March of the Living

March of the Living

Published on April 28, 2026

I work in a jail - I am a major with the Denver Sheriff Department. Every day, I move through heavy metal doors, hear them slam shut and lock behind me - operating within a system built on control, confinement, and consequence. It's an environment that shapes the way people see themselves and others, view the arms of justice, and even the whole of humanity itself. But nothing in my professional background and training prepared me for what I encountered when I visited Auschwitz and took part in the March of the Living in Poland.

At first glance, there are superficial similarities between a modern correctional facility and a place like Auschwitz: barbed wire, guarded perimeters, a sense of separation from the outside world. But those comparisons collapse almost immediately under the weight of history. The purpose, the scale, and the intent behind Auschwitz were fundamentally different; rooted not in law or rehabilitation, but in systematic dehumanization and extermination.

The above still is taken from the "March of the Living at Auschwitz-Burkenau" video featured on foxnews.com.

Walking through the gates marked with the haunting phrase, "Arbeit Macht Frei" (Work Sets You Free), I felt a shift that is hard to put into words. This was not just a place where people were held. It was a place where identity was stripped away, where suffering was industrialized, and where millions were murdered. As someone who works in an environment where people are confined, I couldn't ignore the contrast: in my world, there are rules, oversight, and at minimum, a framework based on human rights. In Auschwitz, those protections did not exist.

The experience became even more profound during the March of the Living, an annual event that brings people from around the world together to walk the path from Auschwitz to Birkenau, the two parts of Nazi Germany's notorious death complex. That walk - silent, heavy, and deeply symbolic - felt like stepping into history while carrying the responsibility of remembrance.

The above image is taken from the Police1 article, "From Berlin agreement to Auschwitz reflection: Global police leaders reframe their duty," by Michael Gips.

Among the crowd were survivors, students, educators, and people like me (law enforcement); individuals trying to understand, bear witness, and ensure that the past is neither forgotten nor repeated. There was something powerful about moving together in that space, not as observers, but as participants in an act of memory.

What struck me most was the humanity of those who had been reduced to numbers. Seeing the barracks, discarded belongings, and the photographs. It brought into sharp focus the lives behind the statistics. These were individuals with families, dreams, and identities that were violently taken from them. The scale of suffering is difficult to comprehend, but the personal stories of the survivors (we met 50 of them) make it impossible to ignore.

Law enforcement and Holocaust survivors photographed together during the March of the Living. Major Adcock is fourth from the left in the back row.

Following this experience, after returning to work, I found myself thinking differently about dignity. Even in a correctional environment, where people are there as a result of their own actions, there is an obligation to recognize their humanity. Visiting Auschwitz didn't just teach me about history; it challenged me to reflect on how systems of power treat individuals and how easily humanity can be eroded when empathy is removed.

The March of the Living is not just about remembering the past. It is about confronting the present and shaping the future. It asks participants to carry forward a simple but urgent message: indifference and dehumanization have consequences.

I walked into that experience as someone who understood confinement. I left with a deeper understanding of what happens when humanity itself is confined, diminished, and ultimately destroyed. It is something I will carry with me, both in my work and in my life, for years to come.

- Major Keri Adcock

• Sheriff Department