I WAS born in 1960 – just 15 years after the end of the Second World War. The world was still recovering, and the memory of that epic conflict shaped my understanding of justice, humanity and history. The word “holocaust” comes from the Greek “holokauston”, meaning “a completely burnt offering”. It refers specifically to the genocide of Jews by Nazi Germany – an atrocity almost beyond comprehension.
The term “genocide” was coined in 1944 by Raphael Lemkin, a Polish-Jewish lawyer, in response to the atrocities committed by Nazi Germany during the Second World War – particularly the systematic extermination of Jews and other targeted groups. Lemkin introduced the term in his book Axis Rule in Occupied Europe to describe the deliberate destruction of national, ethnic, racial, or religious groups.
Since 1945 there have been around 50 genocides globally, which demonstrates the lack of evolution of the human race in my lifetime.
Here are some of the most widely acknowledged genocides which are happening today:
- Sudan (Darfur, 2003–present): approximately 250,000+ killed.lMyanmar (Rohingya, 2016–present): approximately 25,000–43,000 killed.
- China (Uyghurs, ongoing) – mass detentions and forced sterilisations.
- Ukraine (2022–present) – mass killings and deportations, recognised by several parliaments as genocide.
- Gaza (2023–present) – over 40,000 killed, debated as genocide by some UN bodies and scholars.
On 16 September this year a BBC news story appeared on my phone. The headline was “Israel has committed genocide in Gaza, UN commission of inquiry says”.
My instinct was to share it – to raise awareness, to speak out. I was taught that silence enables injustice. Philosopher Edmund Burke’s words echo: “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”
This quote underscores how silence and inaction in the face of injustice can enable harm to continue unchecked. Another poignant quote is attributed to Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel: “We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.”
The indiscriminate killing of innocent women and children is abhorrent, and we should all speak out when we see injustice.
However, I found myself preferring silence, a good man doing nothing, as I did not want to upset my Jewish friends who had absolutely nothing to do with the policies of the Far Right Israeli Government. Furthermore, I was a little hesitant as the Jersey and UK governments are clamping down on those who fail to hold the official view. In my opinion you need questionable ethics to work within a system where compassion can be criminalised, one that arrests and convicts an individual because they have too much compassion. It’s a good job I’m not a policeman, jurat, or judge in Jersey.
But where does that leave me? Am I a man who would be happy to watch innocent people being shot and say nothing because I don’t want to upset my friends? Am I just the same as the majority willing to turn a blind eye?
On 29 January 2024, in the war-torn streets of Gaza City, six-year-old Hind Rajab was fleeing with her family in a black Kia, desperate to escape the violence. As they tried to outrun Israeli tanks, their car was struck. Her uncle, aunt, and three cousins were killed instantly. Hind and her 15-year-old cousin Layan survived the initial attack and managed to call the Palestinian Red Crescent Society for help.
Layan’s voice trembled as she cried: “They are shooting at us. The tank is right next to me.” Moments later, she was killed – her screams silenced by gunfire still echoing through the phone line. Hind, now alone among the bodies of her loved ones, stayed on the line for three agonising hours, whispering through tears, “I’m so scared. Please come. Come take me. Please, will you come?” Her voice – small, frightened and pleading – became a cry heard around the world.
Despite co-ordination with Israeli forces, the ambulance sent to rescue her was also attacked. It was later found destroyed just metres from the car, its two paramedics killed. Investigations revealed that 335 bullets had been fired into the vehicle, and evidence showed that the tank operators could clearly see civilians – including a child – inside. Twelve days later, after Israeli forces withdrew, Hind’s body was found. She had died alone, wounded and terrified, waiting for help that never came.
Hind’s story has since resonated globally. Her final call was turned into a film, The Voice of Hind Rajab, which received a 23-minute standing ovation at the Venice Film Festival. The film preserves her voice – a voice that pleaded for life, for compassion, for humanity.
Hind was not a soldier. She was not a threat. She was a child – with dreams, laughter and a family who loved her. Her story is not just about war. It is about the fragility of life, the failure of humanity and the urgent need for compassion.
And as for me, on 16 September 2025, I didn’t repost that story about genocide in Gaza. I chose silence because I was afraid, because I didn’t want to offend, because I didn’t want trouble. Eighty years after the Holocaust we still struggle to speak out; we still hesitate. In doing so, we risk becoming complicit – not just in silence, but in the slow erosion of our own humanity. When we choose comfort over conscience, we do not merely fail the victims; we fail ourselves.
Ben Shenton is a senior investment director. He is a former politician, Senator, who held positions such as minister, chair of Public Accounts Committee, and chair of Scrutiny. He also assists a number of local charities on an honorary basis.
