Staring Into the Past: Nuremberg and the Lessons We Cannot Forget.
It’s been a few weeks since I returned to China from my trip to Europe, yet I find myself drifting into deep contemplation. One image lingers, my visit to Nuremberg, a city whose history is both awe-inspiring and profoundly tragic.
While there, I visited the Documentation Center and walked around the Congress building. An eerie air surrounded me, but only a few seemed to notice. Most visitors were carefree, smiling for photos as camera flashes lit up the place like flares. I took a quiet stroll along the small lake next to the center, then ventured onto the Great Road. I wanted to absorb every moment, feel the weight of history beneath my feet.
As I walked, I reflected on the monumental egos of the Nazi leadership. At the end of the Great Road, I was greeted by the serene beauty of trees forming a canopy over a path beside the calm lake. From there, I gazed across the water at the Congress building, a stark reminder of the grandeur the Nazis sought to imprint on their monuments. “How could such great builders be responsible for some of the world’s greatest destruction?” I wondered, staring at the structure, marked by red within.
For a moment, I felt lost, searching for the path to the Zeppelin Grounds. As I continued, the road ahead seemed unending, but soon enough, I found a sign pointing the way. There it was, the site where Hitler once stood, spreading Nazi propaganda to a mass of supporters. “How could so many be deceived, led to believe that evil was the path to prosperity, peace, and freedom?” I wondered. How did not enough see through the Nazi façade, perhaps preventing the devastation that followed? “How could they have imagined they would escape the consequences of their actions?”
These thoughts swirled in my mind as I ascended the platform where the Nazi leadership once stood, hands raised in salute to their Führer. Others around me seemed excited to stand on the infamous platform, some even posing for photos, mimicking the gestures we all know. I remember a couple passing by, the husband cheerfully asked his wife to pose, but she refused, saying, “I won’t take pictures on Nazi grounds.” Her words wiped the smile off his face, and they quietly walked away, hand in hand. I wasn’t the only one haunted by the weight of this place.
I stood where Hitler once stood, looking down at the now-empty Zeppelin Grounds, a hollow space filled only with hard lessons from a dark past. I imagined the euphoria that must have once filled the air. “How could so many follow a gang of madmen into one of humanity’s worst nightmares?”
I thought about the desperate Germans who clung to his poetic words, seeking an end to their suffering, but tragically, they chose the wrong leader. I’ve met many people on my travels, and it always surprises me how often, when they learn I’m from Uganda, they think of Idi Amin. During his dictatorship from 1971 to 1979, he famously expelled Asians from Uganda, claiming a divine vision had inspired the decision. They were given 90 days to leave or, as he threatened, “It will be like they are sitting on fire.” Businesses were handed over to untrained individuals, and inevitably, Uganda’s economy plunged.
Learning about Uganda’s dark history, I see parallels with Germany. We could learn from how they’ve chosen to memorialize the Holocaust, reminding future generations of the horrors that arise when we forget our shared humanity. Idi Amin, like so many others in history, sought to divide rather than unite, and the consequences were disastrous.
Dark stories are buried in every corner of the world. The scars of human cruelty remain, whether it’s the overlooked civil rights struggles, Japan’s denial of atrocities in China, or the brutality of King Leopold in Congo. The past feels distant, but today’s conflicts, like those in Ukraine and Palestine unfold before our very eyes. My hope, like many others, is for peace and harmony to return. But when these wars end, will we bury these tragedies and move on, or will we, like Nuremberg, mark them as painful yet necessary reminders, declaring, “Never Again”?
Thank you for reading. See you on the next one.
Fred Agaba