Contribution
It is an honour to follow an excellent opening speech from the hon. Member for Bury St Edmunds and Stowmarket (Peter Prinsley). I congratulate him on the way he has introduced this debate. I declare my interests as the chairman of the all-party parliamentary group on the Holocaust memorial and education centre, co-chairman of the APPG on Israel and sponsor of this year’s Holocaust memorial reception in Portcullis House, on behalf of the Holocaust Educational Trust.
We gather today to mark Holocaust Memorial Day, which commemorates the liberation of Auschwitz-Birkenau on 27 January 1945. That moment exposed to the world the full horror of the Nazi regime’s systematic murder of 6 million Jewish men, women and children—for the benefit of the BBC, I say Jewish men, women and children. However, Holocaust Memorial Day is also a moment to remember the millions of others who were persecuted and murdered by the Nazis, such as the Roma, disabled people, political dissidents and others. We remember not only to honour the victims, but to understand how such an atrocity became possible and how we must never allow it to happen again.
The Holocaust did not begin with the gas chambers and the death camps, and too often we forget the context. In the decades before, hatred was allowed to grow in Germany; prejudice became normalised; and language, institutions and social norms were slowly corroded. In the great war, Germany was defeated, and afterwards it was economically shattered. The treaty of Versailles imposed territorial losses, military restrictions and severe reparations, the burden of which fell heavily on ordinary people in Germany. The Weimar republic, although democratic in structure, was fragile, and economic catastrophe soon followed. In fact, hyperinflation in the early 1920s left Germans burning paper money to keep warm, because the currency’s value had fallen away. Widespread poverty took hold, and in times of despair, many people searched for simple explanations—and for scapegoats.
It was in that climate that the Nazi party rose to prominence. Hitler and his supporters offered simplistic answers to complex problems. They promised national revival, strength and unity, while identifying enemies within. Jews were portrayed not as fellow citizens, but as outsiders. They were dehumanised and blamed for Germany’s defeat, its economic hardships and the perceived decline of society. Hatred was not accidental; it was systematic, deliberate and relentlessly reinforced. When the Nazis came to power in 1933, antisemitism became state policy. Just imagine that: it was state policy to outlaw a particular religion. Persecution began not with mass violence, but with exclusion. Jewish civil servants were dismissed, Jewish businesses were boycotted and Jewish professionals were barred from practising law and medicine, and from teaching. Those measures were designed to isolate, humiliate and impoverish an entire community.
It is important to stress that while most people did not actively participate in persecution, most chose to look away while it happened. Silence, passivity and indifference allowed injustice to become embedded and, ultimately, unstoppable. Persecution soon escalated. The Nuremberg laws of 1935 stripped Jews of citizenship and basic rights, reducing them from equal members of society to subjects of the state. Violence became overt. In November 1938, Kristallnacht marked a decisive turning point. Synagogues were destroyed, Jewish homes and businesses were attacked, and thousands were arrested by the state—not by mobs acting alone, but by authority itself.
With the outbreak of the second world war, persecution turned into annihilation. Jews were forced into ghettos, and we will no doubt hear about harrowing testimonies of overcrowding, hunger, disease and despair. From 1941 onwards, death camps such as Auschwitz-Birkenau, Treblinka and Sobibor were constructed for one purpose alone—mass murder. Trains arrived from across Europe, and people were selected, exploited and killed on an industrial scale. There were some who resisted, often at immense personal risk, and they remind us that choices are always possible, but they were the exception, not the norm.