do we take offense too often because we don't know or care about the facts?

I'm rather confused about the reaction to ‪#‎Auschwitz‬ museum staff installing water sprinklers near the ticket line to keep guests cool while waiting to enter. I do understand that this could be made to appear similar to "showers" that the Nazis sent Jews into -- the gas chambers will never, ever be forgotten. But here are some things:

1) These sprinkler systems are meant to keep people from passing out in line due to extreme heat, which is mentioned in articles about the issues as happening several times this summer. The sprinklers are nowhere near the gas chambers at the memorial site. They're not even inside the complex -- they're located before guests can get in. With record crowds this summer (over 1 million people this year so far) from all over the world, the wait to get inside has been longer than ever. It makes sense that the staff would want to keep their visitors safe from the heat.

2) The "showers" look nothing like shower heads. They are literally hoses with holes in them strung across poles to mist over visitors who get too warm. They are much like the misters used at Freedom Festival events here in Provo around the 4th of July. In no way, shape, or form are they similar to the systems used inside the gas chambers.

3) Those who are familiar with Holocaust history know that the "showers" Jews were made to enter had false shower heads installed. No gas ever came from these. Instead, pellets of Zyklon B were dropped through small, re-sealable holes in the roof or walls of the chambers. The gas wasn't sprayed -- you cannot spray a gas like you can spray water. Furthermore, the Auschwitz Museum and Memorial staff are trying to protect their visitors, not hurt them. It's a completely opposite situation, seemingly small in comparison to the outcry against the sprinklers.

I recognize that for some this seems horrific and like a major oversight on the part of the Auschwitz Memorial and Museum staff. However, it seems clear that their main objective is to protect their visitors. Guests come from all over the world, and from all types of environments -- many cannot stand temperatures of 102 degrees Fahrenheit for very long. I certainly can't.

In addition, Poland's extreme temperatures (record highs not seen in decades) are causing power curbs, meaning that public and private sector establishments (including homes) are having their power cut. How can you do something with fans when there is no power or limited power, and the air blowing around is still over 100 degrees? I'm personally trying to brainstorm other cost-effective ways to keep guests cool as they wait to enter the complex, and I'm coming up dry.

What do you think about this? Honestly, I feel that people in our global society choose to be offended about things that were completely innocent. Perhaps it's because I'm not an Israeli, nor am I a descendant of Jews who survived the Holocaust. I know and recognize that horror -- I've studied it so much that I almost wish I hadn't delved as deeply as I did. But this truly seems like an overreaction.

Isn't it important to make sure people can visit places like this, and visit safely, so that these histories and stories and lives aren't forgotten? To shut such a place down because of the heat would be a tragedy. How many wouldn't get a chance to go again?

Thoughts? Rebuttals? Comments? If you are Jewish or have Jewish ancestry, what is your take on this?

it's because I'm White, isn't it?

I'm frustrated. I'm frustrated that groups of people who preach love and acceptance won't love and accept White people because we are White. I'm frustrated that if I, a White woman, express an opinion about race in the United States, I'm "privileged," "ignorant," "biased," "bigotted," and "intolerant."

Who cares that I've done all that I can to get an outside perspective -- taking classes; reading literature and essays and histories and newspapers; talking to people of other races about their experiences; attending cultural events NOT to say, 'Oh, hey, that Colorfest though,' but to say 'Excuse me? Can you tell me about why this is important to you? Why this matters? What you love about it? What you would like me, someone who is different than you, to know?'; asking the harder, more awkward questions so that I can learn and understand something I've never experienced; attempting to help by becoming educated and active in America in its entirety, not just my White part of it.

It seems that many don't care. Many don't care that there ARE White people who support them, who want to know them, who want to help them, and who want to be equal. Yes -- be EQUAL. NOT be called names. NOT be overlooked for scholarships, jobs, awards, even justice, because we "aren't colored." NOT be beaten down and shoved aside because we "don't understand" and "cause all of the bad things to happen" because of our Whiteness.

Yes, I don't understand completely. I recognize that. I hear stories and I'm shocked. I see the way people get treated and it angers and saddens me. It spurs me to change minds and hearts. It's hard to do where I live, because the population is different. But if I see injustice, or inequality, or meanness, I at least try. Though I don't understand the depth of sorrow and pain that past and present generations perpetuate, I know that many are trying.

Yes. There is racism. Yes. There is inequality. Yes. I don't understand what it's like to walk down a street of white people and be looked at like I'm a freak. 

But I DO understand what it's like to be in a classroom full of minority students and a minority professor and be completely, humiliatingly shut down because of an honest, sincere comment about someone else's experience as a person of color -- and I never spoke in that class again. 

I DO know what it's like to be called a racist because I disagreed with a Latino's opinion.

I DO know what it's like to be called a racist because I disciplined two Black children at the museum where I work when they weren't sharing -- and the only other child, a White child, was following the rules.

I DO know what it's like to walk down a street of full of people of color and be stared at, glared at, and be whispered about because "here come those White kids" with our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, with our "White charity," with our "privilege." 

I don't understand it all. But I understand a little.

I'm sorry that there are jerks in the world. I'm sorry that there are people who call names, who pass people over for jobs, who give worse service, who won't listen, who continue to express hate and malice based on color.

However. I refuse to be sorry for being White. I refuse to acknowledge arguments that blame Whiteness alone for social problems. I refuse to accept inequality against Whites, just as I refuse to accept inequality towards those of other races.

We are all, first and foremost, Americans. And as such, as Americans, we each deserve things. Life. Liberty. The Pursuit of Happiness. Freedom to laugh and love and receive aid when it is needed, from those around us and from higher powers.

No one, not one of us, deserves ANYTHING based on the color of our skin. I, as a White woman, do not DESERVE a scholarship. I do not DESERVE a job. I do not DESERVE anything. I work hard for everything that I have. And I work hard to make this world better for everyone who lives in it, no matter what color people may be. You may not think so, because I am White. But boy, let me tell you. If ever there was an advocate for equality for ALL -- you're looking at her. And that includes EVERY color. Because underneath each color is a living, breathing, thinking, hoping human being who deserves rights simply because they live. Every. Single. One.

If you ever see injustice, speak up. If you ever see inequality, confront it. It doesn't matter who it is against -- raise your voice and question. But do so with the understanding that it might have been a mistake. It might not have been based on the color of skin. It might have been done out of ignorance, instead of meanness. So ask the questions. Get people thinking. Change comes when people's HEARTS are touched, when people's MINDS are opened. And hearts will not be touched, nor will minds open, when there is abuse, rudeness, incivility, and attacks on race.

70 years ago, when the world began anew. . .

I missed marking VJ Day yesterday.

The war is over. The conflict has ended. People can breathe again. Tents and tanks are put away; men and women board ships for home. Cities, demolished, start to rebuild. Countries, frightened, weep with relief; weep with sorrow. Deaths are mourned; homecomings are celebrated. Loss is accute. Life is accute, be it present or gone.

Confusion. Exultation. Shock. Rejoicing. Some wondering what will become of them; some certain that everything will be alright from now on. Some surrounded by death and pain, silent; some surrounded by life and joy, clamour.

The war is over. The conflict has ended. Life can begin again.

The more I study WWII, the more I'm convinced that there will always be good people in this world. People who fight for what they believe in, regardless of the cost. And I mean this for ALL sides of this conflict: the Axis forces, the Allied forces, and all those people caught in the struggle.

I believe that most Axis members weren't bad people -- they were good people who trusted their leaders and sacrificed for their countries. Granted, this was mostly the young, while the older generations watched in fear. Terrified to do *their* version of the right thing, but trying through underground networks or by attempting to shelter their children. Not bad people -- people trapped by circumstance; children raised to spread an idea, warped though it was.

I believe that most Allied members weren't bad people -- they were good people who saw a monstrous threat intent on swallowing humanity and spitting it out as something which was, to them, horrific. And so they fought back, for their families, their freedoms, their way of life. They sought to halt an idea, a system that seemed intent on the world's destruction.

Both sides had a goal. Both sides had a belief. Both sides, though one is easily marked the bad and the other just as easily marked the good, were full of good people trying to do what they believed was the right thing. I know that this analysis is somewhat simplified -- it doesn't account for every variable, because that would take pages and pages of documented research to present a sound argument. But simply put, everyone had something they believed in: the Axis' New World; the Allied idea of freedom and safety for everyone, regardless of race, color, creed, religion, or lifestyle.

What to us is clearly an evil may be obviously good to someone else. Take the current conflicts with ISIS and ISIL: many of them truly believe that what they do is right. And what do we support and perpetuate that others in the world see as evil?

Good people do bad things -- sometimes we know what we're doing is wrong, and we feel too frightened or too unconcerned to change it. Sometimes we don't know it. Does that make those people bad? Evil? I don't believe that it does.

Our perspectives shape the way we see good and evil. I believe that if everyone looked harder for these perspectives, to understand how and why people think and believe the way that they do -- I believe that there would be more love. Less hate. More talk. Less gunfire.

I'm glad the war ended the way that it did. I sorrow for the loss of innocent life that led to Japanese surrender. I understand that many believe that it was the only way, and I have often thought about other possibilities. I wonder what would have happened if talking had been an option, if a greater respect for all human life could have made things change. It didn't happen that way -- and so we can appreciate what goodness DID come from the ending of the Pacific conflicts, and think of all the goodness that can be found in stories of people throughout the terrible time that was WWII.

i feel lost...

I never understood why people get so emotional about graduating. In the past, I've listened to coworkers, classmates, and friends express everything from anger to paralyzing fear about leaving the undergraduate realm. Honestly, I can't tell you how many times I've been the shoulder-to-cry-on or the assistant job seeker for people.

When I say I never understood, I mean that I never felt the way they did. People would say things, "I'm just not ready to leave," "I've got nowhere to go now," "I'm so scared that nothing is going to work out," and the like. Out loud, I was supportive, and I could both logically and empathetically see where they were coming from. It's a big step, leaving the campus and people that have become so familiar. Life once again becomes uncertain. On the other hand, I internally wondered why they weren't jumping up and down for joy at the chance for freedom -- for real adulthood -- for graduate school or job opportunities -- for bigger and better things -- CARPE DIEM!! Get me OUT of here!!

With my own graduation ceremony looming less than 72 hours away, I suddenly feel a rash of emotions and sentiments that previous students have expressed. While walking across campus today, I couldn't help but utter a noise of disgust and say, "I hate this place." Surveying the grounds and the pretty pink tulips, I thought, "Well, it's not so bad. But still -- I can't wait to be finished with all of this." Then, as I received my cap and gown, I trudged slowly across campus in tears, thinking, "They're kicking me out. All I did was what they asked, and now they're sending me away to who knows where doing who knows what with who knows who! How could they do this to me?!"

It's quite the rollercoaster. I don't recommend it.

Lately, I've been having nightmares. I mean, I usually do, but these are different. Often when I sleep, I dream of a void: me suspended in empty, crushing darkness. There is no up or down, no point with which to orient myself and determine where I am, or even who I am. Nothing is familiar, and I am alone. I've had these kinds of dreams before, but never with this intensity or such lingering effects.

Waking from these dreams leaves me in a fog of uncertainty. I go throughout the day as though still stuck in that dark, cold emptiness. I felt it again as I unwrapped my wrinkled, too long, navy blue graduation gown and untangled the gold tassle strands. Running my fingers through the tassle strands, it suddenly hit me -- the dreams and lingering feelings come from my feeling of placelessness. It exists so strongly in me that it manifests itself in my dreams. I truly feel lost, along with a decent amount of panic.

As I've thought more about this, I've concluded that this sort of anxiety speaks to feelings of displacement based on my changing position in the world. Though I do have places that are important to me, none of them are permanent. Everything in my life is transitory right now: graduation this week and finishing school in June; leaving the university I've grown to know well; acceptance to graduate programs that I'll never actually go to because they're online; leaving a student job and needing to find other employment; even my housing situation is in flux. My present places are quickly becoming my past places, and future places are presenting themselves -- though some are not really places; more like virtual experiences.

It's an unknown -- it's a feeling of anxiety that occurs even before losing an important place. Facing graduation, loss of employment, and an almost place-less form of virtual graduate schooling creates that anxiety in me.

Of course, changes like these aren't a bad thing. They're actually very good things; things I've worked for and looked forward to for a very, very long time. The emotional effects, though, are incredibly real. Being displaced from the undergraduate experience, employment, and people is a lot to handle all at once. It's kind of like when someone is forced into homelessness or made into an exile through war or foreclosure. I don't mean to minimize these events by comparing them to my current transition; losing a home or a familiar place because of such traumatic events is without a doubt much worse. I use that comparison because it's the only one that makes sense to me, that I can understand.

Graduating is turning me into a school-less (and somewhat reluctant) migrant student -- an exile from everything I have known for the last three years. While my exile is partially by choice, and the graduate program I've chosen to attend does provide a new place to go, I'm still being displaced. I have met the requirements for graduation, and my diploma becomes both a celebration and a pink slip.

I don't like change. I don't like losing the places and the people I have come to know and appreciate. However, I am human, and so my body must move. It must change and move and go new places, do new things. I of all people understand this now: after spending nearly a month in bed recovering from a surgical procedure, I've learned that staying in a room too long really can make a person go crazy. I wanted out! I wanted to move and change and go to other places. And I could not.

It was hugely frustrating.

None of us is meant to be stationary; movement of some sort is necessary. Still, the emotional distress that occurs from losing place is real. I'm feeling it in a big way now. I feel a mixed bag of loss, excitement, anger, sorrow, anxiety, betrayal, anticipation. These places have been critical in forming who I am and where I will go in the future. It's probably universal: places affect us and shape us. Perhaps the fact that places are key formative elements is what makes the displaced feeling distressing. We know we must move on from certain things, but letting go is difficult due to the ties to the place we grew and changed in.

For me, my feelings of loss over my current state and place are helping to spur me on to the next experience. I mourn the loss of familiarity and worry over the new places I must find, yet these familiar places help me realize that I can't stay. Current places have shaped what I do, who I am, and where I will go. My experience as an undergrad student, while coming to a seemingly abrupt and frightening end, has created that desire to move to a new place because of the experiences I've had in the place I now leave.

It's a strange, almost cyclical phenomenon: loss of place creating sadness and anxiety over the loss, while silmultaneously pushing us to find new places, which also creates uncertainty and grief. This constant shuffling of place is what makes us grow and change. Memories of old places shape our interactions with the new. Both types of places directly influence who we are, how we think, what we will become, and where we will go in the future.

Thinking about it in this way is helping to turn my feelings of terror (yes -- terror) about the coming changes into excitement. I won't lie. The fear is still very real, as is the deep loss I can't quite understand and never expected would occur. However, it's being tempered with curiosity and excitement for the experiences and places that lie ahead of me.

Though don't expect me to be all hopeful all of the time -- I'm desperately hanging on to any happy thoughts to keep myself from falling apart!