Today it seems that everywhere I look I see acts of violence
fuelled by a rhetoric of hate, and I think that something must be said about
that.
This blog usually concerns itself with academic tidbits, or
the interaction between popular culture and aspects of my doctoral thesis, but
all of my academic endeavours have focused on the question of how a society creates
an internal other and then viciously, and – often murderously – seeks to
oppress, control and eradicate that other. So this is an opinion piece, not my usual mini essay.
But why should you listen to my opinion on violence and hate speech? Well, I have so far completed theses on the origins of Apartheid
and the failure to prevent genocide in Rwanda, and I am now completing my
doctorate on the largest single witch-hunt in early modern England. If researching
and writing my Honours, Master’s and Doctorate taught me anything, it is how
little empathy most of people feel for those whose are in need. This is especially
true if we believe that providing for them might impinge on our own
opportunities or entitlements.
There is a long history in our society of marginalising,
blaming and punishing those who we perceive to be a burden on our society. Of
course it is little comfort to those who are caught up in the latest crisis of
empathy to realise that this is an ongoing problem (victim-blaming, for
example). And hate-speech and demagoguery exploits our fears and latent dislike f that which is different, painting it as a terrible, imminent threat to us as individuals, and our society as a whole.
There is a well-known theory of English witch prosecutions
that argues that a significant proportion of witch trials had their origin in
the denial of charity, usually by young women to elderly impoverished widows.
Although it is drawn from an incomplete body of evidence, there has also been
some suggestion that rising inflation leads to rising numbers of witch trials. That our intolerance rises with our sense of insecurity
shouldn’t be surprising. My doctoral thesis for example examines the largest
sustained episode of witch-hunting in early modern England, which just happened
to coincide with a civil war that severely strained the country’s social and religious
cohesion and severely depleted its finances.
In fact the conditions prevalent during early modern European
witch hunts are very similar to Genocide Watch’s stages of genocide: witches
were classified as servants of the Devil; there was a physical description of
the ‘old witch’ that would have been widely known; they were dehumanised as
murderesses and adulteresses, who delighted in infanticide and cannibalism; in
many places organised hunts were orchestrated, though in other places they were
informal; lists of witches are made and updated with new names, especially
during large chain reaction hunts where accused witches were tortured until
they named those they knew to be witches; and then comes the hanging or burning
of the accused witches (with denial replaced with more blame, either for the
witch, or, occasionally, the accusers).
In order to ignore the plight of those in desperate need
we often blame them for the situation they are in, and comfort ourselves that
‘we’ are not like ‘them’, and so we can avoid their fate. At the heart of that comfort is a fear, a fear that fuels dangerous and violent rhetoric aimed at those we fear in order to earn our votes.
As I listen to the news each night, which so often chooses
to paint the world in simplistic narratives (us and them, good and evil, right
and wrong), I often think we have not come very far at all from the society the produced the witch
trials of the seventeenth-century. Then too a language of fear and atmosphere and suspicion fuelled acts of violence against innocent people.
How different are we from those villagers who helped
magistrates and witchfinders tie old women to chairs, or tie their thumbs to
the opposing ankle before lowering them into streams or dams to ‘swim’ them?
How many of us could be certain we wouldn’t have helped? How can we know if
that same hatred might not turn on us?
This week a man in Orlando, America murdered 49 people he
presumed to be homosexual, a teenager was arrested in Sydney, Australia on
terrorism charges, and yesterday a man shot a British politician. I wish I
could think these events occurred in isolation, but they don’t. They are fuelled
by intolerance, and a rhetoric of hate working upon disturbed minds. No one thinks all Norwegians or all right-wing Norwegians are violent killers because of Anders Breivik, why should we think it of any other race, creed or political idea that produces other perpetrators of violence?
“Sticks and
stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”
Some say that words are just words, and rhetoric won’t do
any harm. But it does, it is the first step in a slippery slope, and letting it
slide by because it isn’t aimed at us is the worst kind of cowardice. I am
reminded of the famous words of Martin Niemöller:
“Als die Nazis die
Kommunisten holten, When
the Nazis came for the communists,habe ich geschwiegen; I remained silent;
ich war ja kein Kommunist. I was not a communist.
Als sie die Sozialdemokraten einsperrten, When they locked up the social democrats,
habe ich geschwiegen; I remained silent;
ich war ja kein Sozialdemokrat. I was not a social democrat.
Als sie die Gewerkschafter holten, When they came for the trade unionists,
habe ich nicht protestiert; I did not speak out;
ich war ja kein Gewerkschafter. I was not a trade unionist.
Als sie die Juden holten, When they came for the Jews,
habe ich geschwiegen; I remained silent;
ich war ja kein Jude. I wasn't a Jew.
Als sie mich holten, When they came for me,
gab es keinen mehr, der protestieren konnte.” there was no one left to speak out.
I don’t believe history should be treated as a guide to the present and future, but it does show us what happens when we let the language of hate become an accepted part of our civil discourse. It gives rise to violence, which in turn creates more hate and fear, which become more acts of violence. We must stop legitimising the rhetoric of hate it must stop being the best drawcard for
the media’s attention, and politicians who use it should be shunned by their
own parties.
I recently posted on Facebook Beatrice Evelyn Hall’s oft quoted
distillation of Voltaire’s views on free speech: “I disapprove of what you say,
but I will defend to the death your right to say it.” And I hold to that where
difference of opinion is the crux of the issue, but there is something beyond
disagreement. The use of violent speech “they are coming to kill your children
and rape your daughters”, “kill the cockroaches”, “it’s us or them” is often
appealing to those who want to grab the attention of the news media. The media
is drawn to those whose speech is vicious, is violent, and to which many people
experience a visceral reaction – the ultimate form of clickbait.
When those in positions of power begin to denigrate one
group of human beings for political advantage we should all be wary. When they wish
to lock up those who have committed no crime, we should be concerned. When we
are told our society will suffer if we allow in those who are different from
ourselves (Afrikaner Nationalists worried about gelijkstelling), we should be worried.
We know that in the past millions of innocent people have
paid in blood when the majority of those around them were content to allow
others to be sacrificed because it was not in their personal interest to
intervene. If we are not wary, if we do not voice our concern and do nothing,
then like Martin Niemöller, we may eventually find ourselves on one of those
lists of undesirables, and who will be left to speak for us?