Bucha, Kyiv and the destruction of the port city of Mariupol by Russian troops carry a clear purpose: to terrorize civilians and turn these brutal acts into warnings for anyone facing overwhelming force. The cruel logic of retaliation follows the unexpected defeat of Ukrainian forces in the capital, and the refrain becomes a drumbeat of warnings to be shouted in the heat of assault. The Donbas region bears the mark of a long conflict, while Vladimir Putin’s last move seems to be a hollow bid for a Pyrrhic triumph.
The Deir Yasin episode echoes through history as Jewish militias engaged in clashes in Palestinian villages in 1948. One bomb, a 350-kilogram strike on the King David Hotel in Jerusalem, killed 91 people and remains a controversial symbol. If the war had tilted differently, the same actions could have been judged as liberation, yet victory and defeat always shape the labels attached to history.
This fear is not merely an emotion; it is a survival mechanism that dictates human behavior in families and communities. It is part of why people seek safety in numbers: cities offer protection through collective presence. Fear can turn the tides of conflict without a single shot fired. As Hermann Hesse suggested, fear often arises when power is projected onto others and then reclaimed. Across the Roman era and the Middle Ages, civilians were sometimes crucified along roads to serve as stark warnings. In a world with rapid, global communication, such acts lose some of their silence but not their gravity.
Gernika, the universal symbol
In moments of crisis, the Deir Yasin massacre and similar calamities spread quickly, leaving towns emptied and fear thick in the air. Resistance in the north of Israel, including Nazareth, showed the power of solidarity against forced migration. The message from those early days was simple in its urgency: those who depart become lifelong refugees, and the community must stand together to prevent a collapse into chaos.
The bombing of Guernica on April 26, 1937, became a universal emblem of brutality. Nazi air power aided Franco, and the event continues to haunt the memory of those who study the costs of extremism. The image of Guernica—painted by Picasso as a declaration against fascism—remains a potent reminder of the human cost of war. Ukraine’s leadership has invoked Guernica to illuminate its own national tragedy and to highlight the enduring need to safeguard democratic freedoms against aggression.
What unfolded in Bucha, Mariupol, and other Ukrainian towns follows patterns seen in other wars. The Soviet and Allied campaigns in the Second World War, the siege of cities, and the brutal methods of occupation show how violence can be used to crush morale. Historians remind readers that violence often spills into civilian life through acts that aim to humiliate and terrorize, leaving lasting marks on communities.
Rape as a weapon of war
During the Bosnian War, tens of thousands of women were raped by Bosnian Serb forces, a grim statistic confirmed by international tribunals. Similar horrors occurred in Kosovo, where large-scale displacement followed the atrocities of late 1990s fighting. Rape and terror function as weapons that sow fear, destroy families, and redraw maps of belonging. The scale of such crimes is measured not only by bodies, but by the enduring silence they impose on communities.
The Holocaust remains a stark reminder of systematic murder, carried out in ways that concealed the scale of the crime. The Oradour-sur-Glane massacre in occupied Normandy during World War II is a haunting example of the cruelty faced by civilians, with entire towns erased in a single moment of brutality. The memory of these events insists on accountability and the need to remember those who perished. They also underscore how such acts can echo through time, influencing present debates about power, sovereignty, and human rights.
At the core of these histories lies a warning about political leaders who use fear and coercion to justify aggression. The threat to use nuclear weapons, voiced by leaders who fear existential peril, places entire populations at risk. The fear of annihilation often intensifies distrust, making diplomacy more difficult and war more likely. When a nation feels its existence is in peril, the consequences ripple outward, affecting allies and civilians alike.
Jihadist attacks, like the assaults on satirical outlets and major venues in Europe, reveal how terrorists exploit fear to paralyze societies. The aim is not merely to kill but to fracture public life and silence debate. In modern conflicts, the tools extend beyond the battlefield to propaganda, disinformation, and cyber operations. The result is a hybrid warfare environment where fear can be a decisive force, sometimes more effective than military force itself.
Today, discussions about war often center on the balance between aggression and negotiation. Realistic assessment suggests that peace negotiations are fragile and can be undermined when powerful actors feel their position is slipping. The war in Ukraine is not finished; the path ahead may be long and difficult, with ongoing tragedies that demand accountability and a steadfast commitment to human rights. Remembering the dead, honoring survivors, and supporting international law remain essential in guiding future choices toward restraint and constructive dialogue.