Music and Persecution: The Sound of Memory between Fascism and the Shoah
On Tuesday 17 June, at the Antico Caffè San Marco in Trieste, the sixteenth and final event of the monthly lecture series organised by the Manlio Cecovini Study Society took place. Guest speaker for the evening was Alessandro Carrieri, essayist and musicologist, who devoted his talk to a subject still rarely explored in historical scholarship: Nazi-Fascist persecution in the musical sphere.
The conference offered a multi-layered reflection: on the one hand, a reconstruction of the legislative and ideological framework that, beginning in 1938, marked the transition from a discriminatory policy to a systematic persecution of Italian Jews, including within the sphere of musical culture; on the other, a detailed investigation into the biographies of persecuted musicians and the forms of artistic expression that emerged in ghettos and concentration camps, with particular attention to the case of Theresienstadt.
Carrieri highlighted the direct responsibility of the Fascist regime—particularly that of Benito Mussolini—in building a deliberately racist legislative system. The racial laws of 1938, he emphasised, were not imposed by Germany, but stemmed from a clear and autonomous political will on the part of the Italian state. His talk focused on the impact these measures had on the national musical landscape: the expulsion of teachers, performers, and composers from conservatoires, civic bands, and cultural institutions. Among the names mentioned were several from Trieste: Vittorio Menassè, Vito Levi, Emilio Russi, and Guido Davide Nacamulli—men whose fates differed, but who were all united by censorship and marginalisation.
Considerable attention was then given to the Theresienstadt ghetto-camp, described by Carrieri as a “hybrid between a camp and a settlement”, where the Nazi administration promoted a façade of cultural autonomy for propaganda purposes. Within this context, however, a surprising and vibrant musical life flourished. Composers such as Viktor Ullmann, Hans Krása and Pavel Haas continued to create works often laden with encrypted references to “degenerate” music—banned by the regime—as if to reaffirm, through the language of music itself, a form of resistance, or rather resilience, against totalitarian oppression.
One particularly significant focus was Ullmann’s The Emperor of Atlantis, composed in Theresienstadt. The opera—a scathing parody of absolute power—was censored and never performed during the war. In more recent years, however, it has found renewed life, thanks also to the Viktor Ullmann Festival and performances held in Trieste.
To complete the picture, Carrieri explored the role of music in the extermination camps, particularly Auschwitz, where internal orchestras—both male and female—provided the soundtrack to the daily life (and death) of the deportees, playing military marches and setting the rhythm of forced labour and roll calls.
The evening concluded with a reflection on the value of historical research in uncovering personal and collective stories that have long remained hidden. Through the stories of persecuted musicians, Carrieri offered the audience not only a little-known chapter of the Shoah, but also a powerful example of art’s enduring ability to resist—and to bear witness—even in the darkest moments of history.
WATCH THE GALLERY
The conference offered a multi-layered reflection: on the one hand, a reconstruction of the legislative and ideological framework that, beginning in 1938, marked the transition from a discriminatory policy to a systematic persecution of Italian Jews, including within the sphere of musical culture; on the other, a detailed investigation into the biographies of persecuted musicians and the forms of artistic expression that emerged in ghettos and concentration camps, with particular attention to the case of Theresienstadt.
Carrieri highlighted the direct responsibility of the Fascist regime—particularly that of Benito Mussolini—in building a deliberately racist legislative system. The racial laws of 1938, he emphasised, were not imposed by Germany, but stemmed from a clear and autonomous political will on the part of the Italian state. His talk focused on the impact these measures had on the national musical landscape: the expulsion of teachers, performers, and composers from conservatoires, civic bands, and cultural institutions. Among the names mentioned were several from Trieste: Vittorio Menassè, Vito Levi, Emilio Russi, and Guido Davide Nacamulli—men whose fates differed, but who were all united by censorship and marginalisation.
Considerable attention was then given to the Theresienstadt ghetto-camp, described by Carrieri as a “hybrid between a camp and a settlement”, where the Nazi administration promoted a façade of cultural autonomy for propaganda purposes. Within this context, however, a surprising and vibrant musical life flourished. Composers such as Viktor Ullmann, Hans Krása and Pavel Haas continued to create works often laden with encrypted references to “degenerate” music—banned by the regime—as if to reaffirm, through the language of music itself, a form of resistance, or rather resilience, against totalitarian oppression.
One particularly significant focus was Ullmann’s The Emperor of Atlantis, composed in Theresienstadt. The opera—a scathing parody of absolute power—was censored and never performed during the war. In more recent years, however, it has found renewed life, thanks also to the Viktor Ullmann Festival and performances held in Trieste.
To complete the picture, Carrieri explored the role of music in the extermination camps, particularly Auschwitz, where internal orchestras—both male and female—provided the soundtrack to the daily life (and death) of the deportees, playing military marches and setting the rhythm of forced labour and roll calls.
The evening concluded with a reflection on the value of historical research in uncovering personal and collective stories that have long remained hidden. Through the stories of persecuted musicians, Carrieri offered the audience not only a little-known chapter of the Shoah, but also a powerful example of art’s enduring ability to resist—and to bear witness—even in the darkest moments of history.
WATCH THE GALLERY
