Walking through Princeton, we are surrounded by an almost inconceivable amount of history. That only begs the question: how should that history be displayed? The best, or at least the most effective, monuments or pieces of history are those that do not impose upon you how to think. Rather, they simply exist and allow viewers to reach their own conclusions.
The way that we as a society choose to memorialize important events in history is a trendy academic topic. Whereas, in the past, gigantic monuments were erected in honor of certain events or people, now there has been a rise in the number of small, unexpected tributes that I maintain are infinitely more deep and meaningful. The Holocaust museum in Jerusalem is an example of a monument that attempts to force its viewers to think certain things at certain moments. That is to say, there is no nuance in it. Harrowing gas chamber tales are told in the black tunnels of the inner museum, while hopeful tales of escapees are told in well-lit rooms. It takes away the opportunity for a person’s subjective engagement with the material.
Contrast this with German slopersteine, which are simple brass cobblestones engraved with the name and occupation of each person killed during the Holocaust and placed in front of the location of the homes where they used to live.
The intention of the slopersteine is articulated rather profoundly in the word’s translation. Literally, sloperstein means “stumbling stone.” They are not intended to be sought out. Unlike a museum, you should not plan to see them on a certain day at a certain time for a certain amount of time. You stumble upon them, they jar you, and they give more justice to the horror of the time period that they commemorate than any monolithic museum ever could. Seeing a group of six stones clustered in front of a supermarket forces you to think and to remember.
The most effective monuments, memorials, and objects that hold cultural significance are those that stand alone, often without explanation, thereby allowing individuals to discover for themselves the history and the personal meaning they would have otherwise missed. Princeton does an excellent job letting its history speak for itself without trying to “play it up” to make viewers more awestruck. That simple fact leads, interestingly enough, to its historical tributes being even more impressive. Because one day, you will be walking along a road and see a brick on a building reading “1790,” or a headstone with the name “Aaron Burr” across the top, and the beauty is in its unexpectedness. Of course, with the amount of quiet history surrounding us comes a responsibility to observe and make an effort to recognize the importance of where we are, rather than become complacent in it.
The beauty of displaying history stems not from attempting to portray it in its most favorable light, but rather to portray it in its truest light. Much like the way in which the slopersteine serve to honor Holocaust victims’ true lives through discrete stones, the best way to honor Princeton’s history is to let it stand alone. The administration does this, and it should continue to do so. Even as a range of ongoing debates trouble Princeton’s historical legacy, it is up to us to keep that history alive, remembered, and reevaluated, on our own terms.
Tom Salama is a freshman from Bayonne, New Jersey USA. He can be reached at tsalama@princeton.edu.
