The Nazis' first concentration camp, Dachau served as a horrific training ground for SS guards and a prototype for the atrocities that would unfold across Europe. The camp originally consisted of 34 barracks; only the outlines of their foundations remain, stretching out in orderly rows across the camp. Each barrack, designed to hold only 200 people, once housed up to 2,000 individuals in unimaginable conditions—crowded, filthy, and rife with disease. 188,000—the number of registered prisoners over its 12-year existence. 41,500—the number of documented deaths according to the Dachau Memorial Site.
Visitors to Dachau pass through a replica of the wrought-iron gate proclaiming “Arbeit Macht Frei” (work sets you free) welded into the metal and directly into the prison yard—an expansive, desolate space framed by the remnants of barracks and bound by barbed wire fencing punctuated with guard watch towers. On this quiet sunny day, with only the sound of the gravel crunching under our feet, it is difficult to visualize the atrocities that took place here and to imagine the fear, desperation, and so many shades of suffering that permeated this space.
A long solemn walk between the barrack rows leads to the crematorium and gas chamber. It is a surprisingly small building given how many were hanged, shot, gassed, and burned here—a modest structure belying the magnitude of the atrocities committed within its walls.
My visit to Dachau fell on one of the most beautiful days of my trip. Sunny, blue skies, a light breeze, perfectly comfortable sweater weather. Completely at odds with this stark, haunting place where color seems an affront; hence, my photos of the camp are in black and white.
