Nuremberg, the movie, dogs my footsteps. More accurately, Howard Triest, the reliable but almost invisible interpreter at Nuremberg, has begun keeping me company.
Triest, known as Howie and played by Leo Woodall in the movie, was crucial in getting the Nazi hierarchy to trial. But his value relied on him being in the background, not the star performer. It is this shadowy figure who now walks beside me.
As Nuremberg nears its end, we enter the cell of Julius Striecher, publisher of Der Stuermer, the German newspaper devoted to antisemitic propaganda. He has an appointment with the gallows that he would prefer not to keep. Dressed only in his underwear he is distraught, screaming and swearing at the guards tasked with getting him to execution.
“Let him go”, says Howie as he walks across the cell to the weeping Streicher.
“Julius”, he says, “sei ein Deutscher” (be as a German) encouraging the man to dig deep into his German identity. “You … you have been a friend”, Streicher responds to the man he believes is a true Aryan.[1]
Revenge wells up in Howie. He wants to reveal that all this time Streicher has been trusting a German Jew. But he doesn’t. Instead, Vanderbilt, the film’s director, has him act compassionately towards, “a nearly naked old man staring back at him, terrified to die”. [2] Howie helps the frail man dress and walks alongside him to the gallows.
Why, I wondered, did Vanderbilt have a Jew whose parents had been killed in the camps, act so tenderly towards Streicher. This perplexing question stays with me, along with Howie, as I go in and out of prison with a restorative justice programme based on the prodigal son story and Rembrandt’s painting of it.
We watch and discuss two stories of violent death and forgiveness. In the first, Danny and Leila Abdallah forgive Samuel who, driving drunk, killed three of their children and their cousin as they walked to the shop for ice cream.
Iafeta Matalasi’s son Sio was gunned down. Through the trial of his killers, Iafeta was filled with rage, seeking revenge. Then he heard Sio’s voice reminding him that nothing could bring him back. At sentencing he stunned everyone by saying, “without any reservations, Shane and Dylan, I forgive you”.
As we cleared prison security Howie said, “I suppose you think that by now I should be able to forgive them”. Good question.
“Not necessarily”, I replied. “But I noticed that you listened to those Nazis, those ordinary men, for hundreds of hours”. I took a breath and tentatively offered, “and as listening is a kind of sacrament perhaps you underestimated the power of your presence and how much you achieved”.
Akaash Maharaj said, in relation to South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission, that he “wildly underestimated the human capacity to forgive” and that it’s “less about absolving those who have harmed us and more about drawing their poison from our own souls”. [3] There’s fascinating truth to ponder.
[1] Nuremberg script, scene 165
[2] Ibid
[3] Archbishop Desmond Tutu was right: https://www.theglobeandmail.com/opinion/article-archbishop-desmond-tutu-was-right-the-truth-and-reconciliation/
