[Congressional Record Volume 154, Number 71 (Thursday, May 1, 2008)]
[Senate]
[Pages S3689-S3690]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]
ROTUNDA COMMEMORATION
Mr. STEVENS. Mr. President, today as this Congress commemorated our
National Commemoration of the Days of Remembrance for 2008 in the
Rotunda of the Capitol of our Nation, Joshua B. Bolten, the Chief of
Staff of President Bush, delivered the keynote address.
I note that Josh Bolten noted he will travel with President Bush
later this month to Israel to commemorate the 60th anniversary of the
founding of Israel, which he pointed out occurred just 3 years after
the Holocaust.
I ask unanimous consent that Mr. Bolten's remarks be printed in the
Record.
There being no objection, the material was ordered to be printed in
the Record, as follows:
[Remarks by Joshua B. Bolten, May 1, 2008]
Days of Remembrance
(United States Capitol Rotunda)
I am deeply honored to be at this podium today, to speak
about anniversaries and the moral obligation of memory.
Many who have stood here before me have spoken from their
own memory, telling their most personal of stories--the years
of suffering, the loss of loved ones, survival and the
anguish of haunting memories. I have no such stories to tell.
My Jewish grandparents left Europe before the Holocaust,
bestowing on my parents the gift of being born in this land
of freedom.
But I do stand here as the proud son of a brave young
American soldier, decorated for the valor that led to his
capture by Nazi forces. Imprisoned in a German POW camp for
two years, he refused to hide the dog tag that bore the
letter H (for Hebrew). Twenty-five years later, working at
the White House near the end of a distinguished career of
national service, my father shepherded the work of the
President's Commission on the Holocaust and helped bring to
fruition the
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first of these National Days of Remembrance ceremonies, and
ultimately the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum itself.
We gather at this 29th Days of Remembrance ceremony in a
year and season of grim anniversaries. It has been almost
exactly 75 years since the Nazis organized a massive
nationwide boycott of Jewish businesses that inflamed anti-
Semitism throughout Germany. 70 years since Kristallnacht,
the night of brutality that, as Fred Zeidman eloquently
described, exposed to the world Nazi intentions toward the
Jews. 65 years since the Warsaw uprising, as Joel Geiderman
reminded us, the best known of many episodes of heroic
resistance.
Passover, which ended just a few days ago, commemorates the
liberation of Jews from slavery in Egypt thousands of years
ago. So 65, 70, even 75 years in our history is not so long a
time. But it is almost a lifetime. Had Mordecai Anielewicz,
the young commander of the Warsaw uprising, survived, he
would be almost 90 today.
With the passage of time, the Rescuers, the Liberators, and
the Survivors--like those whom we're blessed to have with us
today--are naturally dwindling in numbers. Earlier this year,
we lost the beloved Congressman Tom Lantos (so well
remembered just now by Ambassador Meridor), whose experiences
as a Survivor gave extra gravity to his powerful calls to
conscience.
We are transitioning from living memory to historical
memory, and that places a great burden of responsibility on
the rest of us. As the witnesses to the witnesses, we carry
the moral obligation of memory.
And what is that obligation? Surely it is more than fixing
blame--for just as the generation of Survivors, Rescuers and
Liberators dwindles, so must the Perpetrators, Collaborators
and Bystanders. But why must we remember in such painful
detail?
In his introduction to the presidential commission report
that my father helped shepherd, Elie Wiesel gave an eloquent
answer: First, Wiesel wrote, ``we cannot grant the killers a
posthumous victory. Not only did they humiliate and
assassinate their victims, they wanted also to destroy their
memory. They killed them twice, reducing them to ashes and
then denying their deed.''
A Nazi guard once told Simon Wiesenthal that, in time, no
one would believe his account of what he saw. Many in this
room have devoted a lifetime to proving that prediction
wrong. Yet there are still those who challenge the facts
surrounding the Holocaust, or even brazenly deny its reality.
Whatever form it takes--from cartoons in a newspaper owned by
the Syrian government, to statements by leaders of Hamas, to
an international conference hosted by the President of Iran--
we must stand against every attempt at denial. We have an
obligation to condemn these lies for what they are--and
remind people of the truth.
Wiesel's second explanation for the moral obligation of
memory is that ``we cannot deny the victims the fulfillment
of their last wish . . . to bear witness.'' This wish is
captured in Emanuel Ringelblum's ``Oneg Shabbat'' project,
which Sara Bloomfield just described. When we read the
victims' stories in those long-buried milk cans, we relive
their suffering. We honor their defiance. And we fulfill
their request never to be forgotten.
Third, and most important, Wiesel wrote, ``we must remember
. . . for the sake of our own humanity,'' because
``indifference to the victims would result, inevitably, in
indifference to ourselves.''
We saw this indifference on shameful display at the Evian
Conference, which also marks its 70th anniversary this year.
At that conference, powerful nations gathered in the heart of
Europe to consider the plight of Jews in Nazi Germany. Yet
they mustered only excuses for inaction, refusing to make the
changes in refugee laws that could have rescued millions of
Jews with a simple stamp on a paper. Five years later, with
the full horror of the Holocaust primed to unfold, nations
again gathered in Bermuda. This time, they produced a mere
joint statement--along with a bureaucratic report that
arrived long after the killing machines of Auschwitz and
Treblinka were operating at full force.
Tragically, the international community has repeated this
indifference in the decades since the Holocaust. In Rwanda
and elsewhere, the innocent have paid the price.
Our generation has an opportunity--and a moral obligation--
to be different. When we say, ``Never again,'' we must mean
it. Not in our moment of history and responsibility. We must
call evil by its name, and confront it with purpose and
courage. We in government service especially must challenge
those who have become enamored with process that substitutes
for action and who shrink from the hard choices.
This commitment is being tested in Darfur. President Bush
is the only world leader to call the killing there
``genocide.'' He has ordered sanctions on those responsible
for violence. And he has pledged to provide training and
equipment to help African troops deploy to Darfur. Yet
America remains too lonely in this effort. In the past three
years, the United Nations Human Rights Council has passed
more than six times as many resolutions against Israel as it
has against Sudan. And despite repeated urging, the UN
peacekeeping force has yet to deploy. It is not too late to
set this right.
In answering Wiesel's three calls--to deny the killers a
posthumous victory . . . to fulfill the last wishes of the
victims . . . and to affirm our own humanity--we uphold the
moral obligation of memory. And in our responsibility as
witnesses to the witnesses, we are blessed to have remarkable
assets.
First, of course, are the Survivors themselves, who
comprehend evil with a clarity that comes only from direct
experience. As they share their stories, they do more than
deepen our knowledge of history--they advance the cause of
justice.
We are also blessed with the efforts of individuals like
Father Patrick Debois. Going door to door, Father Debois has
collected the testimony of more than 700 witnesses and
bystanders to the Nazi terror in Ukraine. He has identified
the burial sites of countless victims shot execution-style in
what has been called the ``holocaust of bullets.'' Thanks to
this good priest's work, names and stories are replacing the
cold anonymity of mass graves. And witnesses who have held
these memories in their hearts for 60 years are finding
healing. Father Debois, we are honored by your presence
today.
For generations to come, a lasting source of learning and
memory will be the museums. In the past year, I have had the
privilege to visit three with the President--Yad Vashem in
Israel, the Kigali Genocide Memorial Center in Rwanda, and
the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum here in Washington. These
museums commemorate loss in distinct ways. Yet they all
recognize that genocide is possible only by the denial of
individuality. And they recognize that the best way to
restore humanity is to retell the victims' stories, one by
one.
At Yad Vashem, exhibits commemorate not only the victims
lost--but also the lives lived. They show loving homes and
cherished possessions--reminders of the richness of humanity
stolen away.
At the Kigali Center, a communal grave holds nearly a
quarter million victims, and that number continues to grow as
Rwandan authorities gather remains from the 1994 genocide.
God only knows--literally, only God knows--the identities of
those who rest on the site. Yet inside the museum, exhibits
display vivid Polaroid photographs of individual victims,
most of them children. Beneath the photos are descriptions of
simple things like a favorite sport or food--personal details
that capture the uniqueness of each unfinished life.
At the U.S. Holocaust Museum, each visitor receives the
identity card of a victim--the tragedy of the Holocaust on a
personal scale. Already, 27 million visitors there have
pursued their obligation of memory. Now and always, the
witnesses will far outnumber the victims.
This year marks the 15th anniversary of the Holocaust
Museum. Later this month, I will travel with President Bush
to commemorate another proud anniversary--the 60th
anniversary of the founding of Israel. The birth of Israel
just three years after the Holocaust reminds us that the last
word need not be death and destruction. When Air Force One
touches down at Ben-Gurion airport, we will see the American
and Israeli flags waving side-by-side. And we will hear two
national anthems: the Star Spangled Banner, and ``Hatikvah''
. . . ``The Hope.''
Hope is at the center of Israel's existence. It is at the
center of the Jewish faith. And it is at the center of our
task during these Days of Remembrance. The Holocaust shows
that evil is real--but hope, goodness, and courage are
eternal. When we carry this truth in our hearts, we uphold
the moral obligation of memory. And we summon the strength to
meet our solemn pledge: Never again. Not in our moment of
history and responsibility.
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