Gaza and the Ghost of Auschwitz

The town of Rafah in the Gaza Strip has become emblematic of a wider humanitarian and ethical crisis. Once a temporary refuge for over 1.1 million displaced Palestinians, it has been subjected to heavy aerial bombardment, forced evacuations and widespread destruction. According to the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA), over 390,000 people have been displaced from Rafah within two weeks as critical infrastructure—hospitals, schools, and water systems—faces systematic collapse. The scale of suffering in Gaza, particularly since October 2023, demands not only humanitarian intervention but also a reassessment of the global commitment to the foundational principles of human rights.

Against this backdrop, the acclaim surrounding The Brutalist, a 2024 film by Brady Corbet exploring the life of a Hungarian-Jewish Holocaust survivor, raises complex ethical questions. The film is cinematically powerful and emotionally resonant, following László Tóth as he reconstructs his life and identity in post-war America through brutalist architecture, a style symbolising resilience through raw, unadorned structures. It captures the psychological toll of historical trauma and the search for belonging. However, its reception in the current global climate highlights a troubling dissonance: the cultural and political apparatus that honors Jewish historical suffering often remains indifferent to the large-scale suffering of Palestinians today.

This tension is not about equating or diminishing distinct historical tragedies. The Holocaust remains one of history’s most systematically documented genocides, resulting in the deaths of over six million Jews and countless others. The global human rights architecture, including the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the Geneva Conventions, was shaped as a direct response to those atrocities. Yet, the moral imperative of "Never again" rings hollow when it is upheld selectively. The question is not whether to remember the past but whether the principles derived from it are applied consistently in contexts.

The situation in Gaza is not only a humanitarian emergency but also a legal and ethical failure. Multiple independent organisations, including Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch and UN bodies, have warned that actions by the Israeli military may constitute war crimes. Civilian infrastructure has been targeted, essential services blockaded and starvation has been employed as a method of warfare. Despite clear violations of international law, global accountability mechanisms remain largely ineffective. The disparity between the legal principles espoused after the Holocaust and their uneven application today undermines both international norms and the credibility of global institutions.

The cultural sphere contributes to this asymmetry. Films like The Brutalist evoke empathy and remembrance of historical injustice, yet they often avoid engaging with the ethical implications of inherited memory. When memory is preserved without introspection, it risks becoming a shield for impunity rather than a foundation for justice. While Jewish memory is rightly institutionalised and protected, the absence of cultural narratives that centre on Palestinian suffering reveals a hierarchy in which certain lives are grieved while others are rendered invisible.

Public discourse further complicates the pursuit of justice. Criticism of Israeli state policies is frequently conflated with antisemitism, stifling legitimate debate and silencing both Palestinian and critical Jewish voices. Many Jewish scholars, Holocaust survivors, and rabbis have spoken out against the occupation and violence in Gaza, invoking Jewish moral traditions that emphasise justice, compassion and the sanctity of life. These voices, however, are often marginalised, despite offering essential ethical clarity.

Meanwhile, the humanitarian toll continues to mount. Civilians—particularly children—bear the heaviest burden. According to numerous humanitarian agencies, tens of thousands have been killed or maimed. Medical systems are collapsing, and aid workers themselves have become casualties. In these conditions, the resilience of Gaza’s population is not only a response to violence but an assertion of dignity in the face of systemic dehumanisation.

Expressions of faith such as “Allah is sufficient for us, and He is the best disposer of affairs” echo through the ruins, not as a surrender but as an enduring claim to humanity. The Palestinian response to ongoing trauma is not simply political, it is deeply human. It reflects the universal yearning for safety, justice and recognition.

The Brutalist could have served as a bridge between past and present, encouraging audiences to reflect on how unresolved historical trauma can give rise to new forms of violence. Instead, it remains firmly anchored in the past, disconnected from contemporary injustices. This absence reflects a broader reluctance in global culture and policy to confront the uncomfortable reality that those who have suffered deeply can also be implicated in the suffering of others.

History will judge not only actions but silences. Gaza will be remembered not solely for its destruction but for the failure of those who could have intervened. To truly honor the legacy of Auschwitz is to uphold the dignity of all human beings equally. Justice, if it is to retain its moral force, must apply universally, or it loses its meaning altogether.

The struggle for Palestinian rights is not a contradiction of the human rights framework built after World War II; it is its most pressing test. If the global community fails to respond with consistency, it risks not only betraying Gaza but also undermining the very foundations of the international order it claims to protect.

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The writer is an Assistant Professor in the Department of Philosophy at IUBAT and pursuing a Masters in Human Rights and Multiculturalism at University of South Eastern Norway