Charlotte
Delbo and another of the 230, in prison in France before deportation. Credit Courtesy of the Archives
Departmentales du Val-deMarne, Pierre Labate, Roger Hommet and L'Association
Memoire-Vivre
In the early 1940’s in Nazi occupied Paris, the Parisian
police were collaborating with the Germans to round and arrest French citizens
who were resisting the occupation. Many
of those arrested were placed in a prison named La Santé, in the 14th
arrondisement. La Santé was known as
châteaux de
la mort lente, castles of slow death. There was “little food, no heating, and
condensation trickled down the walls.
Fleas and lice were epidemic. The
chance of release was nonexistent [Caroline Moorehead, A Train in Winter—An Extraordinary Story of
Women, Friendship, and Resistance in Occupied France, pg.105].” Those imprisoned there were called the
“dangerous element.”
Danielle, one of the imprisoned 230 women, wrote to her parents:
“We sang every night. If walking past
those filthy walls, you heard singing, it was us. By ‘us’ I mean the dangerous
element [pg. 107].” Through their
singing in such desperate conditions, these women showed just how dangerous
they really were. Without guns or clubs, in
their resistance these determined women evidenced a power that is only
available to those with the conviction they are serving some cause larger than
their own lives.
Singing in the face of abuse is a power that comes to those
whose lives serve a more enduring cause than their own personal concerns and
wellbeing. It does, indeed, indicate
they are dangerous.
These women were not, of course, the first determined people
to sing in prison.
Paul and Silas seemed to be a threat to the economy in
Philippi, so they are beaten and thrown in jail (Acts 16). They are praying and singing hymns in the
night in their jail cell when an earthquake sets all the prisoners free. They
do not flee. The next day when the
magistrates wish to send Paul and Silas away quietly, they demand a public
acknowledgement of their unjust treatment; and they get it.
Paul and Silas were, indeed, dangerous to the status quo.
Persecuting them had no chance of silencing them. They had found something grander and more
compelling than their own wellbeing.
People serving a larger cause are dangerous; they are hard
to silence. When we are gripped by
something grander than our own security and comfort, like those women in La Santé and Paul and
Silas, we become powerful. There is little to be gained by telling people like
that to go home and be quiet.
Jim Kelsey
Executive Minister-American Baptist Churches of
New York State
