10 Stages of Change

“Why Do You Care So Much?”

I was in sixth grade in Mrs. Tillman’s English class when she and the other English teachers in our school rolled in massive suitcases that we weren’t allowed to touch. We were beginning a Holocaust unit, and the trunks, we came to discover, contained photographs, videos, books, and lesson materials curated by the Holocaust Museum in Houston. It was part of a “traveling trunk” program inspired by the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum.

Toward the end of the unit, we watched the film Nuremberg, and it left a lasting impression on me, particularly the authentic footage of liberation in one of the concentration camps. It still baffles me in hindsight that we were permitted to watch such a thing at such a young age, but things were different then.

Last year, I contacted the Holocaust Museum in Houston to inquire about the program for my 8th-grade students. The trunks were different now. They didn’t have the decorative features that intrigued us so much back in sixth grade — in fact, they weren’t trunks at all, but rather massive black and dusty plastic iPad bins. The iPads contained curated digital texts (almost none of which I was permitted to teach), and when my students drew monkeys and wrote derogatory words on them, replacing the wallpaper of the screens, I put them away and felt deeply ashamed.

In my frustration, I berated the class for their immaturity. I was visibly upset, which prompted one student to ask: “Bro, why do you care so much?”

I was suddenly back in 2004 again.

Genocide, Grown Up

I had learned about an ongoing conflict in Darfur, a region in Sudan I had never heard of. I was in 10th grade and had just received my license, and as I learned more about Darfur, I felt a heaviness take over me as I confronted a harsh reality: Since sixth grade I had developed a serious interest in the study of the Holocaust, but until 2004, I genuinely thought that no such thing could happen again. It took a significant amount of unlearning what I thought I knew about genocide to come to terms with the truth: genocide never stopped. It doesn’t always have cattle cars. It doesn’t always have gas chambers.

Soon, I was going down a rabbit hole that continues to this day. I learned of Cambodia, Bosnia, Rwanda, and Armenia. I learned what I could about Darfur, though in hindsight it was entirely insufficient, but I was only sixteen after all. Still, I found an ally in a friend of mine, and together we created t-shirts, and wristbands, wrote letters, drafted petitions, and became the face of the Save Darfur Campaign at our suburban Texas high school.

This would be amazing, we thought. No teachers, students, or parents were talking about this. They must just not know, we thought. Once they do, they won’t be able to turn away. Imagine the dialogue this will start, we thought. Because, after all, when you look genocide in the face, how can you look away?

We were, of course, hopelessly optimistic, and naively wrong. We were mostly teased for our silly t-shirts and our cute petitions. We were the “woke social justice warriors” of our generation — which, arguably, didn’t exist much then, at least in our small-ish town bubble. And despite our best efforts, absolutely nobody cared. And frankly, looking back, we did a terrible job of trying.

But hey — we were sixteen. I can forgive myself for that. We didn’t know or understand the complexity of the situation. We couldn’t fully grasp what actions would matter, and which were more performative. We didn’t have the tools or resources or knowledge to know what exactly to do besides insisting that genocide is really bad. We just didn’t know. We navigated as best we knew with the guidance of a global organization that seemed too far out of reach for us in a conservative town where talking about things like this was, well, rather silly. But even the Save Darfur Coalition itself left a legacy of over-simplification and relative inefficiency.

And I remember some of my friends or classmates — even teachers — asking me the same thing that my 8th graders were asking me all those years later: “Why do you care so much?”

Purpose of the Blog Series

Perhaps it’s a strange interest — the topic of genocide. But it’s one that, the older I get, I realize I cannot shake. Since the images of liberated concentration camps were burned in my memory in sixth grade, and even more upon the discovery of the ongoing and increasing incidences of genocide throughout the world, along with my fascination and love of the written word and human stories as a means of liberation and expression in even the darkest of times, I have simply embraced it.

I think one of the fears of talking about genocide is the fear of not knowing enough. The Holocaust stands as the most significant and, with an entire canon of literature all its own and pre-crafted units of study devoted to it for decades across generations, it is — despite the absolute horror of it — a framework for genocide which we can at least grasp if nothing else by exposure alone.

But what happens when you take away some of the simplifications? What happens when a genocide happens in Africa? After all, Africa is always in conflict, right? What happens when the word itself — genocide — becomes weaponized in rhetorical and political battles? What happens when we feel overwhelmed by it all? What are we to do, anyway? What can we do? We’re not those places. And what difference can we make when we’re told our voices matter so little even in our own cultural and political landscape?

For the past year, I’ve devoted a significant amount of time, research, reflection, and unlearning to address all of these questions. It’s been a personal project for me, one that I know may simply evoke the same response: “Why do you care so much?”

But this time, I have an answer. And you can, too.

What It Is: Ten Stages, Ten Genocides

Over ten weeks, I am publishing content that covers one of the ten stages of genocide as outlined by Gregory Stanton, founder of Genocide Watch, in his widely adopted Ten Stages of Genocide framework. When I first learned about the ten stages, I felt for the first time that, aside from the element of actual mass murder, there was a pattern in behavior and actions in almost every genocide, and even more important these patterns could be, and have been, predicted. It seemed that, despite the bleakness of atrocities so far from ourselves, there was a framework — a tool — with research-based evidence backed by a growing alliance that could effectively be used to identify red flags signaling genocide.

The work of Gregory Stanton can’t be overstated, and if you have the time, check out his Ted Talk, “The Call,” about his experience witnessing the aftermath of the Cambodian genocide and how it inspired his incredible work in bringing perpetrators of mass murder to justice, the founding of Genocide Watch, and the subsequent evolution of the Alliance Against Genocide.

Knowing the process, the framework, and how to identify these stages, is critical for developing a framework we can conceptualize better, particularly when it comes to unimaginable crimes. Therefore, one aim of this blog series is simply: to explain the ten stages, how those stages have evolved, and how they can be used to predict future atrocities and prevent their escalation.

At the same time, one of the best ways to fully understand each stage is to analyze a genocide — whether past or present — and to identify the ways that it exhibited the red flags in each stage. In this process, I want to look at each stage and each genocide in an unconventional way, however. For example, few resources can be found about what stage 1, classification, really looks like in Darfur, when in fact it’s the over-simplification of classification that has led to misunderstandings and even escalation in Darfur. Classification in the case of Darfur crosses religious, political, and ethnic boundaries, with classifications within classifications and nuance that force one to re-evaluate what this stage can entail.

There has been much more plentiful material printed and studied about classification in Nazi concentration camps and the classification leading up to the Holocaust. I would rather offer a different lens, not solely for the sake of complication, but so that we can expand how we perceive the existence of genocide, specifically in distinguishing it from “war” and “conflict.” It is the complications that are much easier to go unnoticed, to pass off as “just another war in Africa” or similar.

What It Is: Ten Weeks (Into Action)

Further review of Stanton’s work, along with other resources on the process of genocide, offers solutions in terms of international policy and response which, for the majority of people, seems out of the reach of any action we can reasonably take. That’s where I aim to fill in those gaps. There are actions that any person can take that are not performative, virtue signaling, or that serve to simply make us feel better without actually doing very much.

Indeed, it’s true that as the stages of genocide progress (though it is noted also that the stages do not necessarily progress linearly, and often occur simultaneously), the later stages — particularly extermination in stage nine — are at a crisis point in which only a massive, united international response can make a significant difference.

A Note on Paradox

With more global awareness, the rise of the internet and social media, and the documenting of events, we face both benefits and challenges. Genocide is something that can be associated best with this idea of “the masses.” Despite some genocides having only one dictator, authoritarian leader, or military group labeled as the “instigator,” it is an over-simplification to do so. It is many different people, parties, and public figures all with specific interests that, while connected perhaps to a main “antagonist,” have varied and complex motivations, with primary similarities between them all being self-interest, fear, or economic and political gain or, oddly, a sense of safety.

The paradox lies first in the fact that if the masses can be aware of and gain insight into the early warning signs of genocide and human rights violations, that is generally considered a good thing because with more eyes and more visibility comes more accountability. (Can you imagine if the outrage we see in U.S. cancel culture applied to the things that matter in the world, like systematic mass murder of entire populations?) This is, by all accounts, one of the greatest benefits of the contemporary era. Combined with the sophistication of technology, the power of documentation that can be shared globally almost instantly, and, for the most part, the inevitable increase in knowledge that we collectively all possess and contribute to as a natural consequence of time and experience (history), there is a side of hope.

On the other hand, it’s critical to recognize that this same power to influence the masses, to inform, and the ability to share any information played off as “fact” might be just as dangerous, neutralizing the benefits that global knowledge and communication have brought. It’s a slippery slope to mob mentality, and as humans, we are hard-wired to herd. It doesn’t take but a few small cracks, the promotion of propaganda and scapegoating both intentional and unintentional, to lead to a total landslide in which, by that point, force in numbers alone is enough to take all of us down, willing or not.

This is why the early stages of genocide are perhaps the most crucial. By the time a population has reached the preparation and extermination stages, for example, only a united international front has any real hope of stopping a genocide, and in some cases may come at a cost of human life greater than what would have been lost without intervention. This is an uncomfortable reality we must grapple with. While the later stages are indeed important to learn about, and actions can certainly be taken (in some cases, more than others, for much of this seems to come down to what part of the world the crimes are taking place in and what stake the rest of the world has in their people), the best (at least for now) and most crucial stages to take action on and against are the earliest stages.

It is, unfortunately, also these earliest stages that can be the most challenging to identify, and even more challenging to, with a certain level of confidence and discernment in a world filled with propaganda, special interests, disinformation, and political division at every level of human existence, speak out and act out against. When we look at classification and symbolization, it’s all too common for the most privileged Americans to throw up their hands enthusiastically, claiming “Yes! It’s me! I’ve been classified! I, too, am a victim of genocide!” And, to some extent, why shouldn’t they? The term “classification” is not by definition a harmful thing inherently.

While it’s essential to think of these stages as not sequential or strictly chronological (with some stages not quite coming to fruition at all, or some happening so rapidly that extermination occurs in the blink of an eye, such as in Rwanda), we aren’t afforded the luxury of hindsight in every case of perceived classification, symbolization, or even discrimination. No doubt it is easy to say “Denial (stage 10) is cowardly,” and “Extermination” (stage 9) is evil, while “dehumanization (stage 5) is cruel” and “discrimination is problematic.” But classification, of course, is not always cowardly or evil.

Yet what is important to note is that all of these stages — the total evolution from ideation to outcome and every part in between — are done with the same intent and that they all have the same outcome: the worst possible crime that can be committed.

So, over these ten weeks, following an analysis of a particular stage of genocide and a case study of genocide within the framework of that stage, I’ll offer actionable things anyone can do, even if you have just one minute or less. There is an action for all, varying by time constraints you might face. And no, they are not as simple as “Be tolerant” or “Educate yourself.” They are actions so that you can digest the reality of genocide, and most importantly, resist passivity, overwhelm, and a sense of helplessness.

On Credibility and Trust

I teach English and I am by no means a historian. I am not a genocide expert. I am not an international studies student. So, there’s that.

Still, it’s an area of interest I’ve explored deeply throughout my life, and that has culminated in recent years.

I’ve spent hundreds of hours researching, meeting with librarians, talking to experts, and exploring primary and secondary sources related to genocide in the development of this project, much of which has been a private and personal endeavor until I had enough to make something out of it all.

All of the information gathered has come from research that is peer-reviewed and credible, published in print or scholarly journals, and also from primary sources including interviews, museum archives, and speeches. I’ve received assistance in research from Houston Public Libraries, Harris County Public Libraries, Holocaust Museum Houston, Boniuk Library and Boniuk Center for Education, Dallas Holocaust and Human Rights Museum, Genocide Watch and the Alliance Against Genocide, and dozens — perhaps hundreds — of articles accessed through library and academic databases.

And no, I’m not getting paid to do any of this. Access to the series on Medium, and my website, will never be for paid-only members. My hope is beyond raising awareness. I truly believe that every action can lead to a change, no matter how small. I truly believe that, as Gregory Stanton says so eloquently himself: “Love is more powerful than evil; justice is stronger than genocide; life triumphs over death.”

Genocide is big, but it’s not bigger than us. And nothing has ever changed by doing nothing. We don’t have to be Gregory Stanton. We just have to take one step, one stage, one week at a time.

So, for this first week, which I’ll have to post separately now due to length (and it does, after all, deserve its place), let’s step into

Stage 1: Classification.

Case Study: Darfur.

Subscribe for updates, share with others, and thank you for taking the time to read with an open heart and an open mind.