It is not often that I am stopped in my tracks. But the press photography from the new Gringotts wing of Warner Bros’ Harry Potter Studio tour positively shrieked with antisemitic tropes; the long-nosed goblin, his natty suit, clawed fingers caressing a pile of gold coins. When I positioned a Gringotts shot alongside a series of cartoons from Nazi Germany’s Der Stürmer, it did not seem out of place.

I do not, I cannot believe that JK Rowling is an antisemite. Gringotts aside, neither her books nor her public face would suggest it was so. All I can think is that these images are now so deep in the collective subconscious that even in this era of apparent ‘wokeness’, they can sit squarely in the public domain, their problematic nature apparently unnoticed. A loathsome proxy Jew as children’s entertainment? Why not? Many do know why not. But when I tweeted the Gringotts press shots I had replies saying that the antisemitic symbolism was coincidental, or that they did not see why there was an issue.

The writer in me is appalled by the sheer laziness of it. Harry Potter’s universe is a place where love, bravery and grief sparkle with sorcery; where the dead whisper to the living, a world where good and evil do battle in depictions that sends young hearts soaring. JK Rowling is better than this.

And if centuries of hatred can influence her work in this way, if not a single dissenting voice spoke up within Warner Bros as the exhibit was built, if the result can be published across the national media without even the hint of an outcry, what then? It is so easy to give in to despair. Which is why we must shout louder, push harder, and remember, always remember why we fight, and for whom. Perhaps, then, the next generation of children’s writers, and, crucially, their editors and their publishers, will have an awareness of where these stereotypes come from, and where they lead.

Those of us lucky enough to work in the arts must never forget that what we say matters. To write for young people is a privilege, and one that comes with responsibilities. Not for nothing was there a Hitler Youth. The seeds we plant can bear monstrous fruit.

On 5 April 1944, Anne Frank wrote, ‘When I write I shake off all my cares. My sorrow disappears, my spirits are revived! But, and that’s a big question, will I ever be able to write something great?... I hope so, oh, I hope so very much.’

The world failed Anne Frank. Please, 75 years on, let it not fail our children.

Marianne Levy is a children's author.