Part 1: Nazi Medicine and Human Experimentation in and around Berlin

Hi everyone! We've had a fascinating stay in Berlin these past few days, exploring scenes of Nazi medicine and experimentation. With rich personal histories interwoven into the history of Germany, itself, we have very much enjoyed and been impacted by this opportunity to engage with the city, its landmarks and surroundings, and people. We're eager to share with you photos and reflections from some of our discoveries. 

As most great adventures do, ours began with a few bumps. We set out for our first scene of exploration - the Charite Anatomy Institute - early in the morning (sorry for no accents - we're limited by technology!). Given the state of our German and the menacing nature of Apple Maps, it is perhaps no surprise that we landed two hours South of our destination and deep in the woods of pastoral suburbia.

With the help of several students and an enthusiastic German-grandmother- supporter, we finally reached the grounds of the Universitatsmedizin Berlin Charite. They are bright, spacious and curated. A sixth-year medical student guided us through the campus's brick and ivy-covered buildings until we reached the Charite Anatomy Institute near to the Spree's embankment. 

Building at Charite Medical School

Our purpose in visiting the institute was to discover the state of anatomical exhibition among German universities given recent controversies about the magnitude and uses of human specimens gathered under the Third Reich. It was hard not to assume the worst from each specimen we encountered with this background.

Built into the former lecture halls of the Charite hospital, the anatomy exhibit features dozens of shelves filled with disfigured limbs and organs. Diseased and damaged tissue - from victims of burn, hypothermia and other ailments - are kept in serum filled jars alongside floating human fetuses and internal organs. While the site is scientifically astounding, it is ghastly as well.

"Jewish" facial structures - taken from Emily Bazelon's "The Nazi Anatomists," to be compared with parallel wax models discovered at Charite Institute.

The exhibition provides some historical commentary. Some of the institutes foremost researchers, such as Robert Roessle, did complete their work under the Nazi regime. It is hard to know which if any of the specimens were collected by these academics given the scant labelling of each specimen. Universities were asked in recent decades to respectfully bury those specimens identified as Nazi victims; still, many of those presented at this institute are dated from the time of the Third Reich.  Further, the tradition of human experimentation without informed consent was much older, such as in the work of Albert Neisser on prostitutes, and therefore casts ethical questions upon the remainder of the institute's collection.

Since the early 18th century, when the Charite hospital first opened its doors, the poor and disadvantaged comprised the bulk of the patient population. Most were grateful to receive care. It was free, included food and shelter, and, though limited in efficacy, was presumed better than the alternative. In exchange for care, patients bodies were often the subjects of public teaching and medical/surgical experimentation. 

To a small degree, the prioritization of medical discovery over basic human ethics by researchers and physicians within the Nazi enterprise was an extension of professional or institutional customs. Historically, there were those who were worth more socially; those who were worth less were to be leveraged medically for the improvement of the remaining. This principle, which maintains outwardly no regard for informed consent or fundamental human rights, can lead to disaster when phenotypic or genotypic statuses - such as having Down syndrome, schizophrenia or blond hair - are used to determine social worth. All the more so when purely social qualities such as religious or political affiliation assume scientific significance.

Academics at the Charite research center, and those of tens of others, directly benefited from and abetted the murderous scientific practices of the Nazi T 4 program. Euthanasia centers, administered by T 4, were both "treatment centers" for those deemed mentally or physically unfit, on the one hand, and supply centers for medical researchers on the other. As Dr. Hildebrandt of Harvard writes, one cannot underestimate the extent to which researchers within the university system were accomplices to the programs taking place outside the university (though the culpability of the former was often dismissed after the war).   

Our experience at the Charite was powerful, as we immediately identified with the university environment and population but struggled to reconcile this image with our imagination of what may have been a mere 70 years ago. 

This sentiment applies to an even greater degree to our reflections on our visit to the bus stop at 4 Tiergartenstrasse. A metal bench with four seats sits across from the Berlin symphony hall and a lush plot of grass. These stand on the plot of land formerly occupied by a T4 euthanasia center. Thousands of mentally disabled patients arrived at the center and thousands were gassed. This center, which now has a 20 meter panel and an echo chamber dedicated in memory to those whose voices were no longer to be heard, was one of six around the country that operated to genetically purify the population under German occupation. Doctors typically held the final say in the killing or sterilizing of patients. There were at least two per center, with nurses carrying out the bulk of patient care.

Former location of Berlin euthanasia center

We felt personally uncomfortable with much of what we discovered. Often, and increasingly as the Third Reich progressed, Jewish patients would be sought and a death-sentence diagnosis would simply read "J," for Jew. Patients of all types were typically lied to throughout the course of the care, as were members of their family. As difficult as it was to imagine how the systematic murder of ill members of a population became justifiable, it felt all the more sickening to imagine physcians both prescribing these deaths and writing false letters to patients homes. 

Sample end of life prescription with physician signatures.   

As a scene of Nazi science, 4 Tiergartenstrasse has very little to show. The municipality chose to maintain the memory of the victims by publically writing of their plight, but did not find it worthwhile to maintain the euthanasia center, itself. Quite to the contrary, 4 Tiergartenstrasse, as the home of the philharmonic orchestra is a sanctuary for musical excellence in the former residence of scientific failure and horror.

The memorials to murdered homosexuals and Jews, which are located within a mile of 4 Tiergartenstrasse, differ aesthetically. To begin with, neither intends to mark the physical location of the events they seek to memorialize. The memorial to murdered homosexuals is on the outskirts of the magnificent Tiergarten. It is a large metal cube sitting in the shadow of the surrounding trees. It awakens the viewer not only to history, by providing several paragraphs on the Nazi persecution of homosexuals during the Third Reich, but also to our own times, with an endless video loop of homosexual couples kissing in the park. Perhaps the locational significance of the monument manifests in its rendering homosexuality a staple image of a park in which, 70 years ago, such an act would have been criminal.

Memorial to persecuted homosexuals

The memorial to the murdered Jews of Europe, also known as the Field of Stelae, is located directly across the street, parallel to the aforementioned memorial. Aesthetically, however, there is a stark contrast. Comprised of 2711 columns and covering an expansive region, this memorial is best described by vastness rather than contained beauty. 

As we approached the site, we saw small children zig-zagging through the various paths created by the columns, along with teens and adults lounging on the stone seats. At first, we were naturally confused by the field of stone. There was no obvious plaque or detailed explanation of its significance. We spent some time walking through the columns, up and down the paths and soon discovered that the external optical illusion becomes even more overwhelming once you venture inwards.

The memorial's effect is certainly powerful. The sheer size attempts to match the atrocities it wishes to commemorate, and the integration into the city's landscape gives a sense of acceptance and hope for reconciliation. The failures of Nazi science and the regime as a whole are not mere exhibits at a museum but rather embedded in the city and its people. 

This same trend carried into our experience at the next site we visited. After walking past large shopping centers and various office buildings, we were confronted with the 200 m remains of the Berlin Wall. Standing there, looking at the wall, we both fell silent. It was strange walking along a sidewalk that cut directly through what would have been an uncrossable path not too long ago

The Topography of Terror, the site of the mass book burning of 1938, soon came into view. Bound by the wall and gates on all sides, the area itself promotes the creation of physical limitations, as did the book burning act with intellectual limitations. The event commemorated by this memorial represents the ways in which the Nazi Regime was able to restrict not only access, but also thought. Furthermore, actions supposedly driven by scientific reasoning were, in actuality, driven by purely racist motives. Each of us has many thoughts on the significance of the site and hope to share at a later point.

Our trip to the Beelitz-Heilstatten Hospital provided much of the "primary source" experiential discovery that we hoped for. Built by the Berlin workers health insurance incorporation as a pre-WWI sanatorium, the complex served as a military hospital during both World Wars, where German soldiers, such as Adolf Hitler in 1916-17, came for care and recuperation. In 1945, the Red Army occupied the hospital and it remained in Soviet hands until several years after the reunification. Today, the complex remains much as it must have in its functional days. Though abandoned, little has been touched of the original buildings - some of which are locked and others less-effectively locked.

The Beelitz train station foreshadows much of what's to be found at the hospital. The surroundings are verdant and expansive. Beelitz is actually best known for its White Asparagus, rather than for its gargantuan ghost hospital complex. We have our doubts, however, as we spent many hours tromping through the town's forests and found none.

Beelitz train station. 

Trees stand well over 10 meters with room enough in between for natural walking paths. The station is derilect, much like the buildings of the hospital complex. One can imagine a time in which the station's second story windows glistened with light and the masonry surpassed contemporary standards. But today, the glass of the windows is shattered and graffiti stains much of the walls.

There are no signs pointing to the Beelitz-Heilstatten Hospital. Its many buildings are nestled neatly into the woods and must be sought after in order to be discovered. 

Building #1 trying to camouflage as a bush. 

An opening in the roadside brush led us down a path to our first encounter. The building, a former TB center for women, is grand and elegant. Contrasting the ill-care many victims of the Third Reich recieved, these patients would appear to have lived in luxury. A cavernous hall with firestoves and eaves connects the two sides of the building, each with several sets of showers, bathrooms, and living quarters. The spaces are eerie today, forgotten and empty, but beautiful nonetheless. We met a face of Nazi medicine we conjectured to have existed, but never fully fathomed. Rather than base, cruel and callous, this felt soft, warm and calm. 

"Tromping through the woods."

Unlike the other scenes we had previously visited, Beelitz-Heilstatten Hospital has undergone primarily natural decay and reveals many of the historical layers of its various inhabitants. This was incredible to see and we have many small details to share at a later time!

"Natural decay."

Russian newspapers lining the walls.

We spent yesterday at the Buchenwald Concentration Camp and have much to share from that experience. We travel to Munich in just under an hour to continue our journey and will continue to write on the bus. More to come. Thanks for reading!

- Katie and Alex