“The nationalist not only does not disapprove of atrocities committed by his own side,” wrote George Orwell in Notes on Nationalism. “But he has a remarkable capacity for not even hearing about them … Whether such deeds were reprehensible, or even whether they happened, was always decided according to political predilection.” When these contradictions are rooted in history this sophistry can be neatly buried under time. If Osama Bin Laden and Saddam Hussein were once our allies and have become enemies, then so be it. Needs must. What’s done is done. History that is inconvenient conveniently loses its legacy; an unpalatable past loses its connection to an unfortunate present. Reference to genocides and colonialism are dismissed as the fetid grievances of yore. Why keep bringing up old stuff?

But what should we make of this hypocrisy when it happens in real time; when the devoutly held principle is being brazenly flouted even as it is extolled? For over a decade the US condemned human rights in Cuba even as it operated a facility in that very country, Guantánamo Bay, which openly violated those very rights.

In the wake of the terror attacks in Paris, Tony Blair told a closed-door meeting of around 300 Republicans that force was necessary to confront radical Islam. The US secretary of state John Kerry described the attack as “a larger confrontation, not between civilisations, but between civilisation itself and those who are opposed to a civilised world”.

One might assume that Saudi Arabia, where women can’t drive and atheists are treated as terrorists, was on the wrong side of that confrontation. After all, it beheads more people than Isis and has been a key source of funding for terrorist organisations. It’s certainly no fan of freedom of speech. Two days after the killings in Charlie Hebdo’s offices in Paris, Saudi blogger, Raif Badawi, was flogged 50 times after being found guilty last year of insulting Islam. His calls for more political and religious freedom left him with a sentence of 10 years in jail, and 950 more lashes to be administered at a rate of 50 a week.

But when the nation’s leader, King Abdullah, died last week Kerry hailed him as “a man of wisdom & vision. US has lost a friend & Kingdom of #SaudiArabia, Middle East, and world has lost a revered leader”, while Tony Blair tweeted: “He was loved by his people and will be deeply missed.”

Pointing out these hypocrisies justifies nothing. Seeking to understand the source of hate does not equate to condoning hateful acts, regardless of who is committing them. But reflecting on that source is a precursor for a level of self-awareness that is both clearly lacking and clearly needed. Human rights are not a western value, but a universal one that is imperilled when people pick and choosewhose humanity they are prepared to respect and protect and hope nobody will notice.

The Uruguayan author Eduardo Galeano once told me that the apparent reluctance to learn from the past scared him. “My great fear is that we are all suffering from amnesia,” he said. “I wrote to recover the memory of the human rainbow, which is in danger of being mutilated.”

Who, I asked, is responsible for this forgetfulness? “It’s not a person,” he explained. “It’s a system of power that is always deciding in the name of humanity who deserves to be remembered and who deserves to be forgotten … We are much more than we are told. We are much more beautiful.” We are much more alike than we are told, as well.

Kyle was a young, working-class man who was losing direction in life when he saw people he identified with being senselessly killed on the other side of the world (according to the film he was radicalised by the embassy bombings in Kenya and Tanzania in 1998) and decided to sign up to go and kill them back. Sound familiar? “I don’t see too much grey,” he wrote. “If I had to order my priorities, they would be god, country, family.” He was every bit as much a jihadi in uniform as his nemesis, Mustafa, was a soldier in casual wear.