Night and Fog: If our empathy only results in forgetting once again

Written before the article:

This article was originally written in Mandarin and translated into English with the assistance of ChatGPT, followed by my revisions.

Originally titled “《夜與霧》如果感同身受，只為了再次淡忘” you can check the article at the following link:

《夜與霧》如果感同身受，只為了再次淡忘

To designate a hell is not, of course, to tell us anything about how to extract people from that hell, how to moderate hell’s flames. Still, it seems a good in itself to acknowledge, to have enlarged, one’s sense of how much suffering caused by human wickedness there is in the world we share with others. 

— Susan Sontag, "Regarding the Pain of Others" 

Summary

The 1956 documentary short "Night and Fog," directed by Alain Resnais, was commissioned by the French Committee on the History of the Second World War and the Memory Network, an association dedicated to commemorating those deported to Nazi concentration camps. The film interweaves black and white historical footage with contemporary (1955) scenes to commemorate and reflect on Nazi atrocities.

"Night and Fog" was filmed a decade after the liberation of the Nazi concentration camps. The title originates from Hitler's Nacht und Nebel (Night and Fog) decree, aimed at secretly arresting and executing dissenters under the guise of state authority.

Why "Night and Fog"

In the face of ongoing warfare, such as Israel's invasion of Gaza and Russia's invasion of Ukraine, we might attempt to untangle the historical reasons behind these "man-made sufferings." After witnessing cruel images and tragic stories, we remind ourselves that life must go on, that empathy and compassion should not be overstated, convincing ourselves that "I have done what I can"—perhaps by 2034, a documentary will emerge commemorating the wars of a decade ago—perhaps time can dilute suffering, and perhaps just avoiding historical repetition is enough.

Is it really so?

The "Present" of Cruelty

"Night and Fog" opens with colored, calm shots of the camp ruins and upbeat background music, presenting the 'present'—a term that signifies the time after the liberation of the concentration camps, still perfectly applicable nearly seventy years later.

As we follow the neat ranks of Nazi soldiers in archival images and photos, we encounter emaciated prisoners and corpses strewn across the camps. These horrifying images serve as evidence of cruelty past, as raw materials that once existed in an ugly form.

A brief compilation of prisoner footage compels contemporary viewers, already aware of the historical outcome, to inadvertently contemplate their fates. But the truth is, in "Night and Fog," there is only past and present—no future.

The offsite viewer is repeatedly reminded by the documentary of a very simple, almost embarrassing message: "All of this has truly happened."

The reminder of reality strings together countless moments of historical empathy, more captivating than any sensational fiction or scene. The viewer's pity is so clear, so bloody, so unbearable because it arises from witnessing the recorded reality, from the 'light' captured in the subjects, forming isolated moments in time. This light is not crafted or contrived but is directly presented, preserving the remnants of brutality.

Thus, sympathy and empathy can be experienced, expressed, and provoked within a clear historical context, with rationality momentarily set aside. The aim of "Night and Fog" is straightforward: to state the facts of a collective tragedy, to "point out a past hell," and to encourage viewers to acknowledge their historical responsibilities. Ultimately, even the most accurate parables are merely insights of wisdom; the more vivid and directly presented real historical stories, the more profound the psychological impact.

The Power of "Reality"

Why does the power of "real" imagery always seem stronger? This might be linked to a primal human craving. Appetite, greed, evil, fame, dreams, deeds of kindness intended to benefit others—desires show no historical divide, appearing uniformly in everyone.

Desires are self-evident, reflected by the body, abstract yet clear. Hitler and his confidants committed atrocities driven by uncontrollable power and brutal desires; the silent masses responded to their own unseen cravings, thereby perpetuating scars.

Viewers, witnessing these recorded, materialized fragments of desire, empathize, sigh, and marvel, finally juxtaposing themselves concretely. Yes, I too harbor desires; I too could be one of them, cruel or cold.

But "real" images should not be the only means to convince people of the existence of evil.

Certainly, we are under no obligation to endlessly retreat in our defense of the authenticity and nature of historical evil or to force ourselves to find some unbreakable foundational belief to celebrate and remember the past; nor is there a need to verify every segment of imagery in a documentary to consider these pains as real evidence, as concrete knowledge. Of course not.

We need not analyze every structure, scene, composition, light, and shadow in documentaries to learn lessons, because evil thoughts, whether real or not, should themselves be a caution.

Must it really have happened to evoke strong emotions in viewers? If we ignore the real evidence that existed, can we still passionately declare our stance, express our emotions, and criticize sternly?

Or will we, again, forget?

‘’Hitler's Children”: Lost in the Fog

Historians and scholars zealously document Hitler's atrocities and the pains of the concentration camps, yet inadvertently or deliberately omit those perpetrators' descendants—Hitler's confidants, his party members. The documentary "Hitler's Children" takes these descendants as its main perspective, narrating how they confront or evade these historical scars.

If "Night and Fog" incites righteous anger for the victims, what about "Hitler's Children"?

After "Night and Fog," the Shadow of History: "The Hunger Angel"

From 1945 to 1949, the Soviet government deported ethnic Germans from Romania to labor camps to atone for Hitler and the Wehrmacht. History mentions this sparingly, leaving only the reluctant memories of survivors. Herta Müller, writing in German, co-authored "The Hunger Angel" with poet Oskar Pastior, presenting their personal experiences in a poetic language that vividly depicts lingering sadness and endless hunger.

"The Hunger Angel" is both real and fictional, exploring with seekers the rugged paths of dark human nature after "Night and Fog."

The Captivating Evil

Imagery should never be limited to information dissemination or sensory stimulation. No matter how you respond to evil, remember, always question life, what you see and hear, our choices in living.

Reflecting on "Night and Fog," acknowledging suffering, acknowledging that we cannot lessen the flames of hell, but still questioning "order" and "reasonableness," considering whether overlooking is equivalent to condoning and harming, considering how much prolonged harm our pursuit of comfort in a finite life can cause.

We enter cinemas, turn on audio-visual equipment, see "Night and Fog" or the sufferings in war, we tear up, deliver long speeches, but when we return to everyday life, do we overlook the "small evils" around us? Are we aware that these minor compromises might lead to greater moral crises, perhaps even to disasters on the scale of "Night and Fog"?

When humanity's only response to "why" is "it has always been so," we choose to let our vision be shrouded by night and fog, constraining our already brief moments of life.

We all jointly create and are trapped in a melancholic illusion nourished by the pain of others.