.S.S. Arizona Memorial achieved completion for the 80th Pearl Harbor anniversary. A ceremony attended by diverse groups, including local veterans and blue-collar workers, honored Stanley Czarnecki, Jackson's sole U.S.S. Arizona casualty.

While this "sacred site of steel" remembers loss, it also embodies strength and resilience. Though the U.S.S. Arizona and the World Trade Center are gone, their steel endures, just as the American people have persevered through World War II, economic changes, and the Global War on Terrorism. Like these artifacts, their memories will persist.

(edited by Jennifer Schaper)

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Memory is showcased in a myriad of ways within a society and that collective memory is then given a physical representation by way of a memorial, through an institution of living memory, or ruins that have survived the ravages of time. The same can be said when analyzing a war memorial, “whether a statue, a place, a building, or a combination of these and other elements, we see a social and physical arrangement of space and artifacts to keep alive the memories of persons who participated in or are affected by war”. This such relationship between space and memory is complex but can be used to explain why Hiroshima chose to preserve the remains of the Genbaku Dome and how the decaying building became such an integral part of present day society.

Ruins tell an intriguing story of what a society deems worth remembering or what deserves to be forgotten. A unique characteristic of ruins is that they are not “passive remains but active cultural agents that transverse their status of remaining parts of a lost whole and accrue an identity of their own as ruins; they become monuments qua ruins and not just ruins of monuments.” In the years after the post atomic bomb drop, the identity of the Genbaku Dome has transformed from one of intense pain and suffering into a noteworthy beacon of peace on a global scale. What makes the ruins of the former Promotion Hall particularly distinctive is that Japan, specifically Hiroshima and Nagasaki, are the only victims of nuclear warfare so no other structure in the world can compare in terms of having such global significance and eventual societal inclusion.

The original domed building was built in 1915 by Czech architect Jan Letzel and is located 260 meters away from Aioi Bridge (the original target of the atomic bomb “Little Boy”) in the once bustling military city of Hiroshima. Thanks to Letzel’s use of steel and stone construction, the former Promotion Hall was one of a few structures left standing near the bomb’s hypocenter (the building stood 160 meters from the blast site). When observing the ruins that are now the focal point of a staggering Memorial Peace Park, onlookers are met with a stark image of seemingly paradoxical origin, destruction framed by revival. The message of this scene is that remembering how completely the city was destroyed enables us to fully appreciate the miracle of Hiroshima’s rebirth. The notability of this dilapidated structure has carried on through time except in the present day, the building has taken on an entirely new meaning than that of utter destruction.

The concrete ruin itself “performs a visualization of different forms of mourning: we mourn loss, death, decay and destruction; humanity’s futile and successful attempts to master nature; and nature’s indifference to humans and their cruelty against one another”. The ruins of the Genbaku Dome are a physical representation of what happened to the city and the destructive capabilities of human versus human violence. The aftermath of such immediate and total devastation is that the urge to mourn is in direct competition everywhere with the urge to forget, creating the dilemma of whether to leave or remove one of the few physical reminders remaining from that infamous day. What was once a martial city held firm in their military prowess, was reduced to nothing more than the apocalyptic, scorched traces of a former life. Hiroshima was much like the solid bronze dome of the original Promotion Hall, once supported by sturdy walls of brick and stone, extirpated within minutes.

Survivors had mixed emotions when reminiscing about the Genbaku Dome as it represented the loss of everything they once knew. Two-thirds of the population were in favor of its preservation, and one-third preferred its removal. The preservation of the Atomic Bomb Dome remained a contested issue well into the 1960s dividing Hiroshima’s citizens into two camps: those who wanted the site gone because it either brought up painful memories or the location right in the city-center seemed too valuable to be wasted on a ruin, and those who regarded the dome as a persuasive warning against nuclear warfare and as a crowd-puller for visitors to Hiroshima.

In an interview with atomic bomb survivor, Koji Numata, when asked about his thoughts on the dome, he responded with “I don’t want to remember anything (on August 6th). I want to forget it all. When that scene comes back to my head it makes me sick. I want to forget it.” Survivors who experienced the bomb instinctively wanted the ruins torn down almost like a defense mechanism. Citizens of Hiroshima were too busy reeling from shock, trying to gather up the remnants from their lives and did not even consider commemoration until years later. At that specific moment in time, the ruins of the Prefecture Industrial Promotion Hall were just that, ruins. A crippling reminder that needed to be removed from the landscape of the throttled, ash covered city so that eventually she could be reborn.

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General George S. Patton was undoubtedly one of the most colorful yet controversial American military leaders of the twentieth century. Appropriately enough, he has been the subject of innumerable profiles, movies, and full-scale biographies during his lifetime and since his death. Many memorials, statues, schools, and museums exist in his honor and dedication to his memory. The name General George Smith Patton Jr. does not necessarily evoke the same memories overseas as in America. While there are many monuments and statues of Patton located throughout the world, only three major locations are 'biographical museums.' Located in Fort Knox, Kentucky, Ettelbruck, Belgium, and Chiriaco, California, each focuses upon the General and his exploits in North Africa, Italy, France, Belgium, and Germany during the Second World War.

The General Patton Memorial Museum in Chiriaco Summit, California, was established in 1988. It is dedicated primarily to honoring Patton and the soldiers who trained there, displaying war items related to the general and the hundreds of thousands of men and women who trained at the facility between 1942-1944. The museum sits within what was once known as 'U.S Army Camp Young,' a swath of desert comprising over eighteen thousand square miles. Even today, it is still considered the world's largest military training installation.

A native of San Marino, California, General Patton returned to his home state in early 1942, shortly after America's entry into World War II, to set up a desert training center for U.S. soldiers heading into combat. The facility's primary purpose was to prepare young men for desert tank warfare before being sent to North Africa and Italy. Although General Patton was only at Camp Young for four months before heading overseas, it continued its heavy-armor tank training until December 1944.

At the camp's creation, history was about to be made in a place where only cactus and scrub survived, where unrelenting heat and sand were the norms of the day. It is here, in the middle of the Mojave Desert in Southeastern California, that this forsaken land would become Patton's "paradise, exactly what he was looking for." Acquiring the land in the desert by the U.S. Army is a tale the locals enjoy relaying to tourists today. The story tells of General Patton personally walking into the Indio office of surveyor Michael Rusche in early 1942, saying, "I hear you've been around here for a while. I hope you can help me out." What soon transpired under the General's direction was the building of eleven separate camps, which comprised the training facility at Camp Young. Patton's headquarters were stationed in the middle and used as the focal point, with the surrounding miles of the desert used to train tank warfare. "We cannot train troops to fight in the desert of North Africa by training them in the swamps of Georgia," Patton was to proclaim. Over the next two years, over one million Americans, both male and female, prepared for battle here under the ghastliest of conditions.

Many first-hand accounts relate, "as the first commanding general of the training facility, Patton certainly stamped his brand on the training center." The hill from which he could observe the wide range of tank exercises was called 'The King's Throne.' It was a lower elevation within the surrounding mountains where he could critically scrutinize the formation of the tanks and motorized units below. Detecting a mistake or way to improve, he would shout instructions into his radio, "many of which were expletives." An official Army historian named Porter B. Williamson wrote, "on a number of occasions, Patton would extoll a particular soldier or unit via his radio communications so everyone could hear." However, more than once, his harsh words would announce something such as, "Colonel Blank, you are removed from command. If you know what is good for you, you will stay away from me for a week," prompting laughter from the men.

The General George Patton Memorial Museum, outside Luxembourg City, in the small town of Hamm, Luxembourg, is also the site of an American cemetery where over five-thousand U.S. servicemen are buried, most of them killed in the Battle of the Bulge. Located among these men is the grave of General Patton. When he died in late 1945, one of his last requests was "to be buried among his men." Luxembourg celebrates General Patton and the American troops that liberated the city every year on the last Sunday in June, calling the holiday 'Remembrance Day.' This holiday was conceived shortly after the war by the townspeople and continues to this day. At the ceremony's close, the city's mayor takes center stage. The concluding remarks remain the same, "Luxembourg will never forget what General Patton and the United States did for us. God bless America, and God bless our little Grand Duchy."

The General George Patton Museum of Leadership in Fort Knox, Kentucky, was once the largest Patton museum in the United States. In the mid-1990s, the outdoor tank exhibits and many statues and monuments transferred to military museums in Fort Benning, Georgia, and West Point, New York. However, the Kentucky museum still garners over 350,000 visitors each year. This complex was developed shortly after World War II and has been "a work in progress ever since." Managed by the U.S. Army Accessions Command in Fort Monroe, Virginia, it contains several of Patton's personal effects, including items from his childhood in California, his revolvers, touring car, and even the 1938 Cadillac in which he took his final ride. Rather than glorifying war, this museum presents Patton's complex, emotional, and intellectual history and armored warfare through the ages. Every July 4, this museum comes alive and celebrates General Patton by hosting a re-enactment based loosely on the type of combat that occurred in Northern Europe in the spring of 1945.

The perspectives of memory vary between these three museums in Luxembourg, Fort Knox, and Chiriaco Summit. From yearly ceremonies in Europe, specifically Luxembourg, we know that Patton is still considered a gallant hero and truly celebrated. But what about in America? Could Patton's 'star power' or popularity in the United States be waning or changing somehow? Does the recent movement of 230 large Patton artifacts from the Fort Knox museum in Kentucky to a more secular and less-visited army base at Fort Benning, Georgia, suggest in some way that Americans today feel differently about Patton?

Mirna Flores, Director of the California memorial, has been with the Patton museum for over twenty years. Although she was not aware of what the Fort Knox museum had done, she is confident that "although Patton was a complicated military figure, the museum believes his star has not tarnished in any way." In recent decades, the museum enjoyed record yearly increases in visitors to the facility. When asked how the museum has changed, grown, and evolved during her tenure, she noted she was most proud of two things: securing a very hard-to-find original German Tiger Tank and formatting a school children's tour. Flores added, "Education of the war itself along with Patton's life has always been the focus of the museum," but fashioning the information for young children became a goal and a reality for the museum in just the last few years.

Remembering Camp Young in the California desert historically and through collective memory is equally as important as honoring the countless men and women trained there. The soldiers who initially trained at the camp became the first American forces deployed to combat against the Germans in North Africa.

In 1988, over four decades since the end of World War II, many old soldiers and their families returned and gathered in the hot California desert for the dedication of the Patton Museum at Chiriaco Summit. Two aging veterans, Charles Jeglinski, 74, of Venice, California, and Frank Carroll, 75, of Phoenix, Arizona, pulled aside a couple of journalists covering the event. They both had trained at Camp Young with Patton and followed him into battle in North Africa and Europe. Said Carroll to the journalists, "Here's a picture I bet you fella's don't have." They went on to say General Patton told them he was going to do this when they arrived in Germany, and they both claimed he always kept his word. The photograph showed a smiling General Patton on a small hilltop as he urinated into the Rhine River below.

(edited by Laura Bailey)

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When contemplating the meaning behind a monument or memorial, it is crucial to understand the actions and lives of the honored individuals and how they shape our perspective on history and the future.

The Gulfport World War II Memorial in Mississippi resides next to the Gulfport Museum of History within the old Union Three Train Depot on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. The pavilion features the names of those from Harrison County, Mississippi, who were killed in action during the Second World War. The memorial was erected in honor of Private First Class (PFC) James Hirah Diamond, who was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor for “extreme gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty” during the Battle of Mindanao on May 14th, 1945. PFC Diamond's service record includes numerous other awards, including the Purple Heart, the World War II Victory Medal, an Army Presidential Union Citation, Combat Infantryman and Marksmanship Badges, a Good Conduct Medal, and the Asiatic-Pacific Campaign Medal. PFC Diamond’s contributions were honored during a Memorial Day celebration in 2012 when Gulfport mayor, George Schloegel, declared May 28th as "James H. Diamond Day." Although born in New Orleans, PFC Diamond grew up in Gulfport and is buried there; thus, he is claimed by Gulfport as one of their own.

When contemplating memorials to historical events, such as the Second World War, one must consider why monuments are erected in the first place. Keith Lowe, in his book, Prisoners of History: What Monuments to World War II Tell Us of Our History and Ourselves, examines monuments and what they say about history and its hold on the community. Lowe notes that most monuments dedicated to the Second World War have been left alone, unlike those of the American Civil War. Lowe writes, "These are the only ones that seem to have bucked the current trend of iconoclasm. In other words, these monuments continue to say something about who we are in a way that so many of our monuments no longer do." Thus, many WWII memorials and monuments are still memorialized accurately, or at least that culture's version of accuracy, according to James Young, the Distinguished Professor Emeritus and Founding Director of the Institute for Holocaust, Genocide, and Memory Studies at the University of Massachusetts-Amherst. This may be because many WWII memorials and monuments were erected in memorials of specific historical events instead of figures who might later be met with disapproving scrutiny for other actions. Instead of seeing political figureheads, monuments represent more than just our history. Lowe further explains, "Beneath all the granite and bronze is a mix of everything that makes us who we are – power, glory, bravery, fear, oppression, greatness, hope, love, and loss.”

The Gulfport, MS memorial fits the theme mentioned above, representing all the qualities that go into the sacrifice of those who gave their lives for freedom. The pavilion, dedicated on June 14th, 2002, has a simple yet elegant design that gives off a home-like feel and fits right in with the rest of historic downtown Gulfport, Mississippi. The landscape surrounding it was redone in 2011 and enhances the beauty of the memorial. A plain stone marker, lying at the base of a flagpole, clearly gives the reason for the Gulfport World War II Memorial: “To honor – to solidify their sacrifice: Harrison County residents killed in action during World War II. The memorial is hidden within the historic downtown and unknown to most individuals. Though the Gulfport World War II Memorial has been on Waymarking.com since 2016, the only information available is the location and a brief description of the dedication plaque.

For the author, the thought of having a hidden memorial to the Second World War gives off a feeling of being one with history. Finding the monument helped this author immerse herself in the historical incident behind the memorial. This is one of the best parts about monuments and memorials to eras gone by: the representation of prior events helps us to understand our past while also helping to further our future. Monuments and memorials, such as the Gulfport WWII Memorial, make it easier to relate to those of our past and immerse us in the history of both our communities and our world. This unpretentious but moving monument dedicated to the Harrison County populace killed in action during the Second World War gives off a feeling of remembrance for their sacrifice and pride for being part of this community and its history. This feeling will likely last longer than the monument, as it is designed to withstand the test of time.

(Edited by Brad Poss and Laura Bailey)

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The story of Japanese-Americans who faced discrimination, internment, and
hardship on American soil during the war rarely surfaces within the recollections of
WWII."Harmony" is a poignant monument to the enduring efforts of the Japanese-American community in the Pacific Northwest to ensure their experiences are remembered and acknowledged.

American bigotry marked the Japanese-American story as they arrived on Western shores. Decades of institutionalized racism led to their forced four-year internment during World War II following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941. While World War II is celebrated in American history, it remains a painful memory for Japanese Americans. However, a resilient Japanese-American community fought to reclaim their lives in the postwar aftermath. Their lobbying efforts led to public apologies, compensation, and the creation of monuments to commemorate their suffering.

In the Pacific Northwest, the Japanese-American community took early steps in memorialization efforts. They organized the first Day of Remembrance celebration in the United States and, five years later, unveiled one of the first monuments dedicated to Japanese American internment victims. This Harmony sculpture monument stands on the former site of Washington State's only World War II internment camp. Created by local artist George Tsutakawa, whose personal story is intertwined with this American history chapter, Harmony encapsulates the Japanese-American experience through its approval, location, and continued visitation.

The Japanese-American experience in the United States began in the late 19th century due to the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, which increased Japanese immigration. These immigrants played a significant role in the West Coast's economy. Still, they faced discrimination and immigration quotas, culminating in the internment order of 1942. After the attack on Pearl Harbor, Executive Order 9066 authorized the internment of Japanese-Americans, affecting 75,000 citizens and 45,000 Japanese nationals. The entire West Coast became an exclusion zone, a territory stretching from the Canadian border in Washington down to the Mexican border in New Mexico. The construction of assembly centers began to gather Japanese populations. In the Pacific Northwest, the Puyallup Assembly Center operated for nearly four months, housing thousands of internees before receiving transfer to other camps. Even before the arrival of the first internees at the Puyallup Assembly Center, officials already referred to the site as Camp Harmony. While the Washingtonian internment camp saga would last for a relatively short four months, many local Japanese Americans would endure internment nightmares until March 1946, nearly six months after the unconditional surrender of Japan and four years after the enactment of Executive Order 9066.

George Tsutakawa, the creator of Harmony, was a second-generation Nisei whose life mirrored the community's struggles. During World War II, he served in the U.S. Army. He visited an internment camp in Northern California to visit friends and family. It was during one such visit that he met his future wife. This experience would later inspire him to create the monument.

After the war, Japanese-Americans faced prejudice upon returning home. It took years of continued political pressure and education to have their plight acknowledged by the various levels of government. While President Roosevelt unofficially rescinded Executive Order 9066 in late 1944, it was only in 1976 that it officially ended through a proclamation by President Ford. In 1988, President Ronald Reagan issued an apology and authorized compensation.

The Japanese-American Citizens League (JACL) played a significant role in advocating for rights and remembrance. In 2022, President Biden officially recognized February 19th as the Day of Remembrance of Japanese American Incarceration During World War II. The Japanese-American community's efforts to remember and educate led to including War Relocation Centers in the National Register of Historic Places in the 1970s. Seattle hosted the first Day of Remembrance celebration in 1978, and twenty-five years later, Washington State officially recognized the Day of Remembrance.

Harmony's journey to find a home was not straightforward. The Puyallup Valley JACL faced resistance from the State Fairgrounds board, which eventually allowed the monument's installation in 1983. Nearly thirty years later, in 2016, with funding from the Japanese-American Citizens League, a plaque was commissioned to add a description and context to the existing sculpture.

The Harmony sculpture is a modest yet powerful reminder of the Japanese-American experience during World War II. The State did not commission it as a public apology for past deeds. It was a privately funded Japanese-American venture created by a local Japanese-American artist directly influenced by these past events. In many ways, the slow acceptance of an on-site monument, the sparse private funding, the modest surroundings, and the limited exposure of the Harmony sculpture represent the continued struggle that the Japanese-American community encounters for a more substantial commemoration of World War II internment camps. This grassroots initiative reflects their constant desire for acknowledgment and a place in the public discourse regarding their past sufferings.

(edited by Jennifer Schaper)

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