On Being Human by Osman Latiff

Alfred Rosenberg was an important character in the formation of Nazi ideology and within the Nazi leadership. Though he was not so politically relevant, it was his seminal work, Der Mythus des 20. Jahrhunderts (The Myth of the 20th Century), which came to present a thorough and far-ranging strategy of dehumanisation for which he earned his disrepute. At the root of the worldview of National Socialism is a historical vision of a new world, a worldview that positioned human self-understanding as characterised by race and struggle for ethnic domination. The book describes:

“Present and past are suddenly appearing in a new light, and as a result we have a new misson for the future. The actions of history and the future no longer signify class struggle or warfare between Church dogmas, but rather the conflict between blood and blood, race and race, people and people. And this means combat between spiritual values.”64

Rosenberg’s work formed an image of the Jewish person as a “parasite”, defining them as an ‘anti-race’ who were not fully human and could not be part of a German or even global social identity. Jews were furthermore devoid, he argued, of a metaphysical and cultural dimension and could not be prescribed to a human race, rendering them instead animal-like. Jews were henceforth often compared to rats in Nazi propaganda - including art pieces, posters, speeches and films. The same kinds of animalistic imagery were prevalent in Rwanda when Tutsis were called “cockroaches” and so too were black slaves in the Americas, viewed as subhuman animals. Interestingly, in all the aforementioned instances, we observe a pattern of referencing animals that are mostly feared, such as snakes, rats and lizards. It was this Othering, such a castigating of others as disposable and less-than-human entities that both made possible and accelerated the development of genocidal tendencies. The untermenschen for the Nazis was not a description to describe those who were like subhuman entities, but to describe those who were subhuman. Principal prosecutor Telford Taylor of the 1946

Nuremburg doctors’ trial opened with this statement:

“The defendants in this case are charged with murders, tortures and other atrocities committed in the name of medical science. The victims of these crimes are numbered in the hundreds of thousands. A handful only are still alive; a few of the survivors will appear in this courtroom. But most of these miserable victims were slaughtered outright or died in the course of the tortures to which they were subjected ... To their murderers, these wretched people were not individuals at all. They came in wholesale lots and were treated worse than animals.”65

The last two sentences strike at the horrific policy of Nazi dehumanisation of Jews in the Holocaust. Such a sophisticated program of extermination cannot however be adequately explained in a few words or with reference to a single architect. It is a changed thinking on an industrial scale that sets the agenda for action, and the thinking of humans as less than human that paved the way for the unspeakable atrocities that Taylor described. Once the Jews and Gypsies became, in the public mind, the untermenschen, and thus excluded from the normal system of moral rights that bind humans together. People had been conditioned to think that Jews and Gypsies were no longer human but infected rats whose disposal was a social necessity.

In light of the above, it is very important for the Muslim to have a good historical understanding of the peoples with who he or she engages. Knowing of events that have immense socio-historical importance for people can open avenues for empathy and better understanding. Our historical contexts have an obvious bearing on our attitudes towards the world and towards others; they form part of our characters and personalities. Understanding the pain that others have endured can better facilitate perspective taking and harness appreciation. Much was learnt from the Nuremburg Trials about the psychology of Othering and dehumanising of the Holocaust victims, as well as the psychology of the perpetrators. The gross abuse of power is reflected in the testimonies of Nazi perpetrators who had insisted on a policy of debasing Jews as a matter of social policy. Their degrading was a fundamental component of eliciting what began as intolerance and abuse into a widespread othering, culminating in their mass murder.

In the trials, Gitta Sereny asked Stangl, “if they were going to kill them anyway, what was the point of all the humiliation, why the cruelty?” Stangl replied, “To condition those who actually had to carry out the policies. To make it possible for them to do what they did.”66

What the Nazi guards revealed was that the human identity of their victims needed to be effaced. They needed to become ‘unhuman’, ‘animal-like’ and their behaviour needed to fit the caricature they had promulgated in their social environment – in the media, in schools and among the lay population. What the policy further reveals is the natural, innate abhorrence to murder. It was not so easy to commit murder on such an industrial scale and so the mind had to be programmed, conditioned to believe that the barrel points only at a rodent, a pest and not at an equal human being.

It is essential for the Muslim to be aware of the broader contexts of human history, to know when and where to be sensitive and how to understand a specific context in light of its broader resonances. It is quite easy, in any relational context, including one between Muslims, to sometimes go beyond what is required and to overstep the boundaries of what is decent and acceptable. In our failing to make distinctions between people, we can run the risk of caricaturing them completely and in very general terms to the point where we see others as inherently and permanently Othered despite belonging to the same faith. With such a frame of mind, engaging with others is problematised since we fall into the same problem that others have of Muslims - of seeing others as they have been indoctrinated and conditioned to see us.

The story of the two sons of Adam is revealing not only for what it describes of the impulse that might drive a person to murder, but also about what that murderer can feel, what the conscience speaks as the crime is committed. Milgram’s study and work Obedience to Authority provides us with a good understanding of the relationship between committing acts of evil and of obedience, as well as the relationship between the committing of acts of cruelty and of indifference. One of the participants in Milgram’s obedience studies recalled: “It’s funny how you really begin to forget that there’s a guy out there, even though you can hear him. For a long time, I just concentrated on pressing the switches and reading the words.”67

The cognitive field between the perpetrator and his victim is narrowed and so feelings of detachment and indifference enable the act to appear less heinous and more acceptable.

Contrastingly, when there is proximity between victim and perpetrator the latter is more conscious of human codes of recognisability – pain, blood, unease, and feelings of fear. He can see and observe his victim and in him he can begin to relate to some of himself – the breeding ground of empathy. This is echoed by Colonel Barry Bridges in the following statement:

“I would draw one distinction between being a combat aviator and being someone who is fighting the enemy face-to-face on the ground. In the air environment, it’s very clinical, very clean, and it’s not so personalized. You see an aircraft; you see a target on the ground – you’re not eyeball to eyeball with the sweat and the emotions of combat, and so it doesn’t become so emotional for you and so personalised. And I think it is easier to do in that sense – you’re not affected.”68 (Colonel Barry Bridges of the U.S. Air Force)

In relation to what a perpetrator might feel when such crimes are committed from proximity and the bearing this has on a human conscience, Christopher Browning explores in his very revealing study about what changed in the ordinary Germans who made the Holocaust happen, Ordinary Men: Reserve Police Battalion 101 and the Final Solution in Poland (London, 1992). What changed in the hearts of tens of thousands of ordinary soldiers and policemen, businessmen, truck drivers, writers and teachers, only a minority of who were members of the Nazi party? These people who rounded up and methodically executed millions of Jews? Browning describes the rounding up of 1,800 Jews in the village of Józefów, east-central Poland. In the operation, Jews of working age were to be sent to a camp in Lublin whilst the women, children and elderly were to be shot on the spot. Many refused the order that day. Lieutenant Heinz Buchmann was one of them. He had joined the Nazis in 1937 and by 1942 was commander of the First Platoon of First Company. When hearing of the impending massacre of civilians, Buchmann protested that he “would in no case participate in such an action, in which defenceless women and children are shot.”69

Some ten to twelve other men also turned in their rifles, a dozen men out of 500. The orders that day were to shoot those too frail to walk to the marketplace and anyone trying to hide, though in many cases men shied from shooting infants during the operation. Alert to the ghastliness of the scene and emotional guilt, one policeman said that “…among the Jews shot in our section of town there were no infants or small children. I would like to say that almost tacitly everyone refrained from shooting infants and small children.” Another policeman likewise noted that “…tacitly the shooting of infants and small children was avoided by almost all the men involved. During the entire morning I was able to observe that when being taken away many women carried infants in their arms and led small children by the hand.”70

One policeman confessed to finding that none of the victims – women, elderly, sick, infants, would return home alive that day. The men did not intervene. Some however regretted not having refused earlier, describing the killings as “repugnant.”71 Some pleaded they too were fathers with children and were unable to continue. There were others still who sought evasion on that day. Non-commissioned officers armed with submachine guns were known to have “shot past” their victims.72 During the operation, other men hid in a Catholic priest’s garden, others hung around a marketplace, because of their reluctance to round up Jews; others delayed their participation by spending additional time in the searching of houses so they could avoid the marketplaces in which they would participate in the firing squads. A driver assigned to take Jews to the forest made only one trip before he asked to be relieved. Many men complained that day that they could not shoot at women and children, and consequently many were relieved from the operation. One soldier, Walter Niehaus was instructed to shoot an elderly woman and was unable to continue after her murder, “my nerves were totally finished from this one shooting.” Others decried, “I had become so sick that I simply couldn’t anymore”; “the entire business was now so repugnant to me that I returned to my platoon leader and told him that I was sick and asked for my release.”73

One of the most evocative accounts cited by Browning describes Franz Kastenbaum who confessed later to his damning participation with Reserve Police Batallion 101:

“The shooting of the men was so repugnant to me that I missed the fourth man. It was simply no longer possible for me to aim accurately. I suddenly felt nauseous and ran away from the shooting site. I have expressed myself incorrectly just now. It was not that I could no longer aim accurately, rather that the fourth time I intentionally missed. I then ran into the woods, vomited, and sat down against a tree. To make sure that no one was nearby, I called loudly into the woods, because I wanted to be alone. Today I can say that my nerves were totally finished. I think that I remained alone in the woods for some two or three hours.”74