Genocide, Massacres, Ethnic Cleansing... Oh My!

Imagine a country where tens of thousands of people simply disappear. Where thousands of men, women and children are arrested, usually in the dead of night, by the government’s secret police and never seen or heard from again. The lucky ones will be killed immediately, shot in the head like animals and buried in mass graves. The rest will be thrown into overcrowded prisons, where they will endure torture and humiliation before meeting their inevitable end before a firing squad. Imagine that 50,000 people per month “disappear” in this way.

I ask you, friends and comrades, the question that seems to be so vital:  Is this a genocide?

I am beginning to hate the word ‘genocide.’ I understand that ‘genocide’ – laden with emotional, political, legal and personal significance as it is – is a meaningful term, even deeply so. I understand, for example, that Turkey has a political interest in ensuring that the Armenian ‘incident’ remains merely ‘ethnic cleansing’ or ‘mass murder.’ (As much as I disagree with their refusal to take responsibility.) I recognize too that the word ‘genocide’ is extremely meaningful to the victims of historical atrocities; using the word ‘genocide’ unequivocally condemns the perpetrators responsible for their suffering.

What I do not understand is why historians feel the need to define, redefine, re-redefine and argue over their definitions of ‘genocide.’

I believe that in frantically attempting to define ‘genocide,’ historians have missed the forest for the trees. Perhaps it is time to step back and reconsider:  What is the purpose behind the study of genocide? While historians may disagree over whether the Great Terror was a ‘genocide,’ I doubt they would disagree on this fact:  Stalin’s crimes against his own people were a reprehensible, despicable atrocity and hopefully, history will never see them repeated. Personally, I believe the purpose of studying history is to use the lessons of the past to better understand the past, present, and future. Arguing about the definition of genocide does not serve this purpose. In fact, cynical as I am, I would argue that it serves no purpose other than to create a pointless hierarchy, ranking atrocities from ‘most atrocious’ to ‘least atrocious.’ The scholars certainly seem devoted to this inane practice, arguing that their ‘favorite’ genocide is “uniquely unique” and that other ‘inferior’ atrocities are merely ‘ethnic cleansing’ or ‘massacres’ that simply cannot compare. Really though, who cares? If our failure to engage in a meaningful historical discussion means something like the Great Terror happens again, will we look out onto the millions dead and be comforted knowing that it’s just another ‘massacre’? Thank God it wasn’t an actual ‘genocide’! Now that would be something to worry about!

‘Genocide’ is a powerful word and, as such, it will always be meaningful to some. For the United Nations, the definition of ‘genocide’ will determine who can be prosecuted for atrocious crimes. For countries such as Turkey, the definition will determine whether past mistakes must be acknowledged, or can be denied. And for the victims of historical atrocities, perhaps most significantly of all, attaching the word ‘genocide’ to their ordeal may have deep personal and emotional significance. As we have seen in survivor testimony, some believe that having their ordeal recognized as a ‘genocide’ is the only way to end the suffering and begin to heal. But as historians, I think our primary emphasis should not be on the ‘what’ but on the ‘why’ and the ‘how.’ Rather than asking, “what is genocide?” we should be asking:  Why is it that, in numerous instances, an entire nation seemed to believe it was justified to slaughter millions of people based on nothing but religion or skin color or being a ‘kulak’?  How did things get so bad that genocide – or massacre, ethnic cleansing, or what have you – was the solution?

Argue about what genocide is all you want, but this is the truth:  Whatever you call them, violent atrocities have occurred throughout history and across the world, suggesting that genocide – or whatever it is – is really not so unique after all. Maybe it’s time, then, to let go of our desire to hold up certain events as uniquely atrocious and “uniquely unique.” If we leave our biases and personal emotions behind, it becomes evident that these atrocities are unlikely to fit within any neat, logical definition we could ever think up. History’s great evildoers showed little concern for our petty definitions. Their violence was messy and illogical, rarely remaining confined to the clear-cut groups we insist upon, or perpetrated with the explicit intent or level of success we require. When it came to identifying a problem, you could say that Hitler and Stalin and the rest ‘knew it when they saw it.’ I think it’s safe to say that we too are capable of such insight. Our respective definitions of ‘genocide’ aside, when it comes to identifying violent, deadly historical atrocities that we would prefer not to repeat, we’re probably in agreement. Ultimately, we too ‘know it when we see it.’