On Sunday, March 11, 2011, I remember it was a cold day in Chicago. I attended the annual benefit, Everyone Has a Voice, at the Illinois Holocaust Museum and Education Center, located at 9603 Woods Drive in Skokie, Illinois. The trip itself became an educational journey. I boarded the Red Line at Granville and rode north to Howard Station, the last stop before the Chicago–Evanston border. From there, I transferred to the Yellow Line toward Skokie.
Skokie, located in Cook County about fifteen miles north of downtown Chicago, takes its name from a Potawatomi word meaning marsh. Once a small farming community founded by German and Luxembourg settlers, it later became home to a large Jewish population—many of them Holocaust survivors who settled there after World War II. By the mid-1960s, Skokie had one of the highest concentrations of Jewish residents in the United States.
In the 1970s, Skokie became a national symbol in the debate over the First Amendment when a Neo-Nazi group, supported by the ACLU, sought permission to march there—despite the presence of many Holocaust survivors. The case, National Socialist Party of America v. Village of Skokie, reached the U.S. Supreme Court and remains a landmark in discussions of free speech and hate speech.
Today, Skokie is home to the Illinois Holocaust Museum and Education Center, which opened in 2009. Its guiding vision—Remember the Past; Transform the Future—calls on us to preserve memory, honor victims, and use history to fight prejudice and indifference.
The museum grew out of the Holocaust Memorial Foundation of Illinois, founded in 1981 after residents united against the attempted Nazi march. The building, designed by architect Stanley Tigerman with exhibits by Yitzchak Mais, contrasts light and darkness through its black-and-white exterior. Every hallway and exhibit reminds visitors of the human capacity for both cruelty and courage.
The fall of 2025 in Chicago has been unusually kind. The air still carries a touch of summer, making walking, running, biking, or simply being outdoors pleasant. Yet as one moves through the city—or scrolls through social media—it is impossible to escape the noise of our time: protests, posts, and reels streaming across X, Instagram, Facebook, Truth Social, podcasts, and TikTok. Under the banner of free speech, images of conflict and suffering appear constantly—sometimes real, sometimes manipulated—depending on perspective.
One word echoes everywhere, from newsrooms to online debates: genocide. Across platforms, people argue over its meaning, often shaping definitions to fit loyalties. But in law, emotion and sentiment do not define truth; only facts, evidence, and legal standards do.
This is why I chose to revisit the concept of genocide—not to take sides, but to learn, reflect, and share for educational purposes. I believe education never truly ends. Life itself becomes the classroom, and experience the teacher.
The word genocide was introduced by Raphael Lemkin, a Polish-Jewish jurist, during World War II. He combined the Greek genos (“race” or “people”) with the Latin -cide (“to kill”) to describe the deliberate destruction of a group. Lemkin argued that genocide was not limited to mass murder; it also included cultural, social, and economic destruction aimed at erasing a people’s existence.
His advocacy led to the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide, adopted by the United Nations General Assembly on December 9, 1948. It entered into force in January 1951 and defines genocide as acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnic, racial, or religious group. These acts include killing members of the group, causing serious harm, imposing destructive living conditions, preventing births, or forcibly transferring children to another group.
Legally, genocide requires specific intent—the conscious goal to destroy a protected group. Courts differ on how that intent is interpreted: some require proof of deliberate purpose, while others accept awareness that one’s actions would lead to destruction.
Although the Convention does not apply retroactively to events before 1951, it established genocide as a crime under international law. Its principles later formed part of the statutes of international criminal tribunals and the International Criminal Court (ICC).
A common misconception is that genocide always means large-scale killing. In truth, destruction can also take nonviolent forms—such as erasing language, religion, or culture; forced relocation; or the suppression of identity. Lemkin identified eight methods of genocide: political, social, cultural, economic, biological, physical, religious, and moral. These show that extermination can occur without a single bullet being fired.
On Wednesday, October 29, 2025, it was a pleasant day. I took the Red Line at the Thorndale station around 1:30 p.m., exited at Grand Avenue, and walked a short distance, arriving at 2:20 p.m. at the Illinois Holocaust Museum and Education Center. Mr. Cole kindly provided an overview of the museum’s exhibitions. At 2:45 p.m., I experienced a VR presentation, and at 3:35 p.m., I participated in a holographic program featuring survivors’ stories. Later, I explored exhibits displaying documentaries, artifacts, letters, and testimonies from genocide survivors.
As Elie Wiesel said, “Whoever listens to a witness becomes a witness.”
At 4:50 p.m., I left the museum. The visit reawakened memories of my academic studies in international law and human rights. I was reminded that every December 9, the world observes the International Day of Commemoration and Dignity of the Victims of the Crime of Genocide—a day to remember, to prevent repetition, and to reaffirm our shared humanity.
If there is a way to stop history from repeating itself, it begins with education—by learning, teaching, and telling the truth. Our children should grow up knowing there is only one race: the human race. The truest faith is love. Though our beginnings and endings are the same, what truly matters is how we treat one another in between. Let it be remembered: no one should ever choose to kill, displace, or erase others because of race, religion, culture, nationality, or ethnicity.
As for the Illinois Holocaust Museum and Education Center, it is currently closed at its Skokie location (9603 Woods Drive) and has temporarily relocated to 360 N. State Street (at Kinzie) in downtown Chicago. If you are seeking a well of knowledge and understanding, I encourage you to visit and experience its enlightening exhibitions.
By Alpha Diallo
