...you'll have to pry them out of the cold, nicotine-stained hands of our petty bureaucrats.
That, to foreign visitors, seems to be the motto of German government agencies. In her book Stasiland, the Australian journalist Anna Funder visited the "Gauck-Behoerde" -- which was responsible for piecing together millions of shredded Stasi files -- in the early 2000s. The then-director told her that, given the resources he'd been assigned -- a small staff of functionaries who were trying to piece together shredded documents by hand -- it would take him at least 375 years to reconstruct the archives. Funder was "speechless" that "the resources united Germany is throwing at this part of reconstructing the lives of its former East German citizens are pitiful, some kind of Sisyphean joke." (269).
To be fair, the director had issued a "silent protest" against this fact by handing Funder a piece of paper with the damning calculation on it. Finally, in 2007, someone in the German government decided that perhaps some of these new-fangled "computers" all the kids are talking about could be somewhat useful in organizing millions of pieces of paper, after all.
And now an American visits the International Tracing Service in Bad Arolsen, which houses something like 50 million Holocaust-related documents, and tells the story of that sad institution:
In the 1960s, ITS puttered along. But eventually the archive began to falter at its only task—tracing victims. Some say the biggest problems began with the arrival of Charles-Claude Biedermann, a Red Cross official appointed to take over ITS in 1985, who ruled the barracks at Arolsen like a fiefdom. He hired only local farm kids—who, for the most part, didn't speak foreign languages—to staff the more than 300 stations inside the archives; they became (and remain) curiously specific experts in parceled areas of research—deportations to the extermination camps, say, or displaced persons. Biedermann encouraged those who worked in "general documents" not to speak to those who worked in "concentration camp archives," the "displaced persons files," or the "TD files"—tracing and documentation—and vice versa. Almost nothing was digitized.
In 1989, when the Iron Curtain fell, hundreds of thousands of new demands for information came pouring in, and a backlog of around 500,000 requests piled up. The wait for information began to stretch out over years; victims were dying before they found the information they sought on themselves—to receive long-overdue restitution payments—or their loved ones. Some survivors had never discovered the fate of siblings, parents, or spouses. Angry families and survivor organizations agitated for the archives to be opened to public scrutiny.
To be fair, Biedermann is Swiss, not German, and was recently replaced. But he certainly adapted quickly to the mores of the German bureaucratic caste, especially by ordering various departments not to talk to each other. This baffling over-compartmentalization is something you see in every German organization, but especially in government agencies. You get the feeling that all German government bureaucrats think they're running spy agencies. Again, to be fair, the archive has recently been opened to outside researchers, and documents have, at long last, begun to be digitized and shared. But that only happened after massive outside pressure, much of it coming from Americans (g).
A friendly note to the German government and the 11-nation consortium that runs the ITS: I know you're far too busy and important to read all sorts of confusing reports about "computers," with all those strange-sounding words like "operating system" and "terabyte." But take it from me: scanning in millions of historical records -- yes, even old, dusty ones bound into books -- is actually not very hard! In fact, you can hire firms that specialize in just that. And did you know that in Great Britain -- just a few hundred kilometers from where you live, but seemingly an entire world away -- gigantic historical archives have already been completely scanned and made available online? The records of the Old Bailey criminal court and Parliament, for starters. And guess what: after you scan them in and digitize them, anyone can search them, from anywhere in the world. You don't even have to pay a fee or get written permission from some rude, suspicious bureaucrat. Why, anyone with a computer can do it -- even foreigners! Frighteningly reckless!
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