Paris. The old man had never spoken. 40 years of silence. 40 years brought this secret alone into the black from his memory. And then that day someone knocked his door. A young German historian who was looking for witnesses. Mr. Garnier, I am working on the story of the pink triangles. They got me said you were in Bucenwald.
The old man Auguste Garnier looked the historian for a long time. “Come in,” he said finally. “I’m going to tell you something that I never told anyone.” What Auguste said that day changed our understanding of the story. Not because it was new, others witnesses had talked about things similar, but because Augustus had kept something, something concrete, a list, a list of names, dates, order, the proof of a system.
Let’s go back. Buckenwald, Germany, October 1942. Auguste Garnier, former bookseller in Lyon, arrested in August 1942, deported in September, pink triangle. He had been in camp for 3 weeks when the order came. Garnier, 4492. Auguste stepped forward. Morning call as usual, but something was different. The hood didn’t send it to the careers, not forced labor.
Blockar, special presentation. Auguste did not understand what it is. The hood smiled, a smile terrible. You’ll see. Block 46 was away from the camp main. Auguste entered with seven others prisoners. All pink triangles, all young between twenty and years old. All relatively presentable despite the weeks of camp.
Inside, a waiting room, chairs, a guard. Sit down, we’ll call you. They waited 1 hour, hours and plus a door opened. A SS officer appeared. Impeccable, arrogant. Which of you speaks German? Auguste raised his hand. He had learned German at university before. You, follow me. The office was luxurious.
Carpet, curtain, armchair. And behind the desk, a SS man. Fury Brigade Elmou Voss, 52 years old, administrative manager of the region of Turingian. “Sit down,” he said. Auguste seated. I was told you were a bookseller, cultured, that you speak German well. Yes, fury brigade. Good, very good. Vos got up, he walked around the office.
Do you know why you are here? No. Herbrigade of fury. Voss smiled. You are here because I need company, conversation, other thing these brutes in uniform. He stopped in front of Auguste and also for something else. Augustus understood. In an instant, everything was clear. Tonight, have you divos you will come to my quarters, you will have dinner with me we will talk.
And then he didn’t finish his sentence, he didn’t have any no need. You have a choice. Of course you can refuse. And if I refuse, then you go back to the quarries and you will die in a few weeks like the others where you can accept living comfortably, eat properly, survive. Vos leaned towards him. What is do you choose? It wasn’t a choice.
Augustus knew it. Voss knew it. It was an order disguised as a question. I accept, said Auguste. Wise decision. That evening, Auguste went to the districts of Vos. What happened, he would never describe it in detail, nor the historian in 1983, nor to anyone. But he survived and the next morning, he was still alive.
That was all what mattered. Augustus was not the alone. In the days that followed, he discovered the scale of the system. The blocante was a reserve. A fishpond of selected homosexual prisoners for their appearance, their youth, their presentation. Officially, they were assigned to special services: cleaning of officers’ quarters, works servants, shopping.
Unofficially, everyone knew. There were 20 of them at block 46. three men of different nationalities French, German, Dutch, Polish. All pink triangle, all chosen and each assigned to one or several officers. Auguste met the others. Marcel Dubois, French, former dancer, signed to the deputy commander. Willelm Vanerberg, Dutch, former professor, signed to two officers different ones alternately.
Klaus Richter, German, former student, assigned to the chief physician of the camp. Yan Kowalski, Polish, former actor, assigned to a group of officers in rotation. Five men, five prisoners, five destinies linked by the same horror. The rules were clear. When your officer called you, you went without question, without delay.
You were doing this that he asked, everything he asked. You smiled, you said thank you and you returned to block 46 until the next time. In exchange, you survived. No career, no mortal work, a decent food, clean bed. It was the deal, your dignity versus your life. The first night they met alone, the five men spoke. “How are you holding up?” Marcel asked Augustus. “I don’t know.
I’m leaving elsewhere in my head in Lyon in my bookstore. I put away books, it’s everything I do.” Marcel nodded. Me, I dance in my head. I’m on stage, I don’t I’m not here. Willem had another method. I counts, he said. I count everything, seconds, minutes, breaths. When I count, I don’t think. And after, after, I note in my head the date, time, what happened.
Auguste looked at him with surprise. For what ? Because one day someone will have to know, someone will have to testify. Klaus, the youngest, hardly spoke not. He spent his days sitting, blank look. In the evening, he went to the chief physician. In the morning he came back. He’s going to break, [clears throat] murmured Marcel. It won’t last.
We can’t leave him alone, said Augustus. What can we do? Being there is everything. Stanny Sw, the actor Polish, had the most approach disturbing. He was playing a role, not only during visits, all time. I am no longer Stanis he said. I am a character, a character who does these things. Stanny Swive looks on far. He’s not involved.
And that walks. I don’t know, but I am still there. The weeks passed. The system worked. The officers had their favorite nails. The prisoners were surviving and no one was talking about it. It was the unwritten rule, the silence absolute. The other prisoners in the camp knew or suspected, but no one didn’t say anything out of disgust perhaps or by unacknowledged desire.
Those in the block of 6 ate better, worked less, lived more long time. One day, Auguste received a visit unexpected. A prisoner from the main camp, red triangle, politics, a resistance fighter French. You’re stuffed. The bookseller? Yes, I Calls me Henry. I need you speak. Henry knew what was happening at the blocante, not the details, but the essential.
I’m not here to judge you he said said. I’m here to offer you something thing. What ? You have access to the neighborhood officers, do you see any documents? Do you hear conversations? Augustus understood where he was going with this. You want me to spy? I want you observe, that you bet, that you transmit. It’s suicide.
Maybe or maybe it’s a way to make sense of what you suffered. Auguste thought for days give meaning. His words swirled around in his head. What he was doing with Voss had no meaning. It was survival, nothing else. But if it were more if it served to something, he accepted. Augustus became a spy, not a spectacular spy.
He did not steal a document, photographed nothing, sabotaged nothing. He observed, listened, memorized. Voss loved to talk. After the rest, he liked to drink brandy and chat. Politics, strategy, high command gossip. Auguste listened, asked questions innocent, held back everything. And the Eastern Front brigade of fury.
The news is good. Your then launched into explanations, numbers, plans, names. He doesn’t not suspicious. Why would he be suspicious? Augustus was only a prisoner, a toy, one thing. He forgot that things can listen. Every week, Auguste transmitted this that he knew to Henry, not directly. It was too dangerous, intermediaries, coded messages, furtive encounters.
The information went to outside, towards resistance, towards London. Sometimes Auguste didn’t know if it was useful, but he did it when same. He suggested to others to join the network. Marcel refused. It’s too dangerous, I just want survive. Willem agreed. You were right. Someone has to remember as much as it is useful too.
Klaus no longer responded. He was sinking in silence. Staniswave hesitated for a long time. If I do this, I will no longer be a character. I will be me, Staniswaave. Is this a problem? I don’t know. This It’s been a long time since I’ve been me. Finally, he accepted to become again someone, even if it was dangerous.
They developed a system. Each observed his officer(s). Write down what he heard. Pass it on to Auguste. Augustus compiled. Pass it on to Henri. An invisible chain. A silent resistance. The information was valuable. Troop movement, change of command, officer morale, supply problems. Fragments often, but fragments that came together.
Henry was impressed. You are the best agents I’ve ever had. Nobody distrusts you because no one sees us as people, said Auguste bitterly. We is just objects. Use this, turn it against them. But the danger was constant. One evening Voss looked Augustus strangely. You pose a lot questions lately. Augustus felt his frozen blood.
I’m interested in fury brigade, it’s everything. What are you interested in? To you, to your job? It’s fascinating. You have it stared for a long moment then he laughed. You are a flatterer, I like that. Augustus has breathed. This time, Klaus broke down in January 1943. Not spectacularly, silently. One morning he didn’t get up.
He is remained in bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Klaus! Klaus! Wake up! No answer. Klaus! Nothing ! He was breathing still, his heart was still beating, but something in him had died. The chief physician, the one who used it, has it examined. Catatonia! Said the camp doctor. Mental collapse, he can still be used.
No, he no longer reacts to anything. The head doctor shrugged. So it’s no longer of any use. Klaus has was transferred to the invalids block. He died 3 weeks later, officially pneumonia. Unofficially, everyone knew what was happening to invalid. His death haunted others. It could have been me, Marcel whispered.
It could be me tomorrow. We don’t won’t let you, said Auguste. We watches, we support each other. How ? We can’t even protect ourselves while remaining human. That’s all we can do. Auguste had started something different. A list. Not a list of information for resistance, another list. The names officers, dates, prisoners used.
documentation meticulous of horror. He wrote in his head first memorizing and then when he could, he scribbled on pieces of paper, codes, abbreviations. Willem did the same thing with his side. If we survive, said Auguste, we will have proof. And if we don’t survive not, so we hide our papers and someone will find them.
The list was growing up. Brigade Favos prisoner 4892 Garnier 513 Dubois October 1942 to present Stban Furella prisoner 4756 Vaneberg Richter December 1942 to January 1943 as Brant prisoner 524 Kowalski multiple other rotating names, numbers, dates. The proof of a system. In March 1943 something changed. A new officer arrived at the camp.
SS Auber fury Wner Lang inspection general. Language was different from the others. More cold, more methodical, more dangerous. and he had noticed something. “The pink triangles of block 46,” he said to the camp commander. “Why Are they treated so well?” “These are domestic workers”, air fury. Domestic workers eating better than the guards? The commander has hesitated.
Some officers appreciate their company. The angle looked coldly. I see. An investigation has begun. Discreet at beginning. then less and less questions, checks, looks. Auguste felt the danger approaching. One evening, Henry warned him. He is looking for a mole, someone who passes information. They know it’s me.
Not yet, but they’re looking. What do I do? You stop immediately. You make yourself forgotten. Auguste stopped transmitting, but he did not stop noting, documenting. The list continued to grow, hidden in the seams of his mattress. Of covered tiny pieces of paper of code for later for the story. In April 1943, the system was collapsed.
The language survey had found something, not resistance, something else. Letters, letters of love written by an officer to a prisoner. The irrefutable proof of what is was passing. The scandal broke. Not publicly, never publicly, but in the circles of the High Command. Homosexual officers using homosexual prisoners. Absolute hypocrisy.
Berlin was furious. The consequences were fast. Three officers were transferred. Two were encouraged to commit suicide. And Voss Voss disappeared one night. Taken by the Guestapo. Auguste never has it again reviewed. For the prisoners of block 46, it was the end. The bloc was dissolved. The survivors sent back to the main camp.
More than protection, more privilege. Back to normal hell. Augustus has managed to hide his list. Before the dissolution of the block, he buried it in a corner of the camp under a specific stone. “If I die,” he told Vilhem, “She is there under the third stone on the left from the north latrine. You won’t die.” You never know.
Augustus is not dead. He survived the careers, to the tifus, to the march of the death of 1945 when the Americans liberated Buchenwald on April 11, 1945. He was there, skeletal, broken but alive. The first thing he did after liberation is to return to the location of the list. She was still there, damp, damaged, but readable.
He collected it, dried it, kept it. For 40 years, Marcel did not have survived. Died in December, executed for escape attempt. But Auguste knew that it was false. Marcel had never tried to escape. Vilem did not have survived either. Death while walking of death. Exhaustion three days from liberation. Staniswave had survived.
Auguste found him in 1946 in Warsaw. They talked all night. Did you keep your list? Asked Staniswaave. Yes. What are you going to do with it? I don’t know. Nobody wants to talk about it. Maybe one day. That day came in 1983 when young German historian knocked on the door of Augustus. The historian is called Thomas Müller, doctorate in history, specialist in persecution of homosexuals under the Nazism.
Mr. Garnier, I am looking for witnesses for years. Nobody wants speak. I understand why what we have experienced, it is not something that we tell it, but someone has to do it for history, for those who are dead. Auguste looked at him, this young serious, passionate man, who does not judge not. I have something to show you.
He has released the 40-year conservation list. Yellowed page, fragile but intact. Thomas looked at him with eyes wide-eyed. My God, this is proof. The names of officers, dates, prisoners, everything. You kept that for 40 years. I promised dead men that someone would know. I keep my promise. The interview lasted 3 days.
Augustus has told everything. Block 46 Voss invisible resistance. Klaus, Marcel Willem Staniswaave everything. For the first time in his life, he said the words out loud. Why now? asked Thomas the end. Auguste thought because I’m going to die soon and I don’t want to take this with me. Do you regret anything? I regret not being able to save some more.
Klaus, Marcel, Willem, he deserved to live. And you regret having survived ? Silence ! No, because if I were dead, no one would be there to tell. and the story would be lost. Thomas published his book in 1987, the forgotten ones of the pink triangle, testimony from block 46. The book caused a scandal in Germany, in France, everywhere. Some refused to believe, others were horrified, still others, survivors and family, cried while reading.
The truth was finally told. Auguste died in February 1991. He had abandoned few people. Thomas, the historian, Staniswaave, come [clears throat] from Warsaw despite his great age and a a man whom Auguste did not know. After the ceremony, the man approached Thomas. My name is Peter. Pierre Morau. My father was the prisoner Was he in the OR? No, he was at careers.
But one day, in 1942, he been removed from a transfer list towards Aushwitz. He never knew why. Thomas understood. Augustus? Augustus has passed on my father’s name to the resistance and someone did something. My father survived. I was born after war. He had tears in his eyes. I don’t have never been able to thank Auguste. I didn’t even know his name until that I read your book.
Augustus’ list is today preserved in the national archives of France. historical documents, proof of a crime, but also evidence of other things that even in absolute horror, some men found a way to resist. Not with guns, not with violence, with words, names, memories. You will sleep with the general. These words were an order, an conviction. dehumanization.
But those who received them refused to be dehumanized. They survived, observed, memorized, transmitted and 40 years later, their testimony has changed history. Marcel died thinking that he was than a victim. Willem died knowing he was a resistance fighter. Close is dead, broken. Staniswave lived by rebuilding himself day after day and Augustus lived long enough long time to tell five destinies, five ways to respond to the impossible.
None was perfect, none was heroic in the classical sense, but all were human. And maybe that’s the real thing resistance. Stay human when everything tells you that you are not vous ne l’êtes
