Every year, antisemitic incidences have increased. It’s clear that strategies for combatting race hatred are not working
To be a Jew on social media is to be seated near the back by the toilets. There is a smell in the air and the door opens regularly, and occasionally the plumbing gets backed up which means you must spend some time wading grimly through shit. Like now, when ex-presidents and pop stars, people with more followers than there are Jews in the world, are posting that Jews had better start showing Trump some gratitude “before it is too late”, or that they’re planning to go “death con 3 On JEWISH PEOPLE.” All caps all Kanye’s.
I’ve been reading and listening to a lot of stories about conspiracy theories recently. It’s hard to avoid them, maybe, but still, it feels necessary. The past few years, of pandemic and protests and poverty, have led to a rise in people trying to make sense of chaos, some of them leaning into mis- or disinformation. And by campaigning against Covid vaccines and public health measures, many have unknowingly attached themselves to conspiracy theories, some of them clear reincarnations of an ancient blood libel.
According to research by anti-fascist group Hope Not Hate in 2020, it is people aged 25-34 who are most likely to believe conspiracy theories about Covid, and vaccines, and about the Satanic “elite cults” that rule the world. They are also five times as likely as those aged 65-74 to believe that “Jews have disproportionate control of powerful institutions and use that power for their own benefit and against the good of the general population.”
I write this column from bed, my throat made of breadcrumbs and hair – if only George Soros had worked a little bit harder, if only Israel had been a bit more particular about who it gave the virus to “in order to profit from vaccines”, maybe I’d have been spared this week’s round of Covid. Perhaps if I’d eaten a little less bacon.
Every year, antisemitic hate incidences have increased, and every year the perpetrators are getting younger, with social media their entry-point – . The more conspiracies given air online, the more people start to believe Jews run the world. Disinformation expert Abbie Richards’s conspiracy chart is an inverted pyramid illustrating how ideas escalate, beginning with real things that actually happened when powerful people abused their power, like the tobacco industry covering up its fatal impact, widening until it reaches the final level, a “world ruled by supreme shadow elite [which] promotes hatred and violence toward marginalised groups”. To get there, one must pass through the “antisemitic point of no return”. Antisemitism is sewn into the fabric of conspiracy theories, a delicate swastika in pink.
Today, it’s clear that strategies for combatting antisemitism are not working: picketing social media companies to remove slurs like “kike” has not removed antisemitism from its feeds – and at least part of that is because this bit of the problem seems misunderstood. Antisemitism is not simply prejudice against Jewish people, it’s a medieval ideology about who runs the world, which explains why such disparate groups of people can regularly find common ground hating Jews and, also, why it has persisted. In Yair Rosenberg’s newsletter, Deep Shtetl, he explains how Kanye’s recent tweets illustrate how that conspiracy theory is self-affirming – the antisemite will claim that Jews control and silence those who speak out against them. “Then, if they are penalised for their bigotry, they point to that as proof. Heads, they win; Tails, Jew lose.” The consequences Kanye has faced – including being kicked off Instagram and Twitter – are seen as evidence that the Jews control “Big Tech”, and on and on.
It is exhausting. Isn’t it? But I find it almost relaxing to talk about explicit, raw antisemitism, rather than plodding through tweets about, say, my thoughts on Israel. A sketch in Amy Schumer’s new show sees her character join a workplace harassment seminar where colleagues’ comments escalate jollily from remarks that she doesn’t look Jewish (“It’s a compliment!”), to antisemitic conspiracy theories and suggestions that she could control the weather, all ignored by her manager – it’s only Schumer who hears them as offensive; everyone else keeps on grinning.
Like her, like every Jewish person, I’ve been brought up to be vigilant, and conscious of the low hum of antisemitism. So, the Kanye stuff is a relief for two reasons: it’s far easier to debunk or discuss straight-up antisemitism than the nuance of coded words like “bankers” or “globalist”; and it makes me feel far less mad, far less paranoid online, when strangers put triple brackets around my name or talk drily about “north London intellectuals who stick together”. Hi.
I understand the lure of a conspiracy theory. For one thing, sometimes conspiracies happen. But even when they’re just dark stories, we want to believe, because that’s how our brains work, not yet evolved to understand this wonky reality, and they can be incredibly reassuring, providing order and answers to mess and pain.
There’s no clear solution to antisemitism, no “Click here for one weird trick to end ancient bigotry!” but by thinking critically and understanding how deep it goes, perhaps we could learn to develop better responses in time for the next round.
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