The first time I visited the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C., I was excited to see a series of guest-book journals set out for visitors’ comments. A journal-keeper myself since age twelve, I applaud every opportunity of contributing to the public record. Most tourist sites, restaurants and inns keep a guestbook well-displayed to solicit favorable reviews about food and service. But within the pages of the Holocaust Memorial guestbooks, I expected to find serious thoughts on the nature of genocide and anti-Semitism, ringing endorsements of  “never again,” perhaps shocked scrawls from young people encountering the bitterest of Western civilization’s legacy. To my dismay, however, the first comments I saw were these: “We have our own Holocaust happening in the U.S. every single day. It’s called abortion.” And: “This is so sad—but it’s just more proof that our world will never be united until every single person comes to the Lord and Savior Jesus.”

     As I read on, I found similar pages filled with religious propaganda, ranging from gentle to overtly hostile fundamentalist proselytizing. What was so striking about these public writings, left for others like me to contemplate, was their complete refusal to engage in the museum’s educational purpose:  bearing witness to the legacy of anti-Semitism. Although couched in “caring” religious language, some entries more or less called for a world without Jews.

     In my journeys since then, I’ve had the opportunity to visit several other memorial museums structured along similar lines of public education about injustice and racism. These include the Hiroshima Memorial in Japan, dedicated to educating visitors about the impact of the atomic bomb on that city, and the Manzanar National Historic Site monument in the Eastern Sierras of California, which preserves an actual internment camp where Japanese-Americans were forcibly relocated during World War II. Each museum, like the Holocaust memorial in D.C., leads visitors through interactive displays that can easily take up hours of intense perusal, culminating in a guest-book near the end. At both Hiroshima and Manzanar I have noted, too, that visitors exposed to a half-day’s worth of reflective education frequently choose to behave inappropriately or to enter hostile, flippant remarks into the permanent public record.  These entries range from the ever-popular “They deserved it” or “We had to do it” to “Why can’t we lock up the gays?” to a post-9/11 theme of “We should do this to the Muslims/Arabs/terrorists.” The guestbook at Manzanar is noteworthy for one local citizen’s frequent returns (paying a fee each time!) to write the same pejorative anti-Japanese epithets over and over. Park ranger employees acknowledged his contributions with weary smiles when I inquired: oh, yes, him.

      At Hiroshima, I was not visiting by myself but as part of a large college program of American students and faculty. On that day I observed considerable discomfort on the part of my companions, which manifested in different behaviors; and previous American visitors had left angry words in the memorial guestbook: Peace is nothing but a pipe dream! Nuclear arsenals MUST be maintained to maintain order! Just below that, a visitor from England had written in a timid hand May we learn? Below that, a European visitor had added Just nuke America!  There seemed little hope for the progress of world peace on that conflicted page. Outside, the lush verdant hills of Hiroshima were fertilized with the ashes of human flesh. I was moved to observe a moment of silence.  But one of my students, unable to handle the meaning of the visit, but needing to assert his presence, ostentatiously chinned himself on the white marble column of Hiroshima’s eternal flame. And a teaching colleague near me grumbled that the museum was mere anti-American propaganda. Loudly, he declared that “The Japanese are the most racist people in the world.”

     Why is the learning curve failing these visitors?  At all three sites, I’ve seen both young and old Americans—many of whom comfortably identify themselves by name and town--write “THEY DESERVED IT!”  Perhaps it’s pessimistic to worry about this small percentage of the public whose sympathies cannot be aroused by clear evidence of inhumane policies. After all, what about the ninety or ninety-five percent of visitors whose hearts are changed forevermore by a visit to Hiroshima or Manzanar? Their guestbook comments reflect profound spiritual awakening to hard questions from history. And the unconvinced five percent may very well shift their perspectives later—or in private.

      It’s a good starting point for a very important discussion. For instance, can we rely on the educated majority to pursue more humane policies in future?  American society has, however reluctantly, established monuments of reconciliation, multicultural education programs, tolerance campaigns, televised documentaries, school field trips to the Holocaust Memorial, and so on. But what happens when the unconvinced, resentful five percent are elected into office, tipping the balance of power against a more compassionate public? It only takes one dictator; or, closer to home, a 5-4 Supreme Court decision; one judge can change history again forever, let alone the five percent of tourists who bring hate speech to the reconciliation trail.

     I write these words as an educator whose college classes regularly include material on Manzanar, Hiroshima, and Auschwitz. Although these may be sacred sites, the discussion of their meaning—whether in a classroom setting or in those public guestbooks—is a free speech forum, inviting any and all opinions. Some of my Jewish students, mindful that the Holocaust should be addressed reverently, have responded to information on Manzanar and Hiroshima with “So what?” despite the presence of Japanese-American classmates. Some have sent angry emails: “How can you compare Nazi concentration camps with the internment of Japanese-Americans? At least they were safe.” Non-Jewish students, in turn, declare they are “sick of hearing about the Holocaust.”  And still others respond mechanically to information on genocide with “Do we have to write this down? Will it be on the final?”

     There’s work to be done here, and no amount of planned trips to memorial museums will reach every individual at the exact moment they’re willing to take on history’s burdensome weight. We can, however, instruct our students—and friends and colleagues—to think about appropriate speech and behavior at memorial sites. What’s left in a journal for others to see can display as much intolerance, and feel as hurtful to see, as the very exhibits from history we hope won’t be repeated.