the third degree.

war movies are often viewed from the perspective of the victim, often gazing down onto a street from a high window. often, what happens on the street below ends in bloodshed. perhaps, the execution line of heavy-coated families, interrupted during dinner and thrown out into the street, where a German soldier shoots each one in the back. how come, how can it come to pass? he does not even have the courage to look his victims in the eyes before he shoots them down? such is the cowardice.

why is it that in these terrible times we see the worst, and best, in humanity. the human condition becomes untamed, survival is key, and each man is for himself. there is no time to help your neighbour when the neighbourhood is out to get you. ordinary people, young, old, sickly or well, become starved, not only of bread, but of substance, life, hope and diginity. they become crawling animations, alive but cold without breath, gasping for breath in the dust, blood and mud in the streets. the man who was once an honorable husband and father is forced to hide, like a dog cast out. a mother smothers her baby so that its cries do not reveal those in hiding. the soldiers beat the jews for new years; a cheerless song in the streets is sung by the downtrodden while the oppressors drink to their supposed victories.

after i watched the pianist i could only think of how my heart goes out for the jews, and for all of those who were ever humiliated, oppressed, destroyed, exploited and discriminated against. to think these horrors happened only 70 years ago.
the world is still recovering.