PARIS LETTER
495
As in "free" society, the ruling strata, the guards and the prisoner-bureau–
crats, tended to impose their values upon their subjects, and the camp
population- from the distinguished ex-professor to the illiterate thief–
tended to accept these values intimately, with the propitiatory meek–
ness of children. Thus, for example, orderliness in the barracks, where
disorder meant collective punishment, was far more highly valued than
generosity, which was a dangerous sign of weakness; and the professor,
who was incapable of hammering a nail, tried to pass himself off as a
carpenter. In this respect, no experience of our time is so rich, so sug–
gestive, so revealing-and I am speaking with reference to the evolution
of what we call our civilization-as the techniques by which the motley
peoples of the German camps, speaking every conceivable language and
recruited from all social strata, were "depersonalized" and reduced to
an animal dependence. A Polish writer, Z.
L.
Zaleski, tells how, upon
his arrival in the camp, he was submitted to "an intense training in
accordance with the precept of 'temporal dispossession.'" Night and
day, he and his comrades were assailed with unexpected and senseless
orders. Obedience had to be instantaneous, of course, lest the normal
brutalities take on a punitive, perhaps fatal, character. "No hesitation,
no reflection.... Later, in Barrack 60 of the Little Camp, our block–
chief, a 'comrade' prisoner like ourselves, followed the same rule : do no
matter what, no matter when: obey fast, fast, fast! ... The statistics of
the frequency of terms used in our relations with the block-authorities
would certainly give a crushing majority to the words
schnell
and
raus."
This insistence on instant obedience, coupled with the absolutely arbitrary
nature of the commands, is one of the constant features of camp life, not
only in Germany but in camp life everywhere.
Der Mensch ist nicht
geboren frei zu sein-this
is the first lesson the "concentrated" citizen
must learn.
"Have you finished?" asked Patrick.
"Don't sneer," I said. "You and Bataille go on and on about human
possibility. The camps have also extended the limits of human pos–
sibility, in some rather unexpected ways."
"The trouble with you," said Patrick, "is that you have no con–
versation."
By this time, we were approaching the grim apartment building on
the Rue Schoelcher, and we decided, to hell with dinner. We went up–
stairs and were greeted by various people, none of whom knew Patrick.
"Da Costa, the Portuguese consul," I said.
((No entiendo el fran ces,''
said Patrick.
"What's going on down there," called Claude-Edmonde, who was
upstairs in her loft.
"It's Kaplan/' said Marcelle Sibon. "He's brought the Portuguese
consul." And, turning to Patrick:
((Voulez-vous boire, Monsieur?"
