Oh, come on. ICE’s new detention center, Alligator Alcatraz, is nothing like a concentration camp. For one thing, historians unanimously agree that Nazis never used alligator-infested moats. Maybe things would have been different if they had access to a bunch of crocodiles, but I’m not even sure the European climate would have supported such a project.

Then there’s the barracks themselves. Those are laminated floors in there, and I’m pretty certain Dachau’s were wooden. If they even had floors, mind you. But either way, there’s your answer: different floors entirely.

The bunkbeds look prefabricated, too. Are those the Mydal sets from IKEA? They sort of look like them. It’s true that IKEA opened its first store in 1943, but remember, the Swedes were big on the whole “neutrality” thing. Okay, come to think of it, maybe that’s a point in your argument’s favor. How about we just call that one a wash?

Anyway, my rough calculation, judging from the photos, puts it at eighteen beds per chain-link cage. I can’t remember how many prisoners were dehumanized inside each of Treblinka’s housing quarters, but I doubt it was exactly eighteen. Never mind that eighteen is traditionally viewed as a lucky number in Judaism. It’s yet another hole riddled into your argument.

You know what I am nearly 100 percent certain about, though? Hitler never attended the opening of a single location. The idea is sort of absurd when you think about it. Like, what fascist leader in their right mind would appear on camera for a ribbon-cutting ceremony for their Center for Crimes Against Humanity?

Perhaps that’s a big distinction you haven’t considered yet—can you even call it what you think we should call it if the sadists are gleefully admitting their brutality on novelty T-shirts? Hannah Arendt never wrote about Eichmann orchestrating unfathomable horrors in a preshrunk crewneck.

The brazen openness of this incalculable woe may be impossible to comprehend, but that still doesn’t warrant comparisons to past events. And even if I conceded your point, where does that leave us? At a moral crux in our lives? A crossroads at which we may be called to risk our individual selves in order to save our collective soul? A moment of reckoning, burning so brightly as to transcend any remaining asinine discussions about historical similarities, repetitions, or rhyme schemes?

I dunno. Seems like a lot of work. But lemme look at that photo one more time, just to be sure.