IN the tumultuous tapestry of human history, there exists an echoing and heart-wrenching refrain that pierces the very soul of our existence. 

What we are experiencing is not just a solitary tragedy but a recurring nightmare etched deep into the collective psyche of our species. So, let us embark on a journey through time, where the lessons of history whisper to us like the ghosts of our shared past.

Now, close your eyes for a moment and envisage a modern-day saga playing out in the war-torn landscapes of the Gaza Strip. It’s a narrative that draws unsettling parallels from the darkest corners of history. 

The Israel-Gaza conflict we bear witness to today mirrors the ominous playbook of the Nazis during World War II. They say history has a peculiar habit of repeating itself, and the echoes we hear today send shivers down our spines.

Israel’s strategy appears starkly defined: obliterate infrastructure, reduce medical facilities to rubble, and sever access to clean water – a haunting reflection of the horrors of the Nazi ghettos. The blockade tightens its grip, choking off the flow of food and fuel. Amidst this modern-day nightmare, indiscriminate violence runs rampant, leaving hundreds wounded or dead every day.
 
Starvation and disease grip the lives of over half a million souls, pushing Palestinians to confront a heart-wrenching choice: endure the horrors of bombs, disease, exposure, and hunger, or make the agonising decision to abandon their homeland.

And here’s the harrowing twist: they present it as voluntary migration, almost as if it were a sinister offering. “Countries in Latin America and Africa willing to absorb refugees from the Gaza Strip,” they say. A chilling echo from the past, reminiscent of when bread and marmalade were handed out to those “voluntarily” registering for deportation in the Warsaw ghetto.

But let’s not sugarcoat it; the Nazis sent their victims to death camps, while Israel’s counterparts aim to funnel them into squalid refugee camps beyond their borders. This is ethnic cleansing masquerading as a humanitarian gesture, a bitter irony that few seem eager to halt, least of all the Biden administration.

History teaches us that we all carry within us the potential to become willing executioners with just a nudge. The line between victim and victimiser is perilously thin, and the darkest aspects of humanity – racial supremacy, vengeance, and hatred – recognise no boundaries.

The cries that rise from the rubble in Gaza resonate with those from other dark chapters: the Bosnian Serb atrocities at Srebrenica, the Khmer Rouge’s reign of terror in Cambodia, the Rwandan genocide, and the horrors of the Holocaust. These echoes serve as a haunting reminder that the spectre of evil is never far away.

Prominent voices like Raul Hilberg, Primo Levi, and Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn warned us about the depths of human darkness. Yet, in the face of these bitter truths, we often choose to believe in myths – myths of our own kind’s inherent superiority, our own race’s virtue, or our own nation’s righteousness.

Primo Levi himself decried the oversimplified, uplifting narrative that connects the Holocaust to the creation of Israel. He urged us to remember Chaim Rumkowski, a collaborator who betrayed his own people for privilege and power, only to meet a grim fate at Auschwitz. Levi’s words resonate deeply: “We are all mirrored in Rumkowski,” for our society, too, can become entranced by power and prestige.

Levi delved into the “grey zone” between corruption and collaboration, and it’s a space where we all reside. We all possess the capacity to be lured into the machinery of death for petty reasons and meagre rewards. This is the chilling truth of the Holocaust, a lesson we dare not ignore.

So, as we witness a resurgence of courses on the Holocaust, let us not forget their fundamental lesson: the culpability that arises when we have the power to halt genocide but choose not to act. Let us also tread cautiously in the realm of “humanitarian interventionists” who invoke the “responsibility to protect” but conveniently turn a blind eye when it doesn’t align with their interests.

In this twisted moral universe, those opposing genocide are accused of advocating it, while those committing it are portrayed as defending themselves. It’s a world where bombings and violence are painted as pathways to peace, and the suffering of countless innocents is swept conveniently under the rug.

We find ourselves at the precipice of a new world where old rules hold no sway. Advanced systems now execute mass killings in plain sight, sending an ominous message to the Global South: the powerful will kill without restraint.

One day, we may all find ourselves in the shoes of the Palestinians, victims of a global order that prioritises power over morality. As Christopher R. Browning once stated, “In such a world, modern governments wishing to commit mass murder will seldom fail in their efforts, for they have the power to induce ‘ordinary men’ to become their ‘willing executioners.’”

Evil takes on new forms and expressions, and the lessons of history are painfully clear. Germany, after orchestrating the Holocaust, shifted its prejudice to Muslims, all while rehabilitating former Nazis and emerging as one of Israel’s top arms suppliers.

The campaign against anti-Semitism, often utilised to stifle criticism of Israel, is a subtle play for maintaining power. It’s a narrative where Europe seeks redemption through the creation of Israel, a convenient distraction that sidesteps the rights of Palestinians.

The Holocaust, weaponised for political gain, serves as a stark reminder that failure to remember its lessons condemns us to revisit the darkest chapters of history. Let us not become the very evil we abhor, for in the shadows of history, we must confront our own potential for inhumanity.

As we grapple with the haunting echoes of Gaza, it is imperative to recognise that this is not an isolated tragedy but part of a broader pattern in human history. Throughout the annals of time, genocides have scarred our collective conscience, leaving indelible marks on the pages of history.

In 2009, Sri Lanka bore witness to a horrifying chapter, where tens of thousands of Tamil civilians lost their lives in the final stages of a brutal civil war. The international community’s response was muted, revealing a disturbing trend of selective empathy.

Rwanda, in 1994, stands as a stark reminder of humanity’s darkest moments. The genocide that unfolded in that tiny African nation claimed the lives of nearly a million people in just a matter of months. The world looked on, mostly paralysed by inaction.

In Myanmar, the Rohingya crisis has been an unending tale of persecution and violence against an ethnic minority. Thousands have perished, and many more have been displaced from their homes. The international response remains fragmented and insufficient.

What sets the current age apart from previous eras of genocidal horrors is the democratisation of information. We are now armed with tools. – December 31, 2023.

* Abbi Kanthasamy reads The Malaysian insight.