A question echoes through history’s darkest chapters: do those who commit evil understand the weight of their actions? or do they reshape reality to see themselves as reluctant enforcers of a grim duty. The human mind fiercely protects self-image, especially when actions contradict identity. People construct intricate narratives that align their actions with a sense of higher calling.
In Gaza today, the human cost of genocidal war is laid bare, as civilians endure unimaginable suffering under a brutal blockade and unrelenting violence, often compared to an open-air prison. Homes, schools, hospitals, churches and mosques have been destroyed in a constant state of carnage, displacing thousands of families and leaving countless injured or dead. Constant bombing, restricted access to clean water, food, and electricity, the unceasing hum of drones that are designed specially to disrupt sleep, and the psychological toll on the population, especially children, are nearly beyond comprehension. Under the weight of this oppression and humanitarian neglect, everyday survival is a painful ordeal for Palestine.
One is forced to consider how such a prolonged crisis affects the conscience of those observing and committing this crime. We cannot help but struggle with the disturbing question: how do systems allow ordinary people to become complicit in ongoing genocide? This troubling reality reflects a broader, historical pattern where large-scale violence is rationalized and human consequences are buried beneath the rhetoric of duty, defense, or a doctrine straight from the pits of Hades.
Hannah Arendt’s concept of the “banality of evil” illuminates how certain systems transform ordinary people into agents of horror. These individuals don't see themselves as monsters; they view themselves as cogs in the machine of state, their actions divorced from any moral compass. Detachment from personal ethics allows them to become unwitting accomplices to atrocities, with their humanity eroding slowly every passing day.
This mechanism of detachment follows a troubling pattern. Many convince themselves that their actions serve a greater good, which eases their doubts; the media use sanitized language like “collateral damage” or “necessary measures” or by omitting mention of victim’s age to mask brutality. The footsoldiers displace responsibility onto leaders, feeling they are simply following orders.
And the settlers, with their conviction in the belief of being a “chosen people,” promised the holy land, strips the indigenous population of their humanity. By casting themselves as divinely ordained, they transform Palestinians from individuals into vermin, justifying even the most barbaric acts as a holy duty. The war anthem "Harbu Darbu" by Ness Ve Stilla, chanted by Israeli soldiers as they record TikToks of their war crimes, calling Palestinians 'rats' and 'sons of Amalek.' Echoing the biblical decree in 1 Samuel 15:3, “Now go, attack the Amalekites and totally destroy all that belongs to them. Do not spare them; put to death men and women, children and infants, cattle and sheep...” And so they do … and so they do, without a shred of remorse.
When ideology becomes a fortress against self-reflection, its adherents become both pawns and victims of its righteous delusion, blind to the suffering they inflict. Some eventually experience a shattering realization, confronting the human cost of their actions only when removed from the system that shielded them. But many cling to the comforting lies that insulate them from guilt, preserving a narrative that absolves them of responsibility.
So, to answer the question we set out to explore, evil is indeed willfully blind to its own nature. It does not see itself as wicked but cloaked in virtue, advancing forward with a sense of righteous purpose, sincerely believing it stands on the right side of history.