This post is prompted by my good friend and frequent commenter BTM. She has lived under fascism in Russia, escaped it, and now recognizes its new form here in the U.S. with a dread that most of our countrymen are too complacent to feel.
No, I haven’t lost my sense of humor or my general joie de vivre, but it is hard for me to look at our current political situation and find much of anything to be sardonic, ironic, or facetious about, which was kind of what kept this blog going over the years. Hope this post doesn’t get too navel-gazy.
I first started it (the blog) years ago when I had been kicked off a popular college admissions web site for disrupting the site’s political zeitgeist with mockery–the best weapon. One of my many cyber-friends from those days said that she admired my “amused cynicism” and didn’t know how I could keep doing it, when so much of what she was reading just incensed or depressed her. Hence the name for this site. And I did keep it going for five years or so, and I’m not giving it up just yet. But I am not quite the happy-go-lucky warrior I once was. These are serious, grim times.
I became aware of this article through The Anchoress (written by Dorothy Thompson, and published in Harper’s in 1941. While I think that the political maxim “he who throws the ‘Nazi’ slur first, loses” is correct (unless the thrower is a liberal Democrat), I do think that the Obama regime is showing definite fascist tendencies, and I’ll never back down from that statement. I would have titled this post “Who Goes Obama?” but it would have been too provocative, even for an agent provocateur like me. But what is, is.
I’ve used the analogy before, but I’ll use it again: This is feeling very much like what it must feel like to be in a hijacked plane. The crazies are barricaded in the cockpit, in control of your very life. The only thing that will save your life is taking control back. Or we might just all crash together.
It is an interesting and somewhat macabre parlor game to play at a large gathering of one’s acquaintances: to speculate who in a showdown would go Nazi. By now, I think I know. I have gone through the experience many times–in Germany, in Austria, and in France. I have come to know the types: the born Nazis, the Nazis whom democracy itself has created, the certain-to-be fellow-travelers. And I also know those who never, under any conceivable circumstances, would become Nazis.
It is preposterous to think that they are divided by any racial characteristics. Germans may be more susceptible to Nazism than most people, but I doubt it. Jews are barred out, but it is an arbitrary ruling. I know lots of Jews who are born Nazis and many others who would heil Hitler tomorrow morning if given a chance. There are Jews who have repudiated their own ancestors in order to become “Honorary Aryans and Nazis”; there are full-blooded Jews who have enthusiastically entered Hitler’s secret service. Nazism has nothing to do with race and nationality. It appeals to a certain type of mind.
It is also, to an immense extent, the disease of a generation–the
generation which was either young or unborn at the end of the last war. This is as true of Englishmen, Frenchmen, and Americans as of Germans. It is the disease of the so-called “lost generation.”
I keep thinking of Smokey Robinson’s songs when I see and hear all the regrets expressed by the clowns that voted for this political disaster. Dupes, morons. It was so obvious.