How To Make A Nazi Disappear
My daughter recently had a school assignment to watch a movie that made some reference to World War II. After making a big list of movies that ranged from heavy (Grave of the Fireflies), to epic (Dunkirk), to escapist (Where Eagles Dare) we somehow, miraculously ended up with Jojo Rabbit.
I had already gained respect for Taika Waititi with Hunt for the Wilderpeople. He seems to be one of the few directors out there, along with Edgar Wright, that knows how to make actually funny movies, rather than movies merely that have the appearance of being funny. With Jojo Rabbit I saw something on another level. It was still very funny, but also complex, insightful, deeply compassionate and completely without pretense. It had the combination of qualities I like about Miyazaki but rarely see in other directors.
It gave me a deeper respect for Waititi and it all hinges on a brilliant subversion of audience expectations that I hadn’t experienced since Let the Right One In. We are along for the ride with our hero Jojo from the very beginning. We laugh with him, we root for him, we grieve for him. Just like any other protagonist in any other movie. This is despite the fact that Jojo is a Nazi.
The fact that Waititi gets away with this is by itself a remarkable feat of storytelling and characterization, but what he is revealing about human nature in the process is what makes it a really worthwhile viewing experience. Jojo demonstrates two lessons about untangling the problems of human rivalry that could get us out of many of our most intractable problems if we decide to take them seriously. I like to frame the two lessons in this way:
Lesson #1: Seeing Ourselves in the Monster
Lesson #2: Seeing the Monster in Ourselves
This post will be dedicated to Lesson #1.
To start, I should point out some context: Nazis are bad guys. Nazis were an actual, historical faction of people responsible for horrific crimes againts humanity, but there is also the archetypal Nazi, the bogeyman Nazi, the Nazi we see in the shadows and in the faces of our enemies. When they show up in movies, they do evil things, and when they are chopped up by propeller blades, we don’t blink. They are monsters. Just like Freddy Kruger, Jason, Chucky and Pennywise. We fear them and when they are graphically eviscerated, we cheer.
It’s not just in movies. The favorite rhetorical game of our time is to find as many points of similarity as possible with the opposing team and Nazis. It’s become so commonplace that we have several terms to describe it — Reductio ad Hitlerum and Godwin’s Law among them. (This list nicely demonstrates how universal the practice has become). It happens anywhere there is rivalry in our culture. If someone is doing something we don’t like, and we can successfully compare them to Nazis, we win.
Sadly, Nazi is also a label we use to describe other people.
Which brings us back to Jojo Rabbit. Jojo Rabbit is about an enthusiastic young Nazi named Jojo who doesn’t mind be called a Nazi. In fact, he likes being a Nazi so much that his imaginary friend is Adolf Hitler and he belts out “Heil Hitlers” with the delight that contemporary boys might reserve for Pokemon. Yes, Jojo is an enthusiastic Nazi but he is also a sensitive, creative boy. And it’s not just Jojo. Waititi introduces us to many other Nazis, and they all seem, well…human and even sometimes heroic (i.e. Rockwell’s Captain Klenzendorf). The recurring comedic schtick in Jojo Rabbit is based precisely on the tension between these two facts. They do not wring their hands with sadism, but burn books with the banal normalcy of roasting s’mores. The humor is in the shock of seeing villains act like regular people. It is a schtick that has appeared in various incarnations since The Adam’s Family, but it still works. It’s Waititi’s first clever bit of subversion, but the second one is where the real genius lies.
Part of this “evil as normal” schtick is the Nazi’s matter-of-fact discussion of the absurdly monstrous qualities of the Jews. Horns? Yes. Batwings? Of course. If it is bad it is an accurate description of the true nature of Jews and as obvious as the shape of the earth. Jojo is fully committed to this way of seeing things until he discovers something that turns his perspective upside down. After an accident with a grenade at Hitler Youth Camp, Jojo is sent home to convalesce. While exploring his sister’s old room he makes a startling discovery — there is a Jewish girl named Elsa hiding in the walls of his home.
As expected, their first interactions are full of fears and threats, but with time, fear gives way to curiosity, curiosity leads to understanding and finally understanding opens up to love. Jojo meets one of his monsters and slowly comes to discover that there is something beneath that label. Something not just worthy of tolerance, or respect, but of love. And if we are paying attention, we will notice that the process mirrors our own. As Jojo sees his monster as human, we see our monster as human as well. We see exactly what Elsa sees in Jojo:
“You’re not a Nazi, Jojo. You’re a ten-year-old kid who likes dressing up in a funny uniform and wants to be part of a club.”
Elsa makes the first courageous step, to see past a scary label and see the human underneath. It’s a model for how we might all respond to the various types of monsters we fear, many of whom we give the literal label of “Nazis”. It all starts with relating to others as individuals rather than as labels.
This requires us first to be aware of what we are doing. Paradoxically, It is a bit easier when we feel the labels strongly. Depending on where you sit politically you might be triggered by Q-anon or Antifa. You may feel so strongly about how wrong they are that you see them as a real threat. You may use terms like Nazis or Marxists to describe them, or other labels that you feel accurately describe how dangerous they are (does anyone ever think their labels are not justified?). However accurate or inaccurate they are, you certainly have a visceral, unpleasant reaction to the label. That’s hard to miss and can give you a clue about what’s going on.
But there may be subtler ways this is happening that you may not be as aware of. Perhaps there is a group that you find unthreatening but a worthy butt of your jokes. Maybe at one time or another you’ve found yourself chuckling about Juggalos or Mormons or millennial snowflakes or delusional Boomers or douchebag bros or skinny-fat betas or flat earthers. There is something in our programming that likes to have a group of dummies to laugh at and if we are not careful that programming can get twisted quickly. Punchlines can become scapegoats and scapegoats can become villains. Not that every case of labeling turns to genocide, but you certainly don’t get genocide without labeling.
There are various practices we can use to bring the labeling to light. Just noticing when we make others our punchlines can help, but another move is to just ask if we are describing a group in a way that they would describe themselves. Not a bad place to start, but at some point, to really see through our labels requires a more courageous approach.
Jojo, in his attempts to make the best of his situation, decides to use his access to Elsa to make a book about Jews. While his attempts are clumsy, he essentially makes the right move — he listens. He learns about things from Elsa’s perspective. To really see past labels requires coming to know real people on an individual level.
This may seem naive and overly hopeful, but it is a practice with a history of success. Darryl Davis has made a life’s work of doing this type of listening. If you don’t know Darryl Davis, he is a black musician who has spent decades befriending Klansmen to the point that they can no longer remain in the Klan. He has a trophy room full of discarded robes as a testament to the power of his approach.
There are many others out there working hard on establishing best practices about how to see past labels. Irshad Manji’s Moral Courage Project is precisely about facilitating these types of conversations. Edwin Rutsch Empathy Circles practice is a modality made to help train people to understand issues from another person’s perspective. I’m also just starting to become familiar with Marshall Rosenberg’s Non-Violent Communication, but I like what I see so far. I’m sure there are many other examples, but I have to wonder why these stories and practices aren’t more commonplace. What is it about our society and culture that makes stories like Darryl Davis’s extraordinary and not just the way we do things?
This type of work needs to become normalized in our society. It needs to replace what is currently passing as the national conversation, and it needs to happen at a massive scale. To do this will require re-engineering everything from the ground up. It won’t work in a culture that is engineered to isolate us, polarize us and promise us everything we crave. We need a society built for human engagement, human growth and where responsible discomfort becomes part of the expectation of life.
There is a lot of work to do in this regard, and it may take generations to complete. We need to change how we build our neighborhoods and cities, how we govern, how we resolve conflict, how we learn and teach. There is much to do, the stakes are high and we need to start now.
If we can figure out how to do this, and we can figure out how to scale it up on a global level, we will have performed the greatest magic trick of human history — we will have made the monsters disappear. It reminds me of this quote (likely apocryphal, but still damn good) from Abraham Lincoln:
After our Civil War was over and Lincoln was trying to help the South get back upon its feet, a woman reproached him for his attitude, “They are our enemies,” she said. “They ought to be destroyed.” “Madame,” replied the President, “how can I better destroy my enemies than by making them my friends?”
That sounds like an excellent future to strive for. Jojo and Elsa dancing at the end of the film is a lovely symbol of that possibility. If that seems overly optimistic, perhaps we ought to consider the alternative. I like how Marshall Rosenberg puts it in this clip (ends around 23:38, but you wouldn’t hurt yourself by watching the whole 3 hours).
https://youtu.be/l7TONauJGfc&t=21m22s
I am not sure exactly how the world will end but I know what will happen first — we’ll all choose sides. This process of creating the enemy image has led to the greatest death and destruction in human history. All that is necessary is a cursory review of horrors of the 20th century to see how bad it can get and how quickly it can happen. We treat “The Long Peace” as if it is some victory, as if it is the result of having actually learned some sort of lesson, but we ought to also consider that we’ve just gotten lucky, and that a few hollow clicks of empty chambers doesn’t mean that we’ve stopped playing Russian Roulette.
We have two choices: get along, or say goodbye to humanity. However outlandish getting along may seem, it’s really the only choice. The alternative is that we all become monsters, and at that point there will be no cause righteous enough to expiate our sin.
That’s a topic I’ll explore in the next post: Lesson #2: Seeing the Monster in Ourselves.