I have to say that this was probably one the most depressing chapters I've ever read - at least for non-fiction. Zimbardo manages to cover most of the major atrocities of the twentieth century. The excerpts from interviews with some of the Hutu murderers were particularly chilling, mostly because it becomes obvious that these people were not psychopaths. What they did was normal human behaviour. They smashed in the skulls' of neighbours' children they had known just because they'd been told they were the enemy. Zimbardo manages to dismiss most of the usual explanations we get for atrocities like this. Hutus killed neighbours who they'd known and interacted with regularly and normally.
Pauline Nyiramasuhuko is a terrifying figure. It's heartbreaking to think that some sort of social worker who spent her days talking about empowering women would order her own son to rape somebody. Likewise, the militia man who spoke of genocide as a sport was just plain creepy. But what adds to the creepiness of these people is their normality. They're not crazy. They're relatively simple people. No demons ordering them to do crazy stuff, it's not unthinking, it's just stupid, cowardly, accepting and above all, it seems to be about conformity.
One complaint, Zimbardo's definition of evil is a little simplistic for my liking, though understandably so, given that entire libraries could probably be filled with book attempting to define it.
For those who don't have the book yet, Zimbardo writes:
For me, this raises questions regarding necessary evil, the nature of intent and unintended consequences. The inclusion of the word innocent is a little perplexing. What should these victims be innocent of?Evil consists in intentionally behaving in ways that harm, abuse, demean, dehumanise, or destroy innocent others - or using one's authority and systemic power to encourage or permit others to do so on your behalf, In short, it is "knowing better but doing worse."