Friday, December 28, 2007

How In The HELL Did Some Black People Get So Damn Anti-Semitic?

Now apparently actor Will Smith started talking smack in a Scottish newspaper with this little bit about Adolph Hitler: "Hitler didn't wake up going, 'Let me do the most evil thing I can do today.' I think he woke up in the morning and using a twisted, backwards logic, he set out to do what he thought was 'good.'"

The Anti-Defamation League rightly jumped his sh*t and Will Smith issued an apology.

Then of course our good friend Denmark Vesey adds "Why is it so important to Jewish Lobbyists to maintain Hitler and what happened to Jews in WWII as THE MOST AWFUL thing to ever happen to human beings?".

Of course I find myself asking WHY is it that some Black people are SO damn anti-semitic.

I swear to God - even Mrs. Axinar - when we got talking about if there would be ANY religion that might be mutually suitable she, over the course of several conversations, pretty much said that just about anything is on the table except turning snake handlers or Jewish.

I honestly don't get it.

One would think that if one group had the experience of being KIDNAPPED and robbed of its language, identity, culture, history, and dignity, because of no other reason than their RACE that they just might have some sympathy for another group being systematically rounded up, GASSED and BURNED TO A CRISP for the same reason.

You know - if you have the experience of sometimes being looked down upon, thought of as inferior, called six-letter words, and being told to go somewhere else, you'd think you might have the TINIEST bit of sympathy for someone who has the experience of being called EVERY name in the book in EVERY language and being systematically supressed, abused and exterminated for MILLENIA.

No, Denmark, someone who would imply that someone who gets up in the morning and has the thought, "Let's kill all the Jews today," either wasn't thinking at all about what he was about to say or needs about a year of cultural diversity training or both.

As for someone who could POSSIBLY defend such a statement ...



At December 28, 2007 at 6:41 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...


Black people are not anti-semitic. We just have our eyes open. We see the angles the "goy" whites don't see.

My problems are not with Jews, but with Israel.

At December 28, 2007 at 7:25 PM, Anonymous conspiracynut said...

Heh. Lets make it a crime in the usa to question certain things established as 'fact.' You know, like it is in europe. Then it will be a crime for bloggers to question anything put forth as 'official truth.'

"...I think he woke up in the morning and using a twisted, backwards logic, he set out to do what he thought was 'good."

Maybe that was good in Hitler's eyes. But hey, lets make it a crime to speculate about it, cause it might fuckin offend someone. While we're at it, lets go on and make it a crime to be sympathetic to the Palestinians...and the Lebanese...Oh, but it's OKAY to sell nukes to Pakistan and say it's a 'forever' guarantee, and express 'outrage' over the assassination of political opposition to the status quo...and allow the status quo over there to get away with it, and continue to sell 'em nukes...

WTF is wrong with you axinar?

At December 28, 2007 at 8:50 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Axinar, the black population has been anti-Semitic almost forever. I read that news item & was completely repulsed by Will Smith's crass comments.

It's time for people to start checking themselves before running at the mouth. One's color doesn't give liberal license to slander & defame another color, culture or religion. However, there are those who continue to push the limits each day. When caught, as Smith was, they attempt a poor backpedal. It's frightening that the Jewish people allowed a pass & quickly glossed over the comments.

At December 29, 2007 at 12:00 PM, Blogger Axinar said...

"lets make it a crime to speculate about it ..."

Oh, it's not a CRIME to speculate about it ... but if YOU want to imply that initiating the extermination of a group that writes YOUR paycheck was ever a GOOD thing in any way, shape or form, more power to you - but I hope you enjoy poverty.

At December 29, 2007 at 2:42 PM, Anonymous conspiracynut said...

ffs, he said he thought hitler might have thought that, not him.

Listen, i don't schmooze, and you know that. So what? i also haven't had revolving spouses/significant others in order to pay the bills either by marriage or divorce, i'm not out walking the streets, but i gotta say, the common street hooker is more honest about what s/he does than a lot of business people and suburbanites: at least they admit they fuck for money and their diseases are less insideous than the current sick mindset of society, as a whole.

At December 30, 2007 at 11:46 PM, Blogger Crankshaft said...

I agree with Will Smith (and not because he's a cute, black guy) and that's my take on Hitler, too.

Why should anyone be "FOR" or "AGAINST" anyone except if they know someone personally?

There is no race free of blame - be it Caucasian, African, Chinese, Indian, Malay or Jew.

Sometimes you need to see the issue in perspective. There were heaps of really good Jews in the USA in the early 1900s, and they defended the Blacks against Klansmen Whites (so I don't see any reason for a Black to hate a Jew).

But there are also the nasty type of Jews who would do anything for their "cause".

At December 30, 2007 at 11:50 PM, Blogger Crankshaft said...

conspiracynut, who says you can't question "facts" in Europe??

At December 31, 2007 at 5:13 PM, Anonymous conspiracynut said...

Hi there. i really enjoyed visiting your blog. Here's the most recent, relevant link i can find on it:

Happy, healthy, prosperous and peaceful new year, everyone.

At December 31, 2007 at 7:29 PM, Blogger Axinar said...

Well, to fill y'all in on the territory in which you are treading ... :)

How would you take it if someone said, "I think the slave traders woke up in the morning and using a twisted, backwards logic, they set out to do what they thought was 'good.'"

Or, to be a little more contemporary, "I think the Muslim Malays woke up in the morning with their chemical-laced firehoses and using a twisted, backwards logic, they set out to do what they thought was 'good.'"

Yes, from a literal standpoint, the statement probably is correct - from their own point of view the Muslim Malays think they are defending themselves from, in their view, those treacherous little Indians, but you simply can't SAY stuff like this if you're a public figure. It gets misconstrued, and you're going to get jumped and probably suffering a career altering event ...

At January 1, 2008 at 12:34 AM, Blogger Crankshaft said...

I wouldn't believe it if someone told me the slave traders were "using a twisted, backwards logic, to do what they thought was 'good'" because trading is for making money, and they were in fact, greedy bastards at the expense of fellow human beings whom they regarded as inferior.

But if you told me the Klansmen in their fancy bedsheets and torches and crosses were "using a twisted, backwards logic, to do what they thought was 'good'", I'd believe it. Some of these fools genuinely believed that black skin was of the devil and not meant to mix with white skinned people who were regarded as holy and possibly superior.

If Will Smith used that statement on the Malay Muslims, it would be spot on! That's exactly what happened. The Malays believe they haven't been given their dues and therefore they have to exterminate a few Indians and Chinese and deprive them of their rights.

Now what we Indians and Chinese in Malaysia have suffered is still nothing compared to what they Jews in Europe suffered. We haven't been gassed in chambers (only tear-gassed on the streets), we haven't had weird experiments done on us (only had some of our people beaten to death in prison) nor our women brutally killed (except for random pregnant women who just 'happened' to walk into the line of police fire.

Then again, it's just a matter of perspective. So don't mind me.

At January 1, 2008 at 12:37 AM, Blogger Crankshaft said...

So Ax, what you're saying is, public figures should keep their damn mouths shut and not have an opinion?

At January 1, 2008 at 12:52 AM, Blogger Crankshaft said...


I read the IHT article on the Holocaust denial law, and I have mixed feelings on it.

On one hand, there are people in Europe who deny that the Holocaust ever happened, preferring to say the Jews deserved what they got because they were monopolising the economy.

Some say no one did any experiments on them, gassed them and all those horrible things. Trust me, I have European connections and I have personally heard it.

And I think that's wrong, because it did happen. There were lots of witnesses and so many people cannot be lying. It was a HORRIBLE thing to happen to the Jews and it never should have happened.

I do question the number of Jews actually exterminated though. The number seems to rise everytime, and from records, there weren't even 3 million Jews in Germany.

But back to the law, I can't quite figure out what the purpose is - it doesn't seem to spell out things clearly. And it cannot reconcile the protection of freedom of speech with protection of their citizens from racism and hate crimes, in my opinion.

At January 1, 2008 at 3:46 AM, Blogger Axinar said...

"I do question the number of Jews actually exterminated though. The number seems to rise everytime, and from records, there weren't even 3 million Jews in Germany."

That would be because the largest number of Jews killed in the Holocaust were from Poland.

At January 1, 2008 at 5:33 AM, Blogger Crankshaft said...

Maybe. If it's true then so be it.

At January 1, 2008 at 4:10 PM, Blogger Axinar said...

"So be it"?

Don't make me sic the ADL on you ... :)

At January 5, 2008 at 11:33 AM, Anonymous Willyb said...

Why is it when we talk about genocide we never seem to mention the native Americans?
The native Americans were purposely and systematically exterminated, to a toll of hundreds of millions of completley innocent people!
I know the average native American tribe had clashes, and even wars with each other, but the whole of the native American population believed that everything must be held in balance!
People of Eastern Eurpoean decent have always been the most brutal and selfish people to exist!!!
The Catholic church has always been at the forefront of this genocidal behavour!!!

At January 5, 2008 at 12:02 PM, Blogger Axinar said...

I believe, however, that the damage inflicted upon the Native Americans was in the process of the attempt to acquire land.

The Holocaust, on the other hand, was an absolutely deliberate, stated attempt to cause the extinction of an entire race.

More importantly, if you send off for your AncestryByDNA test you may discover that the Native Americans, although culturally decimated, genetically are alive and quite present, in substantial percentages, in both of the groups that now call themselves "White" and "Black".

At January 11, 2008 at 8:56 PM, Anonymous conspiracynut said...

"Once, books appealed to a few people, here, there, everywhere. They could afford to be different. The world was roomy. But then the world got full of eyes and elbows and mouths. Double, triple, quadruple population. Films and radios, magazines, books levelled down to a sort of paste pudding norm, do you follow me?"

"I think so."

Beatty peered at the smoke pattern he had put out on the air. "Picture it. Nineteenth-century man with his horses, dogs, carts, slow motion. Then, in the twentieth century, speed up your camera. Books cut shorter. Condensations, Digests. Tabloids. Everything boils down to the gag, the snap ending."

"Snap ending." Mildred nodded.

"Classics cut to fit fifteen-minute radio shows, then cut again to fill a two-minute book column, winding up at last as a ten- or twelve-line dictionary resume. I exaggerate, of course. The dictionaries were for reference. But many were those whose sole knowledge of Hamlet (you know the title certainly, Montag; it is probably only a faint rumour of a title to you, Mrs. Montag) whose sole knowledge, as I say, of Hamlet was a one-page digest in a book that claimed: 'now at least you can read all the classics; keep up with your neighbours.' Do you see? Out of the nursery into the college and back to the nursery; there's your intellectual pattern for the past five centuries or more."

Mildred arose and began to move around the room, picking things up and putting them down. Beatty ignored her and continued "Speed up the film, Montag, quick. Click? Pic? Look, Eye, Now, Flick, Here, There, Swift, Pace, Up, Down, In, Out, Why, How, Who, What, Where, Eh? Uh! Bang! Smack! Wallop, Bing, Bong, Boom! Digest-digests, digest-digest-digests. Politics? One column, two sentences, a headline! Then, in mid-air, all vanishes! Whirl man's mind around about so fast under the pumping hands of publishers, exploiters, broadcasters, that the centrifuge flings off all unnecessary, time-wasting thought!"

Mildred smoothed the bedclothes. Montag felt his heart jump and jump again as she patted his pillow. Right now she was pulling at his shoulder to try to get him to move so she could take the pillow out and fix it nicely and put it back. And perhaps cry out and stare or simply reach down her hand and say, "What's this?" and hold up the hidden book with touching innocence.

"School is shortened, discipline relaxed, philosophies, histories, languages dropped, English and spelling gradually neglected, finally almost completely ignored. Life is immediate, the job counts, pleasure lies all about after work. Why learn anything save pressing buttons, pulling switches, fitting nuts and bolts?"

"Let me fix your pillow," said Mildred.

"No! " whispered Montag,

Mildred said, "Here."

"Get away," said Montag.

"Life becomes one big pratfall, Montag; everything bang; boff, and wow!"

"Wow," said Mildred, yanking at the pillow.

"For God's sake, let me be!" cried Montag passionately.

Beatty opened his eyes wide.

Mildred's hand had frozen behind the pillow. Her fingers were tracing the book's outline and as the shape became familiar her face looked surprised and then stunned. Her mouth opened to ask a question...

"Empty the theatres save for clowns and furnish the rooms with glass walls and pretty colours running up and down the walls like confetti or blood or sherry or sauterne. You like baseball, don't you, Montag?"

"Baseball's a fine game."

Now Beatty was almost invisible, a voice somewhere behind a screen of smoke.

"What's this?" asked Mildred, almost with delight. Montag heaved back against her arms. "What's this here?"

"Sit down!" Montag shouted. She jumped away, her hands empty. "We're talking! "

Beatty went on as if nothing had happened. "You like bowling, don't you, Montag?"

"Bowling, yes."

"And golf?"

"Golf is a fine game."


"A fine game.".

"Billiards, pool? Football?"

"Fine games, all of them."

"More sports for everyone, group spirit, fun, and you don't have to think, eh? Organize and organize and superorganize super-super sports. More cartoons in books. More pictures. The mind drinks less and less. Impatience. Highways full of crowds going somewhere, somewhere, somewhere, nowhere. The gasoline refugee. Towns turn into motels, people in nomadic surges from place to place, following the moon tides, living tonight in the room where you slept this noon and I the night before."

Mildred went out of the room and slammed the door. The parlour "aunts" began to laugh at the parlour "uncles."

"Now let's take up the minorities in our civilization, shall we? Bigger the population, the more minorities. Don't step on the toes of the dog? lovers, the cat? lovers, doctors, lawyers, merchants, chiefs, Mormons, Baptists, Unitarians, second? generation Chinese, Swedes, Italians, Germans, Texans, Brooklynites, Irishmen, people from Oregon or Mexico. The people in this book, this play, this TV serial are not meant to represent any actual painters, cartographers, mechanics anywhere. The bigger your market, Montag, the less you handle controversy, remember that! All the minor minor minorities with their navels to be kept clean. Authors, full of evil thoughts, lock up your typewriters. They did. Magazines became a nice blend of vanilla tapioca. Books, so the damned snobbish critics said, were dishwater. No wonder books stopped selling, the critics said. But the public, knowing what it wanted, spinning happily, let the comic books survive. And the three dimensional sex magazines, of course. There you have it, Montag. It didn't come from the Government down. There was no dictum, no declaration, no censorship, to start with, no! Technology, mass exploitation, and minority pressure carried the trick, thank God. Today, thanks to them, you can stay happy all the time, you are allowed to read comics, the good old confessions, or trade journals."

"Yes, but what about the firemen, then?" asked Montag.

"Ah." Beatty leaned forward in the faint mist of smoke from his pipe. "What more easily explained and natural? With school turning out more runners, jumpers, racers, tinkerers, grabbers, snatchers, fliers, and swimmers instead of examiners, critics, knowers, and imaginative creators, the word 'intellectual,' of course, became the swear word it deserved to be. You always dread the unfamiliar. Surely you remember the boy in your own school class who was exceptionally 'bright,' did most of the reciting and answering while the others sat like so many leaden idols, hating him. And wasn't it this bright boy you selected for beatings and tortures after hours? Of course it was. We must all be alike. Not everyone born free and equal, as the Constitution says, but everyone made equal. Each man the image of every other; then all are happy, for there are no mountains to make them cower, to judge themselves against. So! A book is a loaded gun in the house next door. Burn it. Take the shot from the weapon. Breach man's mind. Who knows who might be the target of the well? read man? Me? I won't stomach them for a minute. And so when houses were finally fireproofed completely, all over the world (you were correct in your assumption the other night) there was no longer need of firemen for the old purposes. They were given the new job, as custodians of our peace of mind, the focus of our understandable and rightful dread of being inferior; official censors, judges, and executors. That's you, Montag, and that's me."

The door to the parlour opened and Mildred stood there looking in at them, looking at Beatty and then at Montag. Behind her the walls of the room were flooded with green and yellow and orange fireworks sizzling and bursting to some music composed almost completely of trap? drums, tom? toms, and cymbals. Her mouth moved and she was saying something but the sound covered it.

Beatty knocked his pipe into the palm of his pink hand, studied the ashes as if they were a symbol to be diagnosed and searched for meaning.

"You must understand that our civilization is so vast that we can't have our minorities upset and stirred. Ask yourself, What do we want in this country, above all? People want to be happy, isn't that right? Haven't you heard it all your life? I want to be happy, people say. Well, aren't they? Don't we keep them moving, don't we give them fun? That's all we live for, isn't it? For pleasure, for titillation? And you must admit our culture provides plenty of these."


Montag could lip read what Mildred was saying in the doorway. He tried not to look at her mouth, because then Beatty might turn and read what was there, too.

"Coloured people don't like Little Black Sambo. Burn it. White people don't feel good about Uncle Tom's Cabin. Burn it. Someone's written a book on tobacco and cancer of the lungs? The cigarette people are weeping? Burn the book. Serenity, Montag. Peace, Montag. Take your fight outside. Better yet, into the incinerator. Funerals are unhappy and pagan? Eliminate them, too. Five minutes after a person is dead he's on his way to the Big Flue, the Incinerators serviced by helicopters all over the country. Ten minutes after death a man's a speck of black dust. Let's not quibble over individuals with memoriams. Forget them. Burn them all, burn everything. Fire is bright and fire is clean."

The fireworks died in the parlour behind Mildred. She had stopped talking at the same time; a miraculous coincidence. Montag held his breath.

"There was a girl next door," he said, slowly. "She's gone now, I think, dead. I can't even remember her face. But she was different. How? how did she happen?"

Beatty smiled. "Here or there, that's bound to occur. Clarisse McClellan? We've a record on her family. We've watched them carefully. Heredity and environment are funny things. You can't rid yourselves of all the odd ducks in just a few years. The home environment can undo a lot you try to do at school. That's why we've lowered the kindergarten age year after year until now we're almost snatching them from the cradle. We had some false alarms on the McClellans, when they lived in Chicago. Never found a book. Uncle had a mixed record; antisocial. The girl? She was a time bomb. The family had been feeding her subconscious, I'm sure, from what I saw of her school record. She didn't want to know how a thing was done, but why. That can be embarrassing. You ask 'why' to a lot of things and you wind up very unhappy indeed, if you keep at it. The poor girl's better off dead."

"Yes, dead."

"Luckily, queer ones like her don't happen, often. We know how to nip most of them in the bud, early. You can't build a house without nails and wood. If you don't want a house built, hide the nails and wood. If you don't want a man unhappy politically, don't give him two sides to a question to worry him; give him one. Better yet, give him none. Let him forget there is such a thing as war. If the Government is inefficient, topheavy, and tax mad, better it be all those than that people worry over it. Peace, Montag. Give the people contests they win by remembering the words to more popular songs or the names of state capitals or how much corn Iowa grew last year. Cram them full of non-combustible data, chock them so damned full of 'facts' they feel stuffed, but absolutely 'brilliant' with information. Then they'll feel they're thinking, they'll get a sense of motion without moving. And they'll be happy, because facts of that sort don't change. Don't give them any slippery stuff like philosophy or sociology to tie things up with. That way lies melancholy. Any man who can take a TV wall apart and put it back together again, and most men can nowadays, is happier than any man who tries to slide rule, measure, and equate the universe, which just won't be measured or equated without making man feel bestial and lonely. I know, I've tried it; to hell with it. So bring on your clubs and parties, your acrobats and magicians, your dare-devils, jet cars, motorcycles, helicopters, your sex and heroin, more of everything to do with automatic reflex. If the drama is bad, if the film says nothing, if the play is hollow, sting me with the theremin, loudly. I'll think I'm responding to the play, when it's only a tactile reaction to vibration. But I don't care. I just like solid entertainment."

Beatty got up. "I must be going. Lecture's over. I hope I've clarified things. The important thing for you to remember, Montag, is we're the Happiness Boys, the Dixie Duo, you and I and the others. We stand against the small tide of those who want to make everyone unhappy with conflicting theory and thought. We have our fingers in the dyke. Hold steady. Don't let the torrent of melancholy and drear philosophy drown our world. We depend on you. I don't think you realize how important you are, to our happy world as it stands now."

Beatty shook Montag's limp hand. Montag still sat, as if the house were collapsing about him and he could not move, in the bed. Mildred had vanished from the door.

"One last thing," said Beatty. "At least once in his career, every fireman gets an itch. What do the books say, he wonders. Oh, to scratch that itch, eh? Well, Montag, take my word for it, I've had to read a few in my time, to know what I was about, and the books say nothing! Nothing you can teach or believe. They're about non? existent people, figments of imagination, if they're fiction. And if they're nonfiction, it's worse, one professor calling another an idiot, one philosopher screaming down another's gullet. All of them running about, putting out the stars and extinguishing the sun. You come away lost."

"Well, then, what if a fireman accidentally, really not, intending anything, takes a book home with him?"

Montag twitched. The open door looked at him with its great vacant eye.

"A natural error. Curiosity alone," said Beatty. "We don't get over-anxious or mad. We let the fireman keep the book twenty-four hours. If he hasn't burned it by then, we simply come and burn it for him."

"Of course." Montag's mouth was dry.

"Well, Montag. Will you take another, later shift, today? Will we see you tonight perhaps?"

"I don't know," said Montag.

"What?" Beatty looked faintly surprised.

Montag shut his eyes. "I'll be in later. Maybe."

"We'd certainly miss you if you didn't show," said Beatty, putting his pipe in his pocket thoughtfully.

"I'll never come in again," thought Montag.

"Get well and keep well," said Beatty. He turned and went out through the open door.

Montag watched through the window as Beatty drove away in his gleaming yellow-flame coloured beetle with the black, char-coloured tyres.

Across the street and down the way the other houses stood with their flat fronts. What was it Clarisse had said one afternoon? "No front porches. My uncle says there used to be front porches. And people sat there sometimes at night, talking when they wanted to talk, rocking, and not talking when they didn't want to talk. Sometimes they just sat there and thought about things, turned things over. My uncle says the architects got rid of the front porches because they didn't look well. But my uncle says that was merely rationalizing it; the real reason, hidden underneath, might be they didn't want people sitting like that, doing nothing, rocking, talking; that was the wrong kind of social life. People talked too much. And they had time to think. So they ran off with the porches. And the gardens, too. Not many gardens any more to sit around in. And look at the furniture. No rocking chairs any more. They're too comfortable. Get people up and running around. My uncle says... and... my uncle... and... my uncle..." Her voice faded.

Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451


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