Fallen heroes or risen demons?

The article the contents of which are being argued over can be found here.

BQ: I don't accept what's being said
Dude, it’s like witch-hunting people who supported the Nazis!
See people believed the Nazis because they created lots of employment
And Germany developed while the world was still in a depression

Me: These are people with established links to the Nazis.

BQ: Not many realized the atrocities until after the war!
With respect to that industrialist: OK, I understand.

Me: So why weren't the names changed?

BQ: Dude, come on. Take that general's example.
Scorched earth is like a very ancient war philosophy.
He was ordered to do it.
People believed that the Communists would bring down the Germans.

Me: Why weren't the names changed is my question? Ample time has been available for these authorities to reconsider how they are tainting the name of their establishments and they still haven't changed it.

BQ: What I'm saying is why would they want to change it?
According to them, that general worked for the republic.
Very efficiently!

Me: Now they know the truth!

BQ: And he did his job, which was to fight.
What is the truth?
That he used the scorched earth policy in Russia?

Me: The truth of the cost at which the republic the general was trying to create was purchased.
Whether or not he was following orders is a matter for the courts, but these people have gone down in history as murderers and people with humanely unacceptable tendencies and beliefs.

BQ: History is always doctored by the victors.

Me: Don't give me that nonsense.

BQ: I'm not saying the Nazis are a bunch of angels.
But you still can't blame an officer for doing his duty!
If that is the case, there would’ve been no military officer who would have done humanly acceptable things.
War is bitter.
If you go by that logic: has Russia bothered to change the names of institutes which bear the name of Lenin or Stalin?
Those two fellows were equally monstrous!
Or did the British punish people like Curzon or General Dyer?
Why should the Germans humiliate their heroes?

Me: Alright, then tell me what message are you conveying to a child who studies in a school that marks testimony to the actions of the soldiers and the generals it is named after? Forgive them in your minds, but keep away from naming schools and colleges after them for the sole reason that you allow their names, and therefore their actions, to live on.
I'm only using an example of the Germans.

BQ: Well, that's a good point.
But still, no point in hiding or erasing history. Those people should be praised for their virtues and criticised for their ill deeds.
Sounds difficult, no?
But do you think there will ever be a perfect human being who will have done nothing wrong?

Me: Of course not.
We just have to do everything with two things in mind: short-term goals and long-term goals.
In the short-term, glorify your heroes for their good deeds. In the long-term, criticize them for the ills they committed.

BQ: True.
People have to understand their ancestors for both their good deeds and short comings and learn from that.

When brothers are born murdered: An experiment with stream of consciousness narration

He takes the gun firmly into his hands and peers down the barrel. Satisfaction. Clicks it back into place-

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

He stands there, smoking out of his head, the gun still pointed at his temple. The evening is just as startled, it kicks up the dust and swirls orphaned leaves around with the wind. The town is fortunately empty this evening, families making the monthly shopping trip to the city and the noblemen housed in their castles hosting tea parties. In the town square, we stand in silence: it is both disbelief and terse finality in the air, the smog-tainted drizzle pattering down on terracotta rooftops bringing relief and detestation and peace at the same time.

He starts to cry, the dry sobs haunt me, a reek of guilt. The gun clatters upon the pavement, it seems it will stay there until I decide to move my feet and close the distance between us, the least I can do for a start. The hollow tinnitus of empty tin cans suspended from my father's crucifix on silken ribbons clatter and clamour with greater vigour when the feeble wind rises from beneath the valley, but tin cans don't have to feel guilty. I do. The mercy of the Lord be with me, this man is my brother, but I have sinned. He moves quickly, sensing my hesitation and he hugs me. I hug him back, the war is over. The sounds of bombs going off in my head is dying out, one baleful ring of thunder at a time, until they're hanging suspended in mid-air beyond the valley of shell-charred tree stumps and dandelions. But the bombs will fall once more, after this evening.

He asks after father, whose life he saved almost a year before. Father is keeping well. And- So is mother. I'm curious. How did you survive the war? They couldn't kill me, but I didn't let them know. So I joined them. That was when he left us. Mother was weeping, a traitor had prayed with her in the town church, a traitor had enjoyed her blanquette de veau on the rare Saturday when she made them. Father was livid. Join after the murderers of your brother. The fury was alive in the air, we felt it in our skins returning from the fields that day. I wish father was alive now. I wish he hadn't died with one son and two daughters. I wish and I hope that beyond the joys of this renewed brotherhood was the joy of a father seeing his son return victorious from battle.