Martin Niemöller, whom I mentioned in an earlier post, was a Lutheran pastor who initially supported Adolph Hitler’s rise to power in 1933. A Christian nationalist and antisemite, he soon turned against the Nazis when he saw that they were completely serious about rounding up their political opponents and purging undesirable groups. He was arrested and imprisoned, first at Sachsenhausen, where the early gas chambers were designed and tested, and then at Dachau, until his liberation in 1945 by the U.S. 7th Army.

It all happened so quickly. In federal elections held on July 31, 1932, the Nazis won 37% of the popular vote, giving them the most seats in the Reichstag, although far short of a majority. New elections were called for November 6th. Although the Nazis remained the largest party, their share of the vote actually declined by four percentage points. Time to act . . . they seized power, and on January 30, 1933, made Adolph Hitler the chancellor of Germany. There would be no more elections. Fewer than three months later, on March 22nd, Dachau opened for business. Its initial purpose was to imprison Hitler’s political opponents.

Twelve years later, on April 29, 1945, the sprawling concentration camp was liberated by members of 552nd Field Artillery Battalion of the 442nd Infantry Regiment. It is one of those ironies of history that the regiment was a segregated unit composed almost entirely of second-generation Japanese soldiers (Nisei), most of whose families were in internment camps of their own in America. After fighting its way across Europe, the 442nd Infantry remains the most decorated military unit in American history; its soldiers were awarded over 4,000 Purple Hearts and 21 Medals of Honor.

The year after he was liberated, Niemöller wrote his famous poem, “First they came . . .”, an agonizing lament for those, including himself, who had kept silent as the Nazis came to power and immediately set out to purge vulnerable groups.

I have updated his requiem. I pray it is not my epitaph.

First they came for the immigrants,
And I did not speak out – because I am not an immigrant.

Then they came for the people of color,
And I did not speak out – because I am a white man.

Then they came for the lesbians, the gays, the transpeople,
And I did not speak out – because I am straight.

Then they came for those with foreign accents,
And I did not speak out – because I was once an English teacher.

Then they came for the Muslims, and then for the Jews (yes, for both of them),
And I did not speak out – because I am a Christian.

Then they came for the indigent and the homeless,
And I did not speak out – because it was a beautiful afternoon for golf.

Then they came for me,
And who will speak for me?

Donald Trump and his followers characterize the groups in this poem as the problem with America, telling us that these people and their identity politics want to destroy this country. But these groups are America, just as you and I are – at least the America in which I want to live. It takes all of us to weave the fabric of our country. It’s an inspiring vision, and a strong fabric. And we must not shrink from speaking out.