Time of the killers

The twentieth century was an epoch of technical progress, cultural flourishing, and unprecedented scientific discoveries that moved humanity from the age of steam to the era of space exploration, nuclear energy, and global connectivity. During this time, humankind largely freed itself from disease and hunger – and yet it was also a century in which the dark sides of human nature were revealed in the most destructive way. Never before had ideology gained such power over the individual; never before had millions of people been exterminated with such machine-like systematicity in concentration camps, gulags, and on battlefields across the world.
This paradox – that a century of enlightenment and humanity also brought genocide and mass extermination – remains one of the most painful features of modern history. But history is not just a collection of dates and facts. It is also the stories of people who lived, made decisions, and bore the consequences of their actions. For some, the context of the era led to heroism; for others, it allowed them to fully express their depravity.
This book is an attempt at an anatomy not only of evil but also of hope. It seeks to understand those who became instruments of totalitarian crimes, as well as those who defied them. This is not a book about leaders, ideologies, or political systems, but about ordinary people – for example, those who closed the doors of gas chambers, signed death sentences, shot prisoners in the back of the head – and in the evening, returned to their families. It is also about those who risked everything to save others, those who refused to just stand by and remain silent, and who managed not to lose their humanity in an inhuman time.
To understand the psychology and motivations of these people – both groups – is to understand not only the mechanisms of evil, but also the sources of quiet courage, empathy, and compassion that even evil could not extinguish. Perhaps it is precisely in this thin line between darkness and light that true knowledge about humanity – and about ourselves – is hidden.