Does a genocide sound like the judgement in court,
the hammer come down, rustling paper and the jangle of keys;
now some of the guilty must pay for their crimes?
Or does it sound like the screams of the victims,
the bullets, the gas and the anguish of people discarded;
the last whisper of breath of the last one to die?
Is it more like the clattering of trains on their tracks,
the orders given, the bustle and then the final slam of the door
as the people inside murmur their unease?
Perhaps a genocide can be heard coming in the chorus of hate,
escaping the shadows on roads paved with silence,
as pens scratch on paper and plans come together?
Do you hear it echo in the voice of one who sees profit in division,
the denial that such things ever happened, or could happen here,
or in the silent heart of one who looks upon another, and says, I --
I am better.
Genocide is not a silent, hidden crime. This piece is a reflection on the way it unfolds over time, written following a circuit service for Holocaust Memorial Day. From the time a genocide is formally declared with criminal responsibility, it follows events backwards, drawing on the ten stages of genocide for some of the steps.