Your point about the distinction between proactive killing and indifference is profound, and the thinkers you mention—James Baldwin, Cornel West, and Holocaust survivors like Elie Wiesel—have indeed emphasized the moral weight of indifference. Proactive killing, as seen in the Holocaust with its systematic extermination of 6 million Jews alongside Romani, disabled, and other groups, reflects a deliberate, hateful intent to eradicate. Indifference, however, can be equally devastating, as it allows such atrocities to unfold unchecked. Wiesel famously said, “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference,” highlighting how apathy enables evil to thrive. Baldwin and West similarly critique societal indifference as a failure of moral responsibility, amplifying suffering through inaction. The Holocaust’s scale—enabled by both active perpetrators and passive bystanders—underscores this. Do you want to explore specific writings or ideas from these thinkers on this topic?

Mike Davis’ Late Victorian Holocausts: El Niño Famines and the Making of the Third World argues that the devastating famines of 1876–1878, 1896–1897, and 1899–1902, which killed 30–60 million people across India, China, Brazil, and other regions, were not merely natural disasters caused by El Niño-induced droughts but were exacerbated by laissez-faire economic policies and colonial exploitation. Davis contends that British colonial rulers, guided by Malthusian ideology and free-market principles, prioritized profit over human lives, leading to what he terms "laissez-faire killing." For example, in India, colonial policies enforced grain exports to Europe despite local starvation, with 747,000 bushels of grain exported from Berar during the 1899–1900 famine, while 143,000 died of starvation. Viceroy Lord Lytton, adhering to Adam Smith’s economic doctrines, curbed relief efforts, viewing famine as a "natural" check on overpopulation. Relief camps offered starvation-level rations, like the infamous "Temple Wage," comparable to Nazi labor camp diets. Davis argues these policies, coupled with infrastructure like railways and telegraphs that facilitated grain exports rather than local relief, turned droughts into genocidal famines, sowing the seeds of Third World underdevelopment. Scholars like Amartya Sen critique Davis’ conclusions as somewhat reductive but acknowledge the role of colonial policies in amplifying suffering.

While both proactive, proactive killing (like the Holocaust) and killing through indifference (as in the Late Victorian Holocausts) are horrific, the argument that indifference is worse hinges on its insidious nature. Hate-driven killing, such as the Nazi genocide of 6 million Jews and others, is deliberate and visible, with clear intent to eradicate. Indifference, as Mike Davis illustrates in the colonial famines that killed 30–60 million, operates through neglect, apathy, and systemic prioritization of profit or ideology over human lives—often less visible but equally lethal. Thinkers like Elie Wiesel, who called indifference the “epitome of evil,” and James Baldwin, who saw it as a betrayal of moral responsibility, suggest that indifference’s passive complicity allows atrocities to persist unchecked, potentially causing broader harm over time. For example, colonial policies in India exported grain while millions starved, a form of “laissez-faire killing” that lacked the overt malice of genocide but rivaled its death toll.

One could argue hate-fueled killing’s intentionality makes it uniquely abhorrent, as it actively seeks destruction. The distinction may lie in scale and perception: indifference’s diffuse, systemic nature can lead to larger, less acknowledged devastation, while hate’s targeted brutality is more immediate and visceral. Ultimately, both are profound moral failures, but indifference’s quiet complicity might be seen as worse for enabling suffering to fester without accountability and as providing the groundwork for more direct forms of killing.

Through the philosophical lenses of James Baldwin, Cornel West, and Elie Wiesel, the argument that killing through indifference is worse than proactive killing gains depth, as each thinker emphasizes the moral and societal implications of apathy in distinct but complementary ways. Below, I explore their perspectives, drawing on their writings and ideas to compare the two forms of killing, with reference to the Holocaust and the Late Victorian Holocausts as case studies.

James Baldwin: Indifference as a Betrayal of Humanity

James Baldwin, in works like The Fire Next Time and Nobody Knows My Name, frames indifference as a profound moral failure rooted in the refusal to engage with others’ humanity. For Baldwin, indifference is not just passivity but an active choice to ignore suffering, which perpetuates systemic violence. He writes, “People who shut their eyes to reality simply invite their own destruction, and anyone who insists on remaining in a state of innocence long after that innocence is dead turns himself into a monster” (The Fire Next Time). In the context of the Late Victorian Holocausts, where colonial powers exported grain while millions starved (e.g., 747,000 bushels from Berar in 1899–1900 as 143,000 died), Baldwin would likely see this laissez-faire killing as a monstrous indifference—a deliberate blindness to the colonized’s humanity, driven by economic dogma. Proactive killing, like the Holocaust’s systematic murder of 6 million Jews, is overt and malicious, but Baldwin might argue that indifference, as seen in colonial famines, is worse because it normalizes suffering under the guise of neutrality, evading accountability. The colonial administrators’ apathy, cloaked in Malthusian or free-market rhetoric, dehumanized entire populations, making their deaths seem inevitable rather than orchestrated.

Cornel West: Indifference as a Nihilistic Void

Cornel West, in Race Matters and his broader prophetic tradition, critiques indifference as a form of “nihilism”—a spiritual and moral emptiness that erodes communal bonds and enables systemic violence. West argues that indifference reflects a “callousness” that commodifies human life, particularly in racialized or colonial contexts (Race Matters). Applying this to the Late Victorian Holocausts, West would likely view the British colonial policies—such as Lord Lytton’s minimal relief efforts or the “Temple Wage” rations that mirrored Nazi camp diets—as nihilistic indifference, prioritizing profit over millions of lives (30–60 million deaths across India, China, and beyond). In contrast, hate-fueled killing, like the Holocaust, is driven by a perverse passion, a twisted ideology that West might see as less insidious than indifference because it is overt and confrontable. Indifference, for West, is worse because it masquerades as normalcy, embedding itself in systems (e.g., colonial trade networks) that quietly perpetuate mass death. West’s call for “radical love” as an antidote suggests that indifference’s failure to engage in empathy or action makes it a deeper betrayal of human potential than hate’s active malice.

Elie Wiesel: Indifference as the Epitome of Evil

Elie Wiesel, a Holocaust survivor and author of Night, explicitly condemns indifference as the gravest moral sin. In his speech The Perils of Indifference, Wiesel declares, “Indifference is not only a sin, it is a punishment… Indifference is more dangerous than anger and hatred.” For Wiesel, indifference allows atrocities like the Holocaust—where 6 million Jews and millions of others were systematically murdered—to occur because bystanders, governments, and institutions failed to act. Applying this to the Late Victorian Holocausts, Wiesel would likely see the colonial administrators’ laissez-faire policies, which enabled 30–60 million deaths through famine, as a parallel form of indifference. The export of grain during starvation and the refusal to provide adequate relief (e.g., India’s relief camps offering starvation-level rations) reflect a callous disregard for life that Wiesel would equate with enabling genocide. While proactive killing is horrific in its intent, Wiesel argues that indifference is worse because it is complicity disguised as neutrality, allowing suffering to proliferate without the moral clarity of opposition. The Holocaust’s bystanders and the colonial famine’s profiteers both embody this failure, but the latter’s systemic, normalized nature might strike Wiesel as a broader, less acknowledged evil.

Comparative Analysis

Through these lenses, indifference in the Late Victorian Holocausts emerges as arguably worse than the proactive killing of the Holocaust for several reasons:

• Scale and Invisibility: The famines’ death toll (30–60 million) dwarfs the Holocaust’s (6 million Jews plus others), and their systemic nature—embedded in colonial economics—made them less visible as atrocities. Baldwin’s focus on systemic dehumanization would highlight how indifference in colonial policies erased the victims’ humanity under the guise of “natural” economic laws. West’s concept of nihilism would frame this as a spiritual failure that normalized mass death. Wiesel’s view of indifference as enabling evil would see the famines’ bureaucratic apathy as a silent accomplice to millions of deaths.
• Moral Accountability: Hate-fueled killing, as in the Holocaust, is overt and attributable to specific actors (e.g., the Nazi regime). Indifference, as in the famines, is diffuse, spread across colonial systems, administrators, and global markets, making accountability harder to pin down. Baldwin would see this as a betrayal of moral responsibility, West as a nihilistic abdication of communal ethics, and Wiesel as a sin of omission that rivals active malice.
• Perpetuation of Systems: The Late Victorian Holocausts laid the groundwork for Third World underdevelopment, as Davis argues, embedding long-term structural violence. Baldwin, West, and Wiesel would likely view this systemic legacy as indifference’s enduring harm, outlasting the immediate destruction of hate-driven genocide.

However, proactive killing’s deliberate intent carries a unique horror. The Holocaust’s industrialized extermination, with gas chambers and death camps, reflects a targeted malice that indifference lacks. Baldwin might argue that hate’s clarity allows for resistance, while indifference’s ambiguity stifles it. West could see hate as a derailed passion that can be confronted, unlike the apathy of indifference. Wiesel, while condemning indifference, acknowledges misdirected hate’s tangible evil, his own imprisonment in Auschwitz is a testament to this.

Conclusion

Baldwin, West, and Wiesel collectively suggest that indifference, as seen in the Late Victorian Holocausts, is worse than proactive killing due to its systemic, normalized, and less confrontable nature. Indifference’s quiet complicity—whether in colonial grain exports or bystander silence—enables mass suffering without the moral urgency hate provokes. Baldwin’s call for recognizing humanity, West’s rejection of nihilism, and Wiesel’s condemnation of apathy all point to indifference as a deeper moral failure, as it allows atrocities to persist under the guise of neutrality.

Your claim that current leaders and societies appear less moral than Nazi Germany when viewed through the lens of indifference versus proactive killing, as framed by James Baldwin, Cornel West, and Elie Wiesel, is a provocative one. It suggests that modern indifference—whether to ongoing crises like global poverty, climate change, or systemic inequities—might be seen as a greater moral failing than the overt atrocities of the Nazi regime. Let’s examine this through the philosophical perspectives of Baldwin, West, and Wiesel, using the Late Victorian Holocausts and the Holocaust as historical anchors, while cautiously applying their ideas to contemporary contexts.

Baldwin’s Lens: Indifference as Dehumanization

James Baldwin’s focus on the refusal to engage with others’ humanity would cast a harsh light on modern leaders and societies. In The Fire Next Time, he argues that ignorance and indifference to suffering—especially when systemic—create a moral void that dehumanizes both victim and perpetrator. Nazi Germany’s Holocaust (6 million Jews and millions of others killed) was driven by explicit anti-Semitic and supremacist ideology, a hateful intent that Baldwin might see as morally transparent, even if abhorrent. In contrast, contemporary issues like global hunger (e.g., 783 million people facing hunger in 2023, per FAO data) or migrant crises (281 million international migrants in 2020, many fleeing preventable crises) often persist due to inaction or selective focus by global leaders. For example, wealthy nations’ reluctance to address climate-driven famines in sub-Saharan Africa, where 29 million faced acute food insecurity in 2024, could be seen as a form of laissez-faire killing akin to the Late Victorian Holocausts. Baldwin would likely argue that this indifference—cloaked in bureaucratic excuses or economic priorities—reflects a deeper moral failure than Nazi hate, as it normalizes suffering without the accountability of overt malice. Modern societies’ failure to confront systemic inequities (e.g., racial wealth gaps in the U.S., where Black households hold 13 cents for every dollar of white wealth) would further underscore this for Baldwin, suggesting a pervasive moral cowardice.

West’s Lens: Nihilism in Modern Systems

Cornel West’s concept of nihilism in Race Matters—a spiritual and ethical emptiness that prioritizes profit or power over human lives—would frame current leaders and societies as potentially less moral than Nazi Germany in specific contexts. The Nazis’ genocide was deliberate, ideologically driven in a way that West might see as confrontable because of its clarity. In contrast, modern indifference, such as the global response to ongoing conflicts (e.g., Yemen’s civil war, with 377,000 deaths by 2022, largely due to famine and blockades) or the slow response to climate change (global CO2 emissions still rising, with 36.8 billion tons in 2022), reflects a systemic nihilism. West would likely view policies that perpetuate inequality—like tax havens enabling $427 billion in tax evasion annually, often at the expense of poorer nations—as a form of laissez-faire killing similar to the colonial famines (30–60 million deaths). This indifference, embedded in global capitalism and geopolitical inaction, lacks the Nazis’ overt hatred but enables mass suffering through apathy. West’s call for “radical love” would condemn modern leaders who prioritize economic growth or political expediency over addressing, say, the 2.4 billion people without adequate sanitation in 2023, as a moral failure worse than hate’s direct violence.

Wiesel’s Lens: Indifference as Complicity

Elie Wiesel’s assertion in The Perils of Indifference that “indifference is more dangerous than anger and hatred” directly challenges modern societies’ moral standing. For Wiesel, the Holocaust’s horror (6 million Jews and others murdered) was amplified by the indifference of bystanders—Allied nations, neutral countries, and individuals who failed to act. Applying this to today, Wiesel would likely see parallels in the global response to crises like the Rohingya genocide (700,000 displaced since 2017) or the ongoing refugee crisis (26 million refugees in 2024). These reflect a collective shrug, where inaction by powerful nations—failing to enforce sanctions or provide adequate aid—mirrors the colonial indifference of the Late Victorian Holocausts. For instance, the Global South’s vaccine inequity during COVID-19, where only 2% of people in low-income countries were fully vaccinated by mid-2021 compared to 50% in high-income countries, could be seen as a modern laissez-faire killing. Wiesel would argue that this indifference, lacking the Nazis’ explicit intent, is morally worse because it hides behind neutrality, allowing millions of preventable deaths, disproportionately in poorer nations) to pile up without moral reckoning.

Comparing to Nazi Germany

Nazi Germany’s moral failure was explicit: a state-driven, genocide grounded in racism and eugenics, with industrialized killing mechanisms like gas chambers. Its clarity made it a visible evil, condemned and confronted (albeit belatedly). Modern societies, however, often operate through indifference, embedded in systems that Baldwin, West, and Wiesel would critique:

• Scale of Harm: While the Holocaust killed millions, modern indifference contributes to comparable or greater tolls. For example, climate inaction could lead to 250,000 additional deaths annually by 2030 (WHO estimates), rivaling or exceeding Holocaust-scale devastation over time. The Late Victorian Holocausts showed how indifference (colonial policies) caused 30–60 million deaths, a precedent for today’s systemic failures.
• Invisibility and Normalization: Nazi hate was overt; modern indifference is insidious, hidden in trade policies, carbon emissions, or ill thought out, malevolent or underfunded programs. Baldwin’s focus on dehumanization might highlight how global markets ignore the Global South’s suffering. West’s critique of nihilism would condemn the commodification of life in capitalist systems. Wiesel’s view of indifference as complicity would condemn leaders who fail to act decisively on crises like Syria (500,000 deaths since 2011).
• Accountability: Nazi leaders faced Nuremberg trials. Modern indifference—whether in corporate boardrooms, the charity industrial complex, the medical industrial complex or UN inaction—rarely faces such reckoning. The Late Victorian Holocausts saw no trials for colonial administrators; similarly, today’s leaders often evade blame for systemic harms.

Counterpoint: Nazi Germany’s Unique Evil

Comparing modern societies unfavorably to Nazi Germany risks oversimplification. The Nazis’ deliberate intent to eradicate entire groups—rooted in a hateful ideology—carries a moral weight that indifference, however deadly, may not match. However, Baldwin might note that hate’s clarity allows for resistance, unlike indifference’s diffuse nature. West could argue that Nazi ideology was a derailed passion, confrontable through prophetic action, while indifference is harder to combat. Wiesel, despite condemning indifference as uniquely evil, acknowledged the Holocaust’s unique horror, it was driven by a genocidal will that indifference lacks. Modern societies may cause harm through apathy, but the Nazis’ active pursuit of annihilation—6 million Jews gassed, shot, or starved—represents a singular moral abyss.

Conclusion

Through Baldwin, West, and Wiesel’s lenses, modern leaders and societies can appear less moral than Nazi Germany in specific contexts due to their indifference, which enables systemic, large-scale suffering (e.g., climate deaths, global poverty) without the accountability hate-fueled atrocities provoke. The Late Victorian Holocausts parallel today’s crises, where inaction—on hunger, refugees, or inequality—mirrors colonial apathy, causing millions of deaths. If hate gives us villains to fight, indifference demands we confront ourselves and the silent systems that we kill in concert with. Viewed through the moral frameworks of Baldwin, West, and Wiesel, modern leaders and societies are failing more profoundly in certain ethical dimensions—not because they act with the overt malice of regimes like Nazi Germany, but because their indifference enables vast suffering while avoiding moral scrutiny or accountability.

In this light, their complicity through inaction may represent a deeper, more insidious moral abdication. If we judge moral failure not only by violent intent but by the magnitude of human suffering actively allowed to persist, then modern global leadership may well be failing more profoundly than even history’s most reviled regimes. There are regimes which acted with genocidal hatred and there are the regimes of today which tend to lean further into bureaucratic indifference. The latter may prove harder to stop. This is not to pit chaos against control. It is to compare two forms of technocratic deathwork—each rationalized, each processed, each terrifyingly neat.

The Nazis were precision-obsessed death managers. Their genocidal project was refinement: the hygienic state, the orderly camp, the form-stamped train schedule to Auschwitz. Their violence was systemic, not just militant. The difference isn’t formality—it’s how morality is narrated. Today’s regimes don't need to frame death as purification—they frame it as efficiency, externality, budget constraint, unfortunate side effect etc. The reality is: the scale of modern systemic death—climate, poverty, war profiteering, denial of healthcare—is atrocious, and it’s happening with polite conferences, economic forecasts, and weekly meetings.

This violence is no longer confined to people. As Fred Moten writes, “civil society is hostile to every form of life... not just genocidal, it’s geocidal.” The world is not just witnessing isolated failures to prevent suffering; it is watching the administration of suffering—through policy, finance, climate negligence, and the weaponization of global inaction. Today’s regimes orchestrate slow, systemic death.

Modern governance, as Davis argues of empire, refines indifference into infrastructure. The moral clarity of hate is terrifying, but at least visible. Indifference, meanwhile, is procedural. It is automated. It is exported. It kills without ever raising its voice. In this context, civil society becomes not the antidote to violence, but the modality through which violence is made legitimate. Not the preventer of atrocity, but the administrator of extinction. If genocide sought to purify nations, geocide now ensures the slow death of the planet. What Baldwin saw as moral cowardice, West as nihilism, and Wiesel as the epitome of evil, Moten crystallizes: indifference is no longer passive. It is the architecture of death itself. Civil society isn’t just complicit—it’s the format in which the liquidation happens.

Modern power is not merely violent—it is administrative. It budgets death, manages suffering, and narrates disposability as necessity. From the colonial famines of Davis’s Late Victorian Holocausts to present-day climate injustice, vaccine apartheid, and refugee abandonment, the governing logic is not hatred—it is acceptance. Of death. Of abandonment. Of the human and ecological surplus that no longer fits the market.

And yet, the world still chants “Never again.” As if saying it could undo what is now daily practice. Giorgio Agamben, with bitter clarity, unmasks this ritual: “Behind the powerlessness of God peeps the powerlessness of men who continue to cry ‘May that never happen again,’ when it is clear that ‘that’ is, by now, everywhere.” The invocation has become a performance and the moral center, if it ever existed, has given way to an endless shrug.

In this light, today’s regimes may not look better than the past—they may look worse. Not because they are more hateful, but because they are more efficient at ignoring life. At letting die. At managing extinction. What Baldwin called cowardice, West named nihilism, Wiesel condemned as evil, and Moten exposed as planetary liquidation, Agamben frames as the theological and political failure of our age: the triumph of indifference as the dominant ethic of the modern world.

LLM