You saw the photo, didn’t you? The one of the kid buried in dust, clutching someone who might’ve been their mother five minutes before the building came down. Or maybe it was the video, the one with the man shouting for help with both arms gone. You saw it. You probably lingered for a second. Felt something. Maybe even shared it. And then? You kept scrolling. Maybe you told yourself you cared. Maybe you whispered that it’s complicated. That you’d do something if it were really that bad.

Here’s the thing. It is that bad. And if you’re silent now, you wouldn’t have said a word back then either.

There’s this tidy lie we tell ourselves about the Holocaust. That people didn’t know. That they were fooled. That the truth was hidden away.

Except it wasn’t. The stories were there. Refugees begged for entry. Survivors escaped and testified. Reports showed up in papers. But people didn’t want to believe it. Or more honestly, they didn’t want to be bothered by it.

The SS St. Louis, carrying nearly a thousand Jews fleeing Nazi Germany, was turned away by Cuba, the United States, and Canada. The passengers were sent back to Europe. Over a quarter of them died in the camps. Nobody can claim ignorance. The world just didn’t care enough.

Right Now: The Burn Is Livestreamed

It’s different this time. It’s worse, in a way. Because we do know. We don’t just get the stories secondhand. We get them instantly. We get the videos, the screams, the funerals, the before-and-after drone shots.

Gaza is being erased. Neighborhood by neighborhood. People are being starved, bombed, displaced. The death tolls rise by the hour. And still, most of the world shrugs.

Israeli officials are openly planning the permanent displacement of Palestinians. Pushing them further south, then further out. Making Gaza unlivable and calling that security. These aren’t whispers. These are policy blueprints.

And somehow, people still manage to mumble, “It’s too complicated.”

Then it was: we didn’t know. Now it’s: we don’t want to take sides.

Then it was: it’s Europe’s problem. Now: it’s not our business.

Then: we need more information. Now: I don’t want to say the wrong thing.

Always the same melody. Different lyrics, same cowardice. What you’re really saying is: don’t make me uncomfortable. Don’t ask me to risk anything. Let me grieve safely. Quietly. From a distance.

Tell me something: how many of you turned your profile blue and yellow for Ukraine? How many posted black squares for Black Lives Matter? How many of you, right now, are silent about Gaza?

Performative Grief and Coward Culture

You cry at Holocaust films. You visit the memorials on vacation. You nod solemnly at school assemblies when they say “Never Again.” But when the fire spreads again—different uniforms, same horror—you look away.

Governments that swear loyalty to human rights arm the very people dropping bombs on hospitals. Celebrities who cry about world peace are silent the minute it might cost them a contract. Journalists avoid the word genocide to keep their jobs. And the average person? They just say nothing. Because they can.

You think if you’d lived in 1942, you’d have hidden someone. That you’d have spoken out. But if you’re quiet now, with all the evidence, all the footage, all the noise screaming in your face—you wouldn’t have then either. Don’t flatter yourself.

Real Courage Is Rare, Still

Some people are speaking up. They’re protesting in the streets. They’re losing their jobs. They’re getting arrested. They’re banned from campuses and fired from papers. Aid workers are dying in Gaza trying to help. Journalists are risking their lives to document this.

That’s what resistance looks like. Not an Instagram story. Not a thinkpiece that says both sides are sad. Real resistance costs something.

And the rest of us? We’re showing exactly what we would’ve done in 1939. Nothing.

You Don’t Get to Say Never Again

If you’re still trying to stay neutral, stay comfortable, stay liked, here’s what you do get to say:

Say: I saw the footage. I felt bad. I did nothing.
Say: I didn’t want to upset anyone.
Say: I was afraid of losing followers, or friends, or gigs.

But don’t say Never Again. You’ve already let it happen again. You’re watching it happen.

And the next time you stand in front of a Holocaust memorial, trying to feel righteous, remember this moment. Remember that you knew. And you chose comfort.

You wouldn’t have said a word then. You’re not saying one now.