Beyond Compare
Jo Glanville
Since Gary Lineker compared the way the British government talks about asylum seekers to the antisemitic language of the Nazis in the 1930s, guardians of Holocaust history have been lining up to criticise anyone who dares to make such comparisons. Last Sunday, the actor Tracy-Ann Oberman asked people to ‘stop using … false comparables’.
Karen Pollock, the head of the Holocaust Educational Trust, wrote in the Times earlier this month that ‘comparing … current concerns with the unimaginable horrors of the Nazi period is wrong.’ When the journalist Rachel Shabi disagreed with Pollock, she was called an ‘asshole’ by the Twitter account of the Board of Deputies of British Jews. They apologised the next day for the ‘inappropriate language’ in a ‘tweet issued in error’.
But why can’t we make comparisons? Like Tracy-Ann Oberman, or the people in whose name she’s speaking, I have family who were murdered in the Holocaust, though I don’t think it’s necessary to be connected with the history to speak up in this argument.
The view seems to be, first, that any comparison diminishes the enormity of the Holocaust: the scale of the genocide, the means of the genocide and the nature of the Nazi regime that orchestrated it. Second, that any comparison exaggerates the contemporary evil with which the Holocaust is being compared. And, third, that it is careless to suggest that a democracy is acting like a fascist regime, much as it’s careless to call someone a fascist just because you disagree with them.
But hyperbole can be effective. The UK is not a fascist regime, but denying a group of people their human rights is both in breach of international law and morally indefensible. For the Nazis, denying Jews their civil rights was one of the first steps to expelling them from German society and eventually murdering them. If the Nazi comparison is shocking, then that’s useful – because this is a shocking policy and we need to be reminded of that.
What’s more, if we are never allowed to compare the Holocaust to other events or to place it in historical context then we cannot learn the lessons we’re supposed to learn. It will remain a singular event of horrifying proportions which we can never make sense of.
In Exterminate All the Brutes, Sven Lindqvist traced the origins of the Holocaust back to the crimes of European colonialism, the systematic dehumanisation and mass murder that took place in the Congo and elsewhere. The Holocaust is part of the history of dehumanisation, like slavery or other genocides, and I think we should be able to invoke it whenever we see any instance of people being treated as less than human, which includes the way the British government treats asylum seekers. There doesn’t have to be a direct equivalence: a shadow of similarity should be sufficient to chill the blood, and make us think about the path we’re on.
Comments
It is 'snowflake'.
On the other hand, Lineker, a household name and still an idol to many, was sure to make a splash by making a strident criticism of the government's cruelty. He didn't need to rely on a comparison to 1930s Germany and doing so was a mistake. The confected outrage of the Tory party ensured that most discussion in the following days was about Lineker and the BBC, and not about the government's extreme cruelty toward refugees. This was predictable.
This wasn't a case of Braverman being a snowflake, feigning offence allowed the Tories to shift focus away from their policies and onto those rotters at the BBC.
In theory, yes; but who wants to think nowadays? Don't you get the feeling that there's just no point anymore?
No one who talks politics on social media wants to discuss anything; if they did, they wouldn't be using platforms deliberately designed to make intelligent discussion impossible. They get you either way. If you don't engage in wild hyperbole, no one will even hear you; if you do, you will start a debate, not over the substance of what you said but over whether it's OK for you to say it.
You can't defeat bad arguments on social media; that's not what it's made for. All you can do is shout them down or moderate them out of existence, so that's what the discussion – such as it is – ends up being about.
As for influencing the wider public, well, quite rightly, they don't care about the opinions of people who do nothing except sit around having opinions about things. At best they will roll their eyes briefly at both sides, and move on.
None of which matters because the whole thing is just a device to enable people to kid themselves that they are participating in democratic debate, without the slightest risk of ever hearing anything that might change their minds.
The comparison would perhaps have been better to refer to the 1920s as by the 1930s the Nazi persecution was moving way beyond anything current. But that was what the 1920s led to.