Q & A with Ragnhild Baade
I recently sat down for a conversation with Ragnhild Baade, one of the founders of the Holocaust and Human Right Center and a 39-year member of the Board of Directors. She had a lot of stories to share! In her descriptions, Ragnhild brought to life the early days of building a community of intellectual and passionate people, weaving together her personal life with the beginnings of the HHRC. I asked what has kept her involved for four decades; she paused, considering, and then replied, “The relationships and community. The shared sense of purpose, hope for the future, the important work we do—and of course the friendships.”
What brought you to Maine?
In 1965 my husband Peter, daughter Sanna, and I had just moved from New Jersey back to his beloved Maine. We packed up all of our possessions into one car, shipped our books, and stayed for a few weeks with my mother-in-law’s in Cape Elizabeth. Peter had found a job with Maine Department of Human Services in Augusta, but the first place we lived in was a very old house in Newcastle that had active ghosts. We were beginning to settle in, though we knew we couldn’t stay in the huge, drafty house, couldn’t afford the oil to heat it. One weekend my parents, together with my aunt Tanya who had come to stay with us, said she wanted to see the area, so we drove her around and every time we saw a For Sale sign she’d say, “Let’s take a look.” Well, one driveway in Edgecomb led to an aging, empty house surrounded by overgrown grass, shrubs and trees. Old furniture had been left in the dusty rooms. Tanya declared it perfect for us. Peter and I kept thinking about it, and returned a number of times. One evening when the owner happened to be there, he asked if we’d like to buy it, adding that there was no water. Someone told us there was a dry well on the property; we said, “You know what, we’re going to buy a pump and give it a try because we can see water down in the well.” So we went there in the morning and the pump got 12 gallons, and we went back in the evening and there was 12 more gallons, so we decided, perfect! We could take showers on alternate days. We’ll get 24 gallons a day: I can take a shower one day and you can take one the next. We bought the house and have lived there for over 50 adventurous years. My daughter Sanna now lives right down the street.
Once you settled into the house, what was your life like?
We were very busy back then. From 1968-70 we lived in Syracuse earning Master’s degrees in our fields. When we returned to Maine, I worked for the Stevens School for Girls in Hallowell as a crisis intervention teacher and then in the Windham Prison. In 1977 I began teaching at Boothbay Harbor High School where I introduced German classes. One day Peter noticed an advertisement for a two-week summer seminar on the Holocaust at Bowdoin College, geared for librarians and teachers, and he urged me to apply for a scholarship to attend. He knew I would find it interesting. I applied and was accepted. It the best thing that ever happened to me as an adult (except marrying my husband and having a daughter). It was such a revealing experience for me—about myself—because being German in the U.S. I had always felt that somehow I was guilty, even though at the end of the war I was only four-and-a-half years old. Anytime you said that you were German, or people asked what is your accent, there was always a pause, and you knew what they were thinking. The experience helped me feel comfortable with my identity and more open about who I am. And now had the tools to address some of the prejudicial attitudes in my classrooms and school. I began to teach about the Holocaust in my English classes, using literature. In 1988 I went to a seminar in Israel and took a course with Facing History and Ourselves, which I incorporated into my curriculum.
How did you meet the people who formed the HHRC?
The seminar that was amazing. The room was filled with people really passionate about education and ideas about human rights. All day we heard from speakers; those presenters were just amazing. One of our wonderful presenters was named Steve Cert, who was a literature professor at Bowdoin, and I tell you, what he did during that summer really touched my heart and opened me up to being more honest with myself and not carrying that burden of being German with me all the time. My husband said that seminar was the best thing that ever happened, “You have just opened up, you are so different.” Suddenly I wasn’t shy any longer ... I had been very shy about sharing anything about my background. I just tried to have as little of an accent as possible, although my students always reminded me and asked me to say certain words that I could never pronounce—sometimes I would refuse, or would work very hard on getting it right. Because we German were sometimes bullied in school as children: they’d say “Oh German girls are easy, or you love Hitler.” It was very difficult. But after the seminar, I felt I belonged, because everyone belongs.
After the two weeks, I was energized and filled up. I hadn’t really found a community before then, but this group of people, we had a lot in common. I remember in particular these people: Jed Davis, Jerry and Rochelle Slivka, Burke Long, Steve Black, Walter Toranko, Gary Nichols, Nancy Greiner, and Gerda Haas. Afterward, we were all so excited by it; some of us said let’s not let this be the end. So a group of us formed an organization that would become the HHRC—people from the state library, the University of Maine, the Department of Education, presenters at the seminar. Our main goal was to make sure students learned about the Holocaust, and other events in history, so they wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes.
Gerda Haas was part of that group of course?
I had met Gerda Haas some time before at an English conference in Waterville. She had written a book called These I Do Remember, and I went to hear her speak. She reminded me so much of my mother it was unbelievable. Gerda was strong willed but she was soft spoken—you had to fall in love with her. Because we both spoke German, she wrote a little inscription in the book for my daughter and that’s when our friendship started. Whenever we saw each other, we always had that language bond; it felt so natural to speak with her in German. After she taught a summer seminar at Bates College, she realized that the incoming freshmen knew nothing about the Holocaust, she had the ambition to ensure all students would learn about the Holocaust by making it part of the Maine curriculum. In April 1985, following the Holocaust Day of Remembrance service at the Blaine House, Gerda and a few others had a meeting at the state library with Governor Brennan. Gerda described her proposal, and he agreed to require Holocaust education in Maine public schools—and that is seen as the official beginning of the HHRC.
What happened after the meeting with Governor Brennan?
The next year I was asked to join the Board of Directors. We would meet in different places, the synagogue in Auburn, sometimes someone’s kitchen or the state library. I remember the first crisis: we had no money to do anything, so Jed Davis said we need to take out a $10,000 loan—and there were ten of us on the board, so each one had to sign a note for $1,000. When I came home and told my husband this, he misheard and said “You signed a note for $10,000?!” I said, “No dear, I signed a note for $1,000,” and he was much relieved. But we never defaulted. We hired an organization to help us with raising funds, and by that time had hired an Executive Director. The board members were all so impressive. Gary Nichols, head of the Maine State Library, was amazing, as was his wife Sharon. Jed Davis was our lawyer; he would make sure we followed all of the laws to be a legitimate organization, and when we wanted to do something, he figured out a way.
How, when and where did it begin to grow?
For me, and I think others as well, the sense of camaraderie, friendship, community, and our common goal was the force that kept us going. We just cherished the sense of belonging to a group with a purpose and pride in the work we were accomplishing. Each month we had lively discussions and from that came the projects and goals. Among other work, we soon offered an annual summer seminar and trips to Germany and Poland to assist educators in teaching the Holocaust. In the late 1990s, we published and distributed The Spirit that Moved Us, eventually a three-volume guide for teaching the Holocaust in schools. We assisted the staff and volunteers in creating a series of interviews with Holocaust survivors in Maine, under the leadership of Steve Hochstadt, which were recorded and transcribed. Of course fundraising was part of the work. Our executive director applied for grants and spoke with influential people about the importance of our work, as did some others in the community.
When did you all begin to think about a building a home for the HHRC?
After fifteen years, we all felt a yearning to have a home of our own—a place to gather and work together. The community was growing, our work was expanding, and people began to know about the organization. We felt the next step in our evolution was to build ourselves a home. Because being in the same room, that’s what strengthens connections and friendships, trust and affection. We wanted to grow that, make a place where our whole community could gather. We were thinking about renting a house on Water Street, but Jerry Slivka and his wife Rochelle—I see this in my head still—said we need a place that is our own home. So we launched a fundraising effort, and hired an organization. The university was very helpful and generous—they gave us a 99 year lease on the land overlooking their beautiful campus. When we had raised almost enough money, thanks to some very, very generous donors. At the behest of the board, Sharon Nichols, the Executive Director at the time, announced the competition for a design—and over 200 hundred entries came in! I loved the design of two young men who’d just gotten out of architecture school. They described it as an opening flower. And now, 20 years later, look at us—our home is a cultural center, a destination for visitors, space for classrooms, seminars, lectures and performances, and a gathering place for the community.
What is it like now, twenty years later?
I am still on the Board of Directors nearly 40 years later. I still love the work. One goal I have is to get back to in-person meetings after the pandemic caused us to hold virtual meetings. It makes such a difference when you are all in a room, together, hashing out decisions and sharing ideas. Gathering is an essential element in building trust—and much more fun than zoom. This is why I hope people find time to come visit the Michael Klahr Center to learn about the testimony of Holocaust survivors and stories behind the archives, to be inspired by the art exhibits, and maybe see a presentation or performance. Ideally a board is a living, breathing entity with a common goal. The HHRC has managed that. While we were once a little known entity, many people dedicated to this organization have helped it to grow and flourish. Now we are no longer met with “I’ve never heard of you.” Until we reach every student in Maine, an aspiration of ours, we will still hear that occasionally—but we have come a very long way.
I feel the same about my home. When we moved into our home in Edgecomb so many years ago, I said to my husband, “We are not leaving from here.” He said, “Well you never know what will happen in life.” And I said, “I know I don’t know what happens in life, but we are going to stay here.” And I have stayed in our home, even after my husband passed away almost four years ago. The house holds so many happy memories of my life with Peter and our daughter Sanna. I’m happy with my memories, all my books and photographs, bedrooms for people to visit. I feel grateful for my family and friends, for our church and small town, for the people I’ve met and kept in touch with, including my friends in Germany. Life has been very good to me.
By Sara Lennon
Photo credit: The Lincoln County News