History leaves an imprint on us that future generations can sense but not fully understand. That is how it was for me in the interactions I had with my grandfather. He was gruff and grumpy and often spoke with a sharp voice. He shuffled after us, yelling as we played, and it always seemed to me that maybe he didn't like me that much. I can still smell his cologne—Old Spice—and feel his rough whiskers as I hugged him before we left to go home. He was a veteran who served during World War II. Later, I would learn that he was wounded on D-Day and was sent to London to recover. He continued to serve and was wounded again—when or where, I don’t know. He carried the scars of that war and pieces of shrapnel in his hip until the day he died. He was not the only veteran in my family; on my mother's side my grandfather served in the Navy, my grandmother the Army.
I wish there were a diary or writings from my grandparents to help me understand how they felt during those dark times. If such a record exists, I don’t know about it.
So, I am left to conjecture. I have watched movies about the war, and I have read books about those who resisted the prevailing sentiments of those times—sentiments that many people were swept up in. I have gathered that there were good people who turned a blind eye for many reasons. They were afraid to stand out, afraid to speak up. There were also some who had been blinded by hatred, who believed the propaganda, and who, having suffered economic hardship before the war, wanted a scapegoat for their suffering.
Hitler had a magnetic personality; people were drawn to him. They believed what he had to say and modified their beliefs and actions to fit the moment. The images of vast crowds all saluting that man are seared into my mind as an enigma—unbelievable—that to them, Hitler was their savior.
That brings us to the modern day, where a propaganda machine has been at work for many years, radicalizing our citizens—making them angry and afraid. The seeds of fear and hatred have been sown to drive ratings, engage an electorate, and make money for elites who have benefited from it all.
After the war was over, our countrymen and women said, "Never Again." The reality of the death camps and the loss of life was so great that it threw the past into stark relief. It was clear what had happened—though some would deny it. So, the motto was "Never Again." But mottos lose their power when they are not maintained by diligence against the forces that came into play during those times. For too long, people have justified their anger and hatred by cloaking them in terms of religion or political expediency.
Those of us who have stood outside the ecosphere of media influence have watched the rise of radical fear and hatred with dismay. We've tried to counter it with facts and emotion. However, to someone who has built a belief system over many years—a system that holds disdain for certain facts, emotions, and groups—these tactics don’t work.
So, we now take up the refrain of "Never Again." Though many Americans see this as radicalization and dissent, we know that we are carrying the banner of our ancestors. We cannot set it down, no matter the cost.
