The 20th century was unprecedented in the sense that it saw the worst forms of violence, in which more people have been killed by a combination of technology and politics, than in any other century of human existence. Leaving aside the two wars that are called “World Wars” in popular culture, there have been other conflicts arising out of decolonisation of Africa and Asia. Latin America, though formally free from its predominantly Spanish and Portuguese colonisers in the late 19th century, had to deal with its internal wars that were fuelled by American interests. However, other than the ghastly images of concentration camps for Jews and communists in Europe, during World War II, and the mass killings in Rwanda and Cambodia that occurred later in the century, memories of genocides are usually located in the communities that had to bear the brunt of the violence committed against them.
What makes genocides possible? Although it is true that dictatorial regimes are more likely to commit brutalities against people, scholars now believe that genocides form part of a repertoire of power exercised by dictatorial regimes. Along with a budget (that can appease sections of the elite), loyalty of part of the population, one also sees the use of a repressive apparatus to control dissent, contributing to the perpetration of genocides in the 20th century. Those studying the events that led to the killing of Tutsis in Rwanda point to the role of different kinds of developmental regimes that contributed to the polarisation of relations between the two major communities in the country. In a different context, scholars who have studied similar events in Cambodia, attribute genocide to a host of related issues that include, to a large extent, traditional Khmer notions of “disproportionate revenge”. This, when added to internecine conflicts between leaders and cadre of the Khmer Rouge, led to unprecedented deaths in the years that the regime was in power.
Most explanations of genocide risk oversimplification. There is a deep and complicated relationship between genocide and modernity, which in turn is bound together by ideas of progress, reification of group differences, growth of capitalist pursuit of profit, rise of nationalism, centralisation of power and the development of technologies of mass murder. In all instances of such violence, one sees the repeated use of images and policies that dehumanise the “other” within a given polity. Before any act of genocide occurs, one usually sees the slow (or rapid) transformation of the victims into caricatures, as well as the construction of an ethno-historical past where the host nation are threatened by outsiders. All of this does not bode well for those of us who have moved into the 21st century with our baggage of slaughter and violence. A decade into our new era, governments in Asia continue to dehumanise other collectives, especially national minorities, in order to stay on in power. How else can one explain the recently concluded war against the Tamil people in Sri Lanka? All the processes alluded to above happened and yet, governments are unwilling to learn. As long as citizens continue to believe in the righteousness of assertions of dominant nations, either on racial, or historical grounds, we would not have learned from our past. We would give credence to Voltaire’s fear that: “If we believe in absurdities, we will commit atrocities”.
What makes genocides possible? Although it is true that dictatorial regimes are more likely to commit brutalities against people, scholars now believe that genocides form part of a repertoire of power exercised by dictatorial regimes. Along with a budget (that can appease sections of the elite), loyalty of part of the population, one also sees the use of a repressive apparatus to control dissent, contributing to the perpetration of genocides in the 20th century. Those studying the events that led to the killing of Tutsis in Rwanda point to the role of different kinds of developmental regimes that contributed to the polarisation of relations between the two major communities in the country. In a different context, scholars who have studied similar events in Cambodia, attribute genocide to a host of related issues that include, to a large extent, traditional Khmer notions of “disproportionate revenge”. This, when added to internecine conflicts between leaders and cadre of the Khmer Rouge, led to unprecedented deaths in the years that the regime was in power.
Most explanations of genocide risk oversimplification. There is a deep and complicated relationship between genocide and modernity, which in turn is bound together by ideas of progress, reification of group differences, growth of capitalist pursuit of profit, rise of nationalism, centralisation of power and the development of technologies of mass murder. In all instances of such violence, one sees the repeated use of images and policies that dehumanise the “other” within a given polity. Before any act of genocide occurs, one usually sees the slow (or rapid) transformation of the victims into caricatures, as well as the construction of an ethno-historical past where the host nation are threatened by outsiders. All of this does not bode well for those of us who have moved into the 21st century with our baggage of slaughter and violence. A decade into our new era, governments in Asia continue to dehumanise other collectives, especially national minorities, in order to stay on in power. How else can one explain the recently concluded war against the Tamil people in Sri Lanka? All the processes alluded to above happened and yet, governments are unwilling to learn. As long as citizens continue to believe in the righteousness of assertions of dominant nations, either on racial, or historical grounds, we would not have learned from our past. We would give credence to Voltaire’s fear that: “If we believe in absurdities, we will commit atrocities”.
Sanjay (Xonzoi) Barbora
xonzoi.barbora@gmail.com
