23 August marks the European Day of Remembrance for Victims of Totalitarian Regimes – a day on which we pay tribute to those who suffered as a result of the violence of totalitarian systems in the 20th century - systems based on control, repression and ideological enslavement.
This year's campaign "Remember. 23 August", organised by the European Network Remembrance and Solidarity, focuses on intergenerational trauma – one of the most complex aspects of historical heritage.
Although it leaves no visible scars, it can permeate generations and influence entire societies, shaping relationships, identities, ways of thinking and reacting.
ENRS has invited a renowned scholar to reflect on this topic: **Professor Michał Bilewicz**, a social psychologist and author of the book *Traumaland*, a study on the social effects of violence and collective memory.
**ENRS, Mariola Cyra:** *What exactly is intergenerational trauma?*
Prof. Michał Bilewicz: Prof. Michał Bilewicz: In psychology, **intergenerational trauma** is the phenomenon of transmitting traumatic experiences from one generation to the next — not only in a narrative sense, but primarily on a psychological level, affecting the mental health of descendants.
This phenomenon became the focus of intensive study in the 1970s and 1980s, particularly in Israel. At that time, it was noticed that veterans returning from the war in Lebanon, whose parents were Holocaust survivors, showed significantly stronger symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) than those whose parents had not had such experiences.
Research conducted at the time by Solomon, Kotler and Mikulincera showed that trauma can affect the sensitivity of subsequent generations to stressors, causing them to react more strongly to new, difficult situations.
Systematic studies on this phenomenon are still ongoing in Israel. Among others, there is a research panel involving **descendants of Holocaust survivors** and individuals with identical demographic profiles, but from families without such traumatic experiences — such as those who lived in the former Soviet Union or the Middle East during times of war.
They are regularly surveyed, both in everyday situations and during times of crisis. In stressful situations, the differences become clear: descendants of survivors are more likely to experience mood swings, anxiety, symptoms of depression, or PTSD.
At the same time, meta-analyses by Professor van IJzendoorn show that under everyday conditions, there are no significant differences in mental health between descendants of trauma victims and people from families without such experiences. The differences only appear in their responses to stressors — and this heightened sensitivity to threats is one of the key mechanisms of intergenerational trauma.
This clinical perspective is only one part of understanding the phenomenon. I am also interested in the social consequences of this trauma, such as lack of trust, a tendency to believe in conspiracy theories, hypersensitivity, and anxiety. These are not merely mental disorders — they are manifestations of social functioning shaped by the legacy of past traumas.
Prof. Michał Bilewicz: Yes, we can definitely talk about such societies. In cross-cultural psychiatry, and increasingly in psychology, the term **historical trauma** is used in this context, which differs from intergenerational trauma.
The first mainly refers to the psychological or psychiatric effects transmitted from generation to generation. Meanwhile, historical trauma is a broader phenomenon that includes the ways societies adapt to extreme experiences—war, occupation, ethnic cleansing, or genocide—and how these adaptations persist even when external conditions change.
After the end of a war or the fall of a regime, people formally return to normal life, but their social functioning continues to bear the marks of those experiences. We see this, for example, in a deep lack of trust, especially toward strangers or representatives of other nations or states.
Fear and anxiety arise easily and resonate strongly, especially when connected to children or women — groups that in the past have been particularly affected by violence. In societies that have experienced mass child deaths, rapes, or other large-scale forms of violence, such threats trigger much stronger reactions — far stronger than in societies that have not endured such traumas.
Prof. Michał Bilewicz: This is a very interesting phenomenon, well described by Michael Wohl and Jay van Bavel in their research with Canadian Jews. They observed that symptoms of intergenerational trauma appeared even in people who did not have direct Holocaust victims in their genealogy — their families lived in Canada during the war.
The key factor here was not family history, but the strength of identification with the community. People who strongly identified with the Jewish community showed more pronounced symptoms of intergenerational trauma.
This shows that the transmission of trauma is not limited to family relationships alone. Naturally, there is also the hypothesis of epigenetic transmission of trauma—that is, biological adaptations inherited by subsequent generations—but so far, there is little strong evidence to support this.
Cultural or social transmission is much better documented. Trauma can be passed down through family stories, silence, parental behavior, but also through education, media, commemorative rituals, or anniversaries. Cultural transmission—what is said (or not said) about the past within a particular community—can shape the perception of history just as much as individual family experiences.
This social dimension of trauma causes even people without any personal connection to a past tragedy to experience it as part of their identity and to react emotionally to it.
Prof. Michał Bilewicz: The way the new generation of Poles—especially those born after 1989—functions is truly interesting and sometimes surprising. Research conducted by my doctoral student, Damien Stewart, an Australian who studied the phenomenon of intergenerational trauma in Poland, revealed an intriguing observation: the highest levels of intergenerational PTSD symptoms are not found among the children of those who survived the occupation, but rather in the third generation—the grandchildren of those who experienced the war.
This strange phenomenon shows that trauma can resurface after a certain delay. This generation grew up in the reality of transformation and a free Poland, but also during a period of revival of traumatic memory, which began in the early 2000s with the establishment of the Warsaw Uprising Museum and later with the intensification of the narrative around the so-called Cursed Soldiers. Memories of war and violence began to strongly re-emerge in the public sphere — in popular culture, museums, and education.
Prof. Michał Bilewicz: When we look at school textbooks and reading lists, we notice that young people learn about the occupation mainly through the stories of Tadeusz Borowski — extremely challenging texts that depict the degraded reality of life in concentration camps, people who lost the will to live and were called “Muslims” in camp language, or "dojchaga" in camp literature. These are individuals mentally and physically destroyed, on the brink of life and death.
However, although these images are accurate, they describe extreme cases. The history of the occupation also includes people who, despite everything, tried to live, function, and adapt — under extreme conditions, yet managed to preserve their humanity. Unfortunately, education often presents this darkest fragment as the norm, leading to a distorted image of the past.
Added to this are today’s immersive techniques, which are increasingly used in education and museology. Students take on the roles of victims, participate in realistic games, and experience virtual reality (VR). This can be effective educationally, but it also carries the risk of psychological overload.
In my research with young people who visited the Auschwitz-Birkenau Museum, I found that a certain percentage of students exhibited characteristic PTSD symptoms one month after the visit — difficulties sleeping, hypersensitivity, recurring images, and nightmares. It is precisely for these young people that we must ask: How can we ensure that contact with a memorial site is an educational experience and not a trauma? Remembering the past cannot be based solely on shock — its purpose should be understanding, reflection, and the ability to integrate this knowledge into a healthy identity.
Question: How can we talk to children about the painful aspects of history when even a visit to a museum can trigger such strong reactions? What should we convey to them, and what should we avoid?
Prof. Michał Bilewicz: I don’t think we should avoid difficult topics or filter historical facts – that would be dishonest. Equally dangerous is to sensationalize atrocity by focusing exclusively on the most extreme and dramatic experiences, which, although true, did not represent the everyday reality for most people."
It is essential to tell the stories of people who, even under extreme conditions, tried to cope with the situation, preserve their dignity, help others, and resist – not necessarily with weapons in hand. Often, this resistance was silent and civil. For some, faith was a form of resistance; for others, it was culture, values, or family ties
Meanwhile, our education – both in schools and in museums – is dominated by the heroic narrative: armed resistance, uprisings, guerrilla warfare. We rarely hear about the everyday forms of survival: someone transporting meat from the village to the city to feed their family, someone hiding banned books from the occupiers, or holding secret classes. These are stories that often circulate only within families but are not passed on because they are not considered ‘heroic.’ Yet, they hold great educational potential – they show how people were able to preserve their humanity, to act, and to care for others despite violence and fear.
It is important to teach children not only that evil and suffering existed, but also that people had choices, that they were capable of solidarity, that they fought to survive – and that this history is not only a history of victims, but also a history of survival and everyday courage. This helps build resilience, not only fear.
Prof. Michał Bilewicz: "It is certainly worthwhile to ask questions – and it is especially important when these questions are asked by grandchildren, the third generation. It is much more difficult for children to speak with their parents about traumatic experiences than for grandchildren to speak with their grandparents. Between grandchildren and grandparents there is often more emotional space and curiosity than resistance."
Just as important as the question is what we do when the answer comes. Are we truly ready to listen? Many people from the generation of victims tried to speak, but no one wanted to listen. As a result, many withdrew from these attempts. They often sought community among people with similar experiences, which led to the creation of associations of survivors of Auschwitz, Buchenwald, and Stutthof. Even though these names may sound unsettling today, they represented genuine efforts to build spaces where people did not have to talk about their trauma – it was enough simply to be with others who understood without words."
In the case of the Katyn families, silence was almost forced. For many years, speaking about Katyn could be not only socially isolating but also dangerous. It was a trauma pushed into the shadows – not only personal but also political. I know that studies have been conducted on how these families functioned after the war – how memories were frozen within them, passed on indirectly through emotions and behaviors, not through words."
Only in the 1990s and 2000s did a kind of social recognition of this memory begin to emerge. Films such as Wajda’s Katyn were released, giving many families the feeling that at last they could speak. And that finally someone was listening."
Prof. Michał Bilewicz:"Art can play a very important role in the process of confronting and working through trauma. Sometimes it does so in a paradoxical way. If we look at the first films after the war about the occupation, we often encounter comedies. Films like Zezowate szczęście (Bad Luck) or Jak rozpętałem drugą wojnę światową (How I Unleashed World War II) were a way for the generation that had survived the war to face it. Mocking certain behaviors or situations allowed them to gain distance – and it is precisely this distance that is sometimes necessary to integrate difficult experiences
The same applies to other reactions that may seem inappropriate or even shocking to others, such as laughter, jokes, or the use of phones in places of remembrance, like Auschwitz. We are studying these phenomena and discovering that they often serve as protective mechanisms. People are trying to cope with something that is almost unbearable
Ky trend ishte i pranishëm edhe në kinemanë e ashtuquajtur të Holokaustit. Filma si Train of Life dhe Life is Beautiful përpiqen të flasin për krimin në një mënyrë që jo vetëm përcjell njohuri, por gjithashtu lejon shikuesin të lehtësojë paksa barrën emocionale.
Megjithatë, duhet të kujtojmë se kultura ka edhe anën e saj të errët – mund të jetë gjithashtu traumatike. Nga kërkimet tona, përfshirë këtu edhe mes hebrenjve polakë, si dhe nga analizat e Michael Wohl dhe Jay Van Bavel, e dimë se identifikimi i fortë me një grup bart me vete trashëgiminë e traumës. Kjo mund të bëjë që një person të përjetojë traumë dytësore. Një kulturë që na kujton vazhdimisht vuajtjen dhe dhunën mund të forcojë ndjenjën e kërcënimit, izolimit dhe frikës. Prandaj është vendimtare mënyra se si flasim për të kaluarën – dhe nëse u japim shikuesve mundësinë të hyjnë në këtë botë duke ruajtur kufijtë e tyre personalë.
Question:Can trauma teach us anything? Empathy, responsibility, freedom?"
Prof. Michał Bilewicz: I think trauma can teach us something – although not necessarily what we expect. In a way, trauma prepares us for future crises. It brings hypervigilance and distrust, which can be destructive in times of peace, but can be adaptive in moments of danger.
This was seen, for example, after the outbreak of war in Ukraine in 2022. Poles did not wait for the state to act, but took grassroots actions to help refugees. This is typical behavior of a society that remembers trauma, even if it has never explicitly named it.
"The same thing happens in places that live under constant threat, like Israel or Ukraine. There, people learn to function in a reality of alarms, air raids, and power outages. At the same time, they are extremely distrustful of outsiders. Sociologist Daniel Bar-Tal calls this the 'ethos of conflict' – a daily way of life in the reality of war."
"Perhaps this allows us to better understand how the generation that lived under occupation functioned. For them, the sight of executions, ghettos, and massacres was something they had to get used to in order to survive. As Miłosz wrote, the carousel keeps turning – not because people are indifferent, but because they have to live. This is not cynicism, but an adaptive psychological mechanism. It may shock us, but this is how the human psyche works."
Question: "What would you like to change in the way societies relate to their future?"
Prof. Michał Bilewicz: There is one thing that seems particularly important to me and that can change: historically traumatized societies are often unable to recognize the trauma of others. When we have ourselves experienced suffering – especially if our trauma has not been fully acknowledged by the world – we have a strong need to focus on our own pain. So strong that we begin to deny the trauma of others.
For me personally, writing Traumaland was a kind of exercise in empathy. I come from a family of Holocaust survivors – most of my family perished during the Holocaust. I grew up in an environment where Jewish trauma was central – the suffering of others, including the experience of non-Jewish Poles during the war, was treated as insignificant. Henryk Grynberg wrote that, in the case of Jews, 'decimation' means one in ten survived, whereas in the case of Poles, it means one in ten died. And these two experiences of occupation are not comparable. But the loss of 10% of an entire population is also a major historical wound, which deserves recognition."
A similar mechanism works in the opposite direction – many Poles, focused on their own trauma, are not ready to acknowledge the suffering of others: Ukrainians, Germans, Jews. People are unwilling to speak about crimes committed by Poles, whether during the Holocaust or after the war: in the Świętochłowice and Łambinowice camps, during Operation Vistula. Yet, being a victim in the past does not exclude the possibility of becoming a perpetrator of trauma in the future."
Historia e gjenocidit dhe dhunës tregon qartë se autorët ishin shpeshherë vetë viktima. Kjo është një e vërtetë e dhimbshme. Trauma, nëse nuk punohet mbi të, mund të çojë në gatishmëri për të traumatizuar të tjerët. Prandaj na duhet një perspektivë psikologjike që fokusohet në përvojën individuale dhe jo në narrativat kombëtare. Psikologjia, ndryshe nga historia apo shkencat politike, nuk krijon narrativa që justifikojnë njërën palë. Ajo i jep hapësirë kujtdo – sepse çdo traumë duhet të njihet për t’u shëruar. Dhe kjo njohje është, sipas meje, shpresa jonë më e madhe.
Prof. Michał Bilewicz: Yes, it is a fairly natural psychological mechanism. In psychology, we talk about moral typecasting – we tend to see people in fixed roles: either victim or perpetrator. It is very difficult to accept that someone can be both. The more we build our identity around the role of the victim, the harder it is to acknowledge that we may also have been perpetrators. Only in a few cases, such as Germany after World War II or Rwanda after the 1994 genocide, has space been created to recognize this difficult duality."
History and experience are not black and white. Just look at Kashubia or Pomerania – before the war, people lived close to one another, and the borders were different. The divisions between perpetrators and victims are not always clear."
This illustrates the danger of a nationalized historical narrative. In psychology, we see it as very harmful because it hinders individual expression and the sharing of personal experiences. This is evident today in the exhibition Our Boys, which has provoked extreme reactions – often full of ignorance. Many people are unaware that hundreds of thousands of Poles were forcibly recruited into the Wehrmacht – more than fought in the Home Army – and yet the fate of these people is suppressed, unwanted in the dominant narrative."
"This is not about avoiding responsibility, but about the colonization of Polish historical memory – first by a region (Central Poland) and then by a social class (the Polish intelligentsia). And it is the experience of this class and this geography that has spread across all of Poland, replacing other histories – of Kashubia, Pomerania, and Galicia. People who could not always fit into heroic, insurgent narratives."
As a psychologist, for me the starting point must be precisely these individual experiences – of people and families. Only then can true recognition and processing of trauma be achieved. Not through top-down narratives that divide history into black and white."
Prof. Michał Bilewicz:"Paradoxically, the more traumatized a society has been, the harder it is to confront that trauma. I cannot name a nation that has truly settled accounts with its past. For this to happen, there must be a starting point – acknowledgment of responsibility and naming crimes by their true names."
"Germany and Rwanda are good examples. In both cases, there has been official acknowledgment of the genocide and the perpetrators, which has allowed the construction of an entirely new narrative, both in education and society. In Germany, the Holocaust has become the absolute center of historical memory. Research such as the MEMO-Studie from Bielefeld University shows that most Germans recognize their country’s history from the moment of National Socialism onward – earlier periods are almost absent from collective awareness. Education about the Holocaust is not questioned – on the contrary, it is a fundamental element of civic identity."
The situation is similar in Rwanda, where tribal identities were completely abandoned after the genocide. Today, the younger generation does not know whether their families belonged to the Hutu, Tutsi, or Twa. The justice system, including the Gacaca courts, not only punished perpetrators but also sought to reconcile local communities that had to continue living together. In this sense, we can speak of a successful internal reconstruction."
"However, on a broader level, cracks appear – both in Rwanda’s relations with the Democratic Republic of the Congo and in the attitude of Germans in the eastern part toward refugees. Rwanda supports armed actions beyond its borders, and in Germany the popularity of the AfD and anti-immigrant sentiment is rising. This raises the question of whether this success of memory – the acknowledgment of one’s own trauma – takes a different form."
Prof. Michał Bilewicz: "I think the starting point should be a revision of our narrative about the past. Poland’s historical identity today is based mainly on the image of suffering and moral innocence – we see ourselves primarily as passive victims. Meanwhile, history was much more complex."
We need a narrative that shows agency – even in the most difficult times. We must remember that not everyone was passive, that there were people who acted, who resisted, but also that there were different attitudes – including those that do not fit the convenient narrative of completely moral victims."
"To talk to young people about traumatic chapters of history without causing resistance or feelings of guilt, the key is to show the complexity of history – to avoid black-and-white narratives. We must speak about suffering and injustice, but not only through the prism of perpetrators and victims. It is also worth focusing on those who survived – on their choices, decisions, and ways of coping."
Instead of presenting history to young people as a story of guilt and accusation, it is worth showing it as a space for reflection on the fate of individuals – on how people reacted in extreme conditions. Only then can we hope for true understanding, empathy – and breaking the mechanism of passing trauma from generation to generation.
Source: "ENRS, European Network on Remembrance and Solidarity"