Thursday, November 26, 2015

Jewish blasphemy against Our Lord, again

As one has come to expect, Easter and Christmas bring about the usual Jewish blasphemies against Jesus Christ, and Catholicism, and anything smacking of the sacred.  They occur everywhere, magazines, television, movies PBS "specials", the lot.  I believe it is time we call out these people for what they are: the Jews and those who serve them are mockers of God.

We have been trained, so to speak, to avoid these issues or else to speak in hushed, careful tones about them out of fear of being called names or worse.  The bombardment of propaganda intended to silence Christians while Our Lord is being ridiculed has been enormously successful: only very few will bring up the subject at all.  Regular visitors to this blog know that I occasionally point out Jewish complicity in many of the ills in the world, from the wars and terrorism they are promoting, to the promotion of sodomy, to the attacks on the person of Our Lord and Blessed Mary.  I try to do it gently, with a huge dose or irony, and always with the intention that these blind people will come to their senses and accept their birth right, the Catholic faith.  But perhaps it is now time to speak more frankly to these people, who are never going to see God in the face due to their rejection and hatred of His Son and whose eternal destiny is too horrible to contemplate.

Now in release out of the Jewish-owned entertainment industry comes a little gem called, "The Night Before".  I avoid modern films like I avoid head lice so I wouldn't have even heard about it unless someone mentioned it.  But a comment over at The Unz Review reads thus:

You left Hollywood off that list. We used to have to suffer through such sentimental, second-rate movies like It’s a Wonderful Life. Fortunately we can now enjoy first-rate Christmas movies like The Night Before (Directed by Jonathan Levine; produced by Seth Rogan, Evan Goldberg; written by Ariel Shaffir, Evan Goldberg, Jonathan Levine; starring Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Seth Rogan, Lizzy Caplan, et al.), which has a touching scene of Rogan mocking Jesus on the cross and throwing up in the aisle during consecration of the Eucharist during midnight Mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

Note well the names of the people involved in it.  Aside from being a group of non-talents they are all Jews.  What, I wonder, is the opinion of those innocent Jews out there who don't necessarily have any overt animosity towards Christians yet must realize that at some point there is going to be a backlash against all this?  Biblical historians might well ask, Don't they ever learn?

So where does this leave us at this point in time?

At an absolute minimum we should be expecting to hear something, anything, from Church leaders despite the fact that the Church made peace with "the world" officially in 1962-1965.  Will Los Angeles prelate Gomez speak out bravely and publicly, naming names, about such cheap little blasphemies? How about Cardinal Dolan, in whose diocese many scenes of this movie were shot?

Was an actual Catholic church used in the scene referred to above, or was it a studio mock-up? If it was an actual church, which one was it, and who gave these cretins permission to film there?

Personally, I grow weary of Jewish mocking of Christ and His Church and am using my little space on the internet to say so.  Christian charity demands that I tell them that unless they are baptized, and unless they enter the one, true Church, their final end is damnation.  It is frankly that simple.

For two thousand years they have been battling the Church in a futile effort to destroy her.  They have used many artifices to accomplish this and, unfortunately, have had some success.  Pray for them.  And pray for the leaders of the Church who once had the courage and charity to say what had to be said, as did holy priests, like Padre Pio:

"Jews are enemies of God and foes of our holy Religion."

And pray, too, for the audiences who attend this movie, and laugh and enjoy themselves.  Mr Belloc, of course, has a word to say to those people.  The following quote has been ignored or misunderstood for decades.  Even today's war-mongers misuse it to defend their annihilations of nations.  But it was not intended for that; it was intended for the mockers and those who enjoy their mockings.

We sit by and watch the Barbarian, we tolerate him; in the long stretches of peace we are not afraid. We are tickled by his irreverence, his comic inversion of our old certitudes and our fixed creeds refreshes us; we laugh. But as we laugh we are watched by large and awful faces from beyond: and on these faces there is no smile.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

A Lesson for the Pope, from Russia

Pope Francis if he would stop, think, look around him and ponder what is happening to the Church and the world, might take notice of something that is slowly but surely gaining ground in post-Communist Russia.  Russia is a nation still suffering from problems, and a recent century-long occupation by an alien thing known as Communism, but the signs of its healing are unmistakable to anyone who will look at the situation with brutal honesty.

The West, the post-Catholic West, is crumbling morally, religiously and civilizationally while post-Communist Russia is rediscovering its Christian past.  The leaders of the West, the anti-Christian Western powers exemplified by the United States, Britain, France, Germany, and its hangers-on, have declared "spiritual war" on Russia, and as the days and months continue so does the animus towards this resurging Christian nation intensify.

The Russian Orthodox has its problems, to be sure.  The Caesaro-papism of their outlook is preventing to a large extent its reunion with Peter's Chair.  We Catholics know that reunion will happen in God's good time, but sensible people cannot see any hope for a reunion until first the Catholic Church finally does what Russia and its Orthodox Church has done, namely: return to its roots. Writer Frank Gashumba notes:

For the modern outsider, Orthodoxy may appear a confronting relic of the past: a highly ritualistic liturgy suggesting an imprisonment to empty tradition; a disturbing refusal to embrace such modern imperatives as gender-neutrality, the men obstreperously growing their beards long with the women underfoot meekly covering their heads; no guitars, rock ‘n’ roll or a general concern to become relevant and get with the program. In a word, an insouciant disregard for the importunate demands of the world.

There is the stone wall presented to us in all its clarity.  The leaders in the Vatican are doing precisely what the Russian Orthodox are not,  Rome wants to get warm with the world, Orthodoxy in Russia does not.  Rome has embraced the world which is why Pope Francis is so admired by the world; it is also why the world hates Russia and its re-emerging Christianity and wants to destroy her by any means possible, including using Syria as a catalyst to start a world war to destroy the Russian nation.  All wars are religious, and so is this one.

Unlike Orthodoxy Rome does not want to be seen as "a relic of the past", and so has since the swinging sixties destroyed the beauty and holiness of the Mass, ignored centuries-old expressions of piety, abandoned beauty in music, art, literature and architecture and has, well, totally embraced the world.  And we have a Pope who is seemingly just fine with all this chaos.

If Pope Francis would study seriously what is slowly growing in Russia and act on it as the Vicar of Christ he is supposed to be he might yet save Europe and the Faith.  If he wont, may God grant us mercy by removing him and replacing him with a man who will be hated the world.

Monday, November 23, 2015

Creepy priests and non-creepy priests

In the interests of helping Pope Francis warn the faithful against priests who give him the creeps, and those who give him warm feelings, we offer this gallery of photos to help readers in identifying the types referred to by the Holy Father.


Some weird old guy in Italy

Henry Edward Manning - they made him a Cardinal yet!
Creepy seminarian who justly wound up in a concentration camp

Who is he looking at?  Or shouldn't I ask?

The distinguished Bishop ackerman

The ultra-manly and masculine James Martin
The noble Bernardin, while being devoured internally by AIDS
We trust this will be helpful to our readers in spotting the type of seminarian or priest our current Pope wishes us to avoid, and the type he likes very much.

Just to prove that Francis puts his money where his mouth is, here are two examples of fine, non-creepy men he has put into high positions:

What, me worry?

A kindly homosexual caresses his pontiff

Saturday, November 21, 2015

I'm sorry to hear that The Force is Awakening

Lucas, left, with that other permanent adolescent, Spielberg 

The mind of movie guru George Lucas, a mind permanently fixed in a state of adolescence, will give birth in a few weeks to yet another rehash of his "Star Wars" obsession.  Though he is not as "hands-on" in this latest production his rapidly greying eminence hangs over it like a pall.  

Amused, we glance over the cast list, the likes of which I shall not dwell upon. The worst of it is to see so fine an actor as Max von Sydow wasting himself in such trivialities.

To say that we are being bombarded and bamboozled by the hype over this never-ending saga is to put it mildly. The hoopla to date would give one the impression that what we are witnessing is more important than the Second Coming. Such is the power of PR.

And such is the state of mind of the average person that the release of more junk like this is greeted as something almost holy.  A glance at the average news outlet tells the story plainly: another helping of Lucas-bloated pabulum with mayonnaise is what the world is waiting to have poured over them.

And it is impossible to escape this.  The upcoming release is drummed into our heads like a voodoo mantra, complete with drums and gyrating adherents, displayed everywhere we walk, work or (try to) relax. Am I the only person, film aficionado that I am, that finds this disturbing? Young people, our precious young people, are allowed by their parents to feed on this over-cooked and tasteless stew on a regular basis.  "It's only a movie.  Relax", they say.  My answer to that would be, garbage in, garbage out.

Young people are having their own precious brains - not to mention, souls - addled by the addled brains in Hollywood. That is really what is going on here.  Their young lives are being filled with eye-catching nonsense daily.  Hourly.  They are not allowed to develop either intellectually, emotionally or spiritually.  They become obsessed with mere entertainments, so obsessed that the practical living of their lives is being adversely affected.  Will they ever get serious about life? Plan for the future? Begin to realize that they will have to make it though life on their own without a light sabre or the help of The Force...or their parents?

To say they are being dumbed down would be a compliment.  I vividly recall several occasions when I attended the screenings of some classic films of the past at a theatre that once specialized in these types of movies.  The film(s) being shown were intelligently written and made, quite witty and in many cases edifying.  During several particularly amusing moments which would draw laughs from those of us seasoned in the world of great films the baseball cap-wearing young people who normally feasted on modern movies, and who thought it might be nice to sample an "old film" for a change, would sit there in a dazed stupor, obviously too dull to appreciate examples of real humor.  Tragic, really. When even a simple sense of humor is no longer being developed in our young folk we are edging closer to disaster.

A similar experience occurred when after recommending P.G. Wodehouse to an acquaintance who still enjoyed reading I was amazed at his reaction.  He found the books boring and unfunny. I would suggest that anyone who finds Wodehouse unfunny is already deceased.  Yet this fellow could not find a single story about Jeeves or Ukridge that amused him. In my own case this I can attest: that Mr Wodehouse is perhaps the only author I have ever read who makes me laugh literally out loud. Not my friend, though. But we must be tolerant and patient of such souls; I suppose anyone who finds the Junior High-level humor of The Simpsons funny, as he does, has already had his comic sensibilities bludgeoned out of him and would find reading Wodehouse similar in enjoyment to a  journey to the Arctic without taking along a winter coat.

But to return to the infantilism that now characterizes the entertainment industry, and the forced-fed phenomena that is the release of the newest Lucas effort, it tells this writer how difficult a job it would be to help these dazed movie-goers get control of their lives and their futures.  Too many times have I seen potential in young people being left to rot in the rain as their attention is drawn to these special effect baubles that dance on movie screens and televisions.

Would they tolerate a warning from someone who knows what he's talking about?

The late, great Sir Alec Guiness, who appeared (somewhat reluctantly) in the original "Star Wars" has some advice for young people who look upon these movies as idols:


I believe that Sir Alec has pronounced the final word on this obsession.  Once and for all.

This coming Advent and Christmas Seasons will be better spent ignoring Hollywood.  An antidote to the general hysteria over the release of the latest big screen rubbish?  Wodehouse?Chesterton? Dickens?  Maybe a Christmas concert?  Whatever you choose, keep them out of the movie theatres.

And may The Force go away.


Thursday, November 19, 2015

Barbarians IN the gates

Two black teenagers murder a white woman and then take the corpse on a joy ride.

The victim

To try to comment on this will be impossible. How can one comment on it?  Let it serve, then, only as a warning.

To those who believe things like this can be turned around, I offer this letter from a school teacher who teaches at a predominantly black school.  It is a comment (slightly edited to remove some of the more disgusting comments by the students) from an article in the UNZ review.  The author is not vindictive nor does he mince any words.  He uses the dialect of the persons involved not to mock but to give an idea of what a teacher has to face when trying to educate them.

A Teacher From a Black High School:
The truth is usually a tough thing to accept, so I understand if this is flagged. It would be a cowardly thing to do, but I understand it. Some people just ignore unpleasant truths. However, if you think ignoring the problem, or trying to censor the truth, will help our black children improve, you’re dreaming. This is important, so I’m happy to repost – indefinitely if necessary. I find it interesting that NO ONE has had the intellect to refute anything in the essay. They can only attempt to censor it, as if doing so somehow makes it invalid. Weak minds, weak minds.
Until recently I taught at a predominantly black high school in a southeastern state.
The mainstream press gives a hint of what conditions are like in black schools, but only a hint. Expressions journalists use like “chaotic” or “poor learning environment” or “lack of discipline” do not capture what really happens. There is nothing like the day-to-day experience of teaching black children and that is what I will try to convey.
Most whites simply do not know what black people are like in large numbers, and the first encounter can be a shock.
One of the most immediately striking things about my students was that they were loud. They had little conception of ordinary decorum. It was not unusual for five blacks to be screaming at me at once. Instead of calming down and waiting for a lull in the din to make their point — something that occurs to even the dimmest white students — blacks just tried to yell over each other.
It did no good to try to quiet them, and white women were particularly inept at trying. I sat in on one woman’s class as she begged the children to pipe down. They just yelled louder so their voices would carry over hers.
Many of my black students would repeat themselves over and over again — just louder. It was as if they suffered from Tourette syndrome. They seemed to have no conception of waiting for an appropriate time to say something. They would get ideas in their heads and simply had to shout them out. I might be leading a discussion on government and suddenly be interrupted: “We gotta get more Democrats! Clinton, she good!” The student may seem content with that outburst but two minutes later, he would suddenly start yelling again: “Clinton good!”
Anyone who is around young blacks will probably get a constant diet of rap music. Blacks often make up their own jingles, and it was not uncommon for 15 black boys to swagger into a classroom, bouncing their shoulders and jiving back.
They were yelling back and forth, rapping 15 different sets of words in the same harsh, rasping dialect. The words were almost invariably a childish form of boasting: “Who got dem shine rim, who got dem shine shoe, who got dem shine grill (gold and silver dental caps)?” The amateur rapper usually ends with a claim–in the crudest terms imaginable — that all womankind is sexually devoted to him. 
Black women love to dance — in a way white people might call gyrating. So many black girls dance in the hall, in the classroom, on the chairs, next to the chairs, under the chairs, everywhere. Once I took a call on my cell phone and had to step outside of class. I was away about two minutes but when I got back the black girls had lined up at the front of the classroom and were convulsing to the delight of the boys.
Many black people, especially black women, are enormously fat. Some are so fat I had to arrange special seating to accommodate their bulk. I am not saying there are no fat white students — there are — but it is a matter of numbers and attitudes. Many black girls simply do not care that they are fat. There are plenty of white anorexics, but I have never met or heard of a black anorexic.
“Black women be big Mr. Jackson,” my students would explain.
Blacks, on average, are the most directly critical people I have ever met: “Dat shirt stupid. Yo’ kid a bastard. Yo’ lips big.” Unlike whites, who tread gingerly around the subject of race, they can be brutally to the point. Once I needed to send a student to the office to deliver a message. I asked for volunteers, and suddenly you would think my classroom was a bastion of civic engagement. Thirty dark hands shot into the air. My students loved to leave the classroom and slack off, even if just for a few minutes, away from the eye of white authority. I picked a light-skinned boy to deliver the message. One very black student was indignant: “You pick da half-breed.” And immediately other blacks take up the cry, and half a dozen mouths are screaming, “He half-breed.”
For decades, the country has been lamenting the poor academic performance of blacks and there is much to lament. There is no question, however, that many blacks come to school with a serious handicap that is not their fault. At home they have learned a dialect that is almost a different language. Blacks not only mispronounce words; their grammar is often wrong. When a black wants to ask, “Where is the bathroom?” he may actually say “Whar da badroom be?” Grammatically, this is the equivalent of “Where the bathroom is?” And this is the way they speak in high school. Students write the way they speak, so this is the language that shows up in written assignments.
It is true that some whites face a similar handicap. They speak with what I would call a “country” accent that is hard to reproduce but results in sentences such as “I’m gonna gemme a Coke.” Some of these country whites had to learn correct pronunciation and usage. The difference is that most whites overcome this handicap and learn to speak correctly; many blacks do not.
Most of the blacks I taught simply had no interest in academic subjects. I taught history, and students would often say they didn’t want to do an assignment or they didn’t like history because it was all about white people. Of course, this was “diversity” history, in which every cowboy’s black cook got a special page on how he contributed to winning the West, but black children still found it inadequate. So I would throw up my hands and assign them a project on a real, historical black person. My favorite was Marcus Garvey. They had never heard of him, and I would tell them to research him, but they never did. They didn’t care and they didn’t want to do any work.
Anyone who teaches blacks soon learns that they have a completely different view of government from whites. Once I decided to fill 25 minutes by having students write about one thing the government should do to improve America. I gave this question to three classes totaling about 100 students, approximately 80 of whom were black. My few white students came back with generally “conservative” ideas. “We need to cut off people who don’t work,” was the most common suggestion. Nearly every black gave a variation on the theme of “We need more government services.”
My students had only the vaguest notion of who pays for government services. For them, it was like a magical piggy bank that never goes empty. One black girl was exhorting the class on the need for more social services and I kept trying to explain that people, real live people, are taxed for the money to pay for those services. “Yeah, it come from whites,” she finally said. “They stingy anyway.”
“Many black people make over $50,000 dollars a year and you would also be taking away from your own people,” I said.
She had an answer to that: “Dey half breed.” The class agreed. I let the subject drop.
Many black girls are perfectly happy to be welfare queens. On career day, one girl explained to the class that she was going to have lots of children and get fat checks from the government. No one in the class seemed to have any objection to this career choice.
Surprising attitudes can come out in class discussion. We were talking about the crimes committed in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, and I brought up the rape of a young girl in the bathroom of the Superdome. A majority of my students believed this was a horrible crime but a few took it lightly. One black boy spoke up without raising his hand: “Dat no big deal. They thought they is gonna die so they figured they have some fun. Dey jus’ wanna have a fun time; you know what I’m sayin’?” A few black heads nodded in agreement.
My department head once asked all the teachers to get a response from all students to the following question: “Do you think it is okay to break the law if it will benefit you greatly?” By then, I had been teaching for a while and was not surprised by answers that left a young, liberal, white woman colleague aghast. “Yeah” was the favorite answer. As one student explained, “Get dat green.”
There is a level of conformity among blacks that whites would find hard to believe. They like one kind of music: rap. They will vote for one political party: Democrat. They dance one way, speak one way, are loud the same way, and fail their exams in the same way. Of course, there are exceptions but they are rare.
Whites are different. Some like country music, others heavy metal, some prefer pop, and still others, God forbid, enjoy rap music. They have different associations, groups, almost ideologies. There are jocks, nerds, preppies, and hunters. Blacks are all — well — black, and they are quick to let other blacks know when they deviate from the norm.
One might object that there are important group differences among blacks that a white man simply cannot detect. I have done my best to find them, but so far as I can tell, they dress the same, talk the same, think the same. Certainly, they form rival groups, but the groups are not different in any discernible way. There simply are no groups of blacks that are as distinctly different from each other as white “nerds,” “hunters,” or “Goths,” for example.
How the world looks to blacks: One point on which all blacks agree is that everything is “racis’.” This is one message of liberalism they have absorbed completely. Did you do your homework? “Na, homework racis’.” Why did you get an F on the test? “Test racis’.”
I was trying to teach a unit on British philosophers and the first thing the students noticed about Bentham, Hobbes, and Locke was “Dey all white! Where da black philosopher a’?” I tried to explain there were no blacks in eighteenth century Britain. You can probably guess what they said to that: “Dat racis’!” One student accused me of deliberately failing him on a test because I didn’t like black people.
“Do you think I really hate black people?”
“Have I done anything to make you feel this way? How do you know?”
“You just do.”
“Why do you say that?”
He just smirked, looked out the window, and sucked air through his teeth. Perhaps this was a regional thing, but the blacks often sucked air through their teeth as a wordless expression of disdain or hostility.
My students were sometimes unable to see the world except through the lens of their own blackness. I had a class that was host to a German exchange student. One day he put on a Power Point presentation with famous German landmarks as well as his school and family.
From time to time during the presentation, blacks would scream, “Where da black folk?!” The exasperated German tried several times to explain that there were no black people where he lived in Germany. The students did not believe him. I told them Germany is in Europe, where white people are from, and Africa is where black people are from. They insisted that the German student was racist, and deliberately refused to associate with blacks.
Blacks are keenly interested in their own racial characteristics. I have learned, for example, that some blacks have “good hair.” Good hair is black parlance for black-white hybrid hair. Apparently, it is less kinky, easier to style, and considered more attractive. Blacks are also proud of light skin. Imagine two black students shouting insults across the room. One is dark but slim; the other light and obese. The dark one begins the exchange: “You fat, Ridario!” Ridario smiles, doesn’t deign to look at his detractor, shakes his head like a wobbling top, and says, “You wish you light skinned.”
They could go on like this, repeating the same insults over and over.
My black students had nothing but contempt for Hispanic immigrants. They would vent their feelings so crudely that our department strongly advised us never to talk about immigration in class in case the principal or some outsider might overhear.
Whites were “racis’,” of course, but they thought of us at least as Americans. Not the Mexicans. Blacks have a certain, not necessarily hostile understanding of white people. They know how whites act, and it is clear they believe whites are smart and are good at organizing things. At the same time, they probably suspect whites are just putting on an act when they talk about equality, as if it is all a sham that makes it easier for whites to control blacks. Blacks want a bigger piece of the American pie. I’m convinced that if it were up to them they would give whites a considerably smaller piece than whites get now, but they would give us something. They wouldn’t give Mexicans anything.
What about black boys and white girls? No one is supposed to notice this or talk about it but it is glaringly obvious: Black boys are obsessed with white girls. I’ve witnessed the following drama countless times. A black boy saunters up to a white girl. The cocky black dances around her, not really in a menacing way. It’s more a shuffle than a threat. As he bobs and shuffles he asks, “When you gonna go wit’ me?”
There are two kinds of reply. The more confident white girl gets annoyed, looks away from the black and shouts, “I don’t wanna go out with you!” The more demure girl will look at her feet and mumble a polite excuse but ultimately say no.
There is only one response from the black boy: “You racis’.” Many girls — all too many — actually feel guilty because they do not want to date blacks. Most white girls at my school stayed away from blacks, but a few, particularly the ones who were addicted to drugs, fell in with them.
There is something else that is striking about blacks. They seem to have no sense of romance, of falling in love. What brings men and women together is sex, pure and simple, and there is a crude openness about this. There are many degenerate whites, of course, but some of my white students were capable of real devotion and tenderness, emotions that seemed absent from blacks — especially the boys.
Black schools are violent and the few whites who are too poor to escape are caught in the storm. The violence is astonishing, not so much that it happens, but the atmosphere in which it happens. Blacks can be smiling, seemingly perfectly content with what they are doing, having a good time, and then, suddenly start fighting. It’s uncanny. Not long ago, I was walking through the halls and a group of black boys were walking in front of me. All of a sudden they started fighting with another group in the hallway.
Blacks are extraordinarily quick to take offense. Once I accidentally scuffed a black boy’s white sneaker with my shoe. He immediately rubbed his body up against mine and threatened to attack me. I stepped outside the class and had a security guard escort the student to the office. It was unusual for students to threaten teachers physically this way, but among themselves, they were quick to fight for similar reasons.
The real victims are the unfortunate whites caught in this. They are always in danger and their educations suffer. White weaklings are particularly susceptible, but mostly to petty violence. They may be slapped or get a couple of kicks when they are trying to open a bottom locker. Typically, blacks save the hard, serious violence for each other.
There was a lot of promiscuous sex among my students and this led to violence. Black girls were constantly fighting over black boys. It was not uncommon to see two girls literally ripping each other’s hair out with a police officer in the middle trying to break up the fight. The black boy they were fighting over would be standing by with a smile, enjoying the show he had created. For reasons I cannot explain, boys seldom fought over girls.
Pregnancy was common among the blacks, though many black girls were so fat I could not tell the difference. I don’t know how many girls got abortions, but when they had the baby they usually stayed in school and had their own parents look after the child. The school did not offer daycare.
Aside from the police officers constantly on patrol, a sure sign that you are in a black school is the coke cage: the chain-link fence that many majority-black schools use to protect vending machines. The cage surrounds the machine and even covers its top. Delivery employees have to unlock a gate on the front of the cage to service the machines. Companies would prefer not to build cages around vending machines. They are expensive, ugly, and a bother, but black students smashed the machines so many times it was cheaper to build a cage than repair the damage. Rumor had it that before the cages went up blacks would turn the machines upside down in the hope that the money would fall out.
Security guards are everywhere in black schools — we had one on every hall. They also sat in on unruly classes and escorted students to the office. They were unarmed, but worked closely with the three city police officers who were constantly on duty.
There was a lot of drug-dealing at my school. This was a good way to make a fair amount of money but it also gave boys power over girls who wanted drugs. An addicted girl — black or white — became the plaything of anyone who could get her drugs.
One of my students was a notorious drug dealer. Everyone knew it. He was 19 years old and in eleventh grade. Once he got a score of three out of 100 on a test. He had been locked up four times since he was 13.
One day, I asked him, “Why do you come to school?”
He wouldn’t answer. He just looked out the window, smiled, and sucked air through his teeth. His friend Yidarius ventured an explanation: “He get dat green and get dem females.”
“What is the green?” I asked. “Money or dope?” “Both,” said Yidarius with a smile.
A very fat black interrupted from across the room: “We get dat lunch,” Mr. Jackson. “We gotta get dat lunch and brickfuss.” He means the free breakfast and lunch poor students get every day. “Nigga, we know’d you be lovin’ brickfuss!” shouts another student.
Some readers may believe that I have drawn a cruel caricature of black students. After all, according to official figures some 85 percent of them graduate. It would be instructive to know how many of those scraped by with barely a C- record. They go from grade to grade and they finally get their diplomas because there is so much pressure on teachers to push them through. It saves money to move them along, the school looks good, and the teachers look good.
Many of these children should have been failed, but the system would crack under their weight if they were all held back.
How did my experiences make me feel about blacks? Ultimately, I lost sympathy for them. In so many ways they seem to make their own beds. There they were in an integrationist’s fantasy–in the same classroom with white students, eating the same lunch, using the same bathrooms, listening to the same teachers–and yet the blacks fail while the whites pass.
One tragic outcome among whites who have been teaching for too long is that it can engender something close to hatred. One teacher I knew gave up fast food–not for health reasons but because where he lived most fast-food workers were black. He had enough of blacks on the job. This was an extreme example but years of frustration can take their toll. Many of my white colleagues with any experience were well on their way to that state of mind.
There is an unutterable secret among teachers: Almost all realize that blacks do not respond to traditional white instruction. Does that put the lie to environmentalism? Not at all. It is what brings about endless, pointless innovation that is supposed to bring blacks up to the white level. The solution is more diversity–or put more generally, the solution is change. Change is an almost holy word in education, and you can fail a million times as long as you keep changing. That is why liberals keep revamping the curriculum and the way it is taught. For example, teachers are told that blacks need hands-on instruction and more group work.
Teachers are told that blacks are more vocal and do not learn through reading and lectures. The implication is that they have certain traits that lend themselves to a different kind of teaching.
Whites have learned a certain way for centuries but it just doesn’t work with blacks. Of course, this implies racial differences but if pressed, most liberal teachers would say different racial learning styles come from some indefinable cultural characteristic unique to blacks. Therefore, schools must change, America must change. But into what? How do you turn quantum physics into hands-on instruction or group work? No one knows, but we must keep changing until we find something that works.
Public school has certainly changed since anyone reading this was a student. I have a friend who teaches elementary school, and she tells me that every week the students get a new diversity lesson, shipped in fresh from some bureaucrat’s office in Washington or the state capital. She showed me the materials for one week: a large poster, about the size of a forty-two inch flat-screen television. It shows an utterly diverse group — I mean diverse: handicapped, Muslim, Jewish, effeminate, poor, rich, brown, slightly brown, yellow, etc.–sitting at a table, smiling gaily, accomplishing some undefined task. The poster comes with a sheet of questions the teacher is supposed to ask. One might be: “These kids sure look different, but they look happy. Can you tell me which one in the picture is an American?”
Some eight-year-old, mired in ignorance, will point to a white child like himself. “That one.”
The teacher reads from the answer, conveniently printed along with the question. “No, Billy, all these children are Americans. They are just as American as you.”
The children get a snack, and the poster goes up on the wall until another one comes a week later. This is what happens at predominately white, middle-class, elementary schools everywhere. Elementary school teachers love All of the Colors of the Race, by award-winning children’s poet Arnold Adoff.
These are some of the lines they read to the children: “Mama is chocolate . . . Daddy is vanilla . . . Me (sic) is better . . . It is a new color. It is a new flavor. For love. Sometimes blackness seems too black for me, and whiteness is too sickly pale; and I wish every one were golden. Remember: long ago before people moved and migrated, and mixed and matched . . . there was one people: one color, one race. The colors are flowing from what was before me to what will be after. All the colors.”
Teaching as a career: It may come as a surprise after what I have written, but my experiences have given me a deep appreciation for teaching as a career. It offers a stable, middle-class life but comes with the capacity to make real differences in the lives of children. In our modern, atomized world children often have very little communication with adults — especially, or even, with their parents — so there is potential for a real transaction between pupil and teacher, disciple and master.
A rewarding relationship can grow up between an exceptional, interested student and his teacher. I have stayed in my classroom with a group of students discussing ideas and playing chess until the janitor kicked us out. I was the old gentleman, imparting my history, culture, personal loves and triumphs, defeats and failures to young kinsman. Sometimes I fancied myself Tyrtaeus, the Spartan poet, who counseled the youth to honor and loyalty. I never had this kind intimacy with a black student, and I know of no other white teacher who did.
Teaching can be fun. For a certain kind of person it is exhilarating to map out battles on chalkboards, and teach heroism. It is rewarding to challenge liberal prejudices, to leave my mark on these children, but what I aimed for with my white students I could never achieve with the blacks.
There is a kind of child whose look can melt your heart: some working-class castaway, in and out of foster homes, often abused, who is nevertheless almost an angel. Your heart melts for these children, this refuse of the modern world.
Many white students possess a certain innocence; their cheeks still blush. Try as I might, I could not get the blacks to care one bit about Beethoven or Sherman’s march to the sea, or Tyrtaeus, or Oswald Spengler, or even liberals like John Rawls, or their own history. They cared about nothing I tried to teach them. When this goes on year after year it chokes the soul out of a teacher, destroys his pathos, and sends him guiltily searching for The Bell Curve on the Internet.
Blacks break down the intimacy that can be achieved in the classroom, and leave you convinced that that intimacy is really a form of kinship. Without intending to, they destroy what is most beautiful–whether it be your belief in human equality, your daughter’s innocence, or even the state of the hallway.
Just last year I read on the bathroom stall the words “F**k Whitey.” Not two feet away, on the same stall, was a small swastika.
The National Council for the Social Studies, the leading authority on social science education in the United States, urges teachers to inculcate such values as equality of opportunity, individual property rights, and a democratic form of government. Even if teachers could inculcate this milquetoast ideology into whites, liberalism is doomed because so many non-whites are not receptive to education of any kind beyond the merest basics.
It is impossible to get them to care about such abstractions as property rights or democratic citizenship. They do not see much further than the fact that you live in a big house and “we in da pro-jek.” Of course, there are a few loutish whites who will never think past their next meal and a few sensitive blacks for whom anything is possible, but no society takes on the characteristics of its exceptions.
Once I asked my students, “What do you think of the Constitution?” “It white,” one slouching black rang out. The class began to laugh. And I caught myself laughing along with them, laughing while Pompeii’s volcano simmers, while the barbarians swell around the Palatine, while the country I love, and the job I love, and the community I love become dimmer by the day.
I read a book by an expatriate Rhodesian who visited Zimbabwe not too many years ago. Traveling with a companion, she stopped at a store along the highway. A black man materialized next to her car window. “Job, boss, (I) work good, boss,” he pleaded. “You give job.”
“What happened to your old job?” the expatriate white asked. The black man replied in the straightforward manner of his race: “We drove out the whites. No more jobs. You give job.”
At some level, my students understand the same thing. One day I asked the bored, black faces staring back at me. “What would happen if all the white people in America disappeared tomorrow?”
“We screwed,” a young, pitch-black boy screamed back. The rest of the blacks laughed.
I have had children tell me to my face as they struggled with an assignment. “I cain’t do dis,” Mr. Jackson. “I black.”
The point is that human beings are not always rational. It is in the black man’s interest to have whites in Zimbabwe but he drives them out and starves. Most whites do not think black Americans could ever do anything so irrational. They see blacks on television smiling, fighting evil whites, embodying white values. But the real black is not on television, and you pull your purse closer when you see him, and you lock the car doors when he swaggers by with his pants hanging down almost to his knees.
For those of you with children, better a smaller house in a white district than a fancy one near a black school.
I have been in parent-teacher conferences that broke my heart: the child pleading with his parents to take him out of school; the parents convinced their child’s fears are groundless. If you love your child, show her you care — not by giving her fancy vacations or a car, but making her innocent years safe and happy. Give her the gift of a not-heavily black school.

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

More blowback?

David Stockman writes his theory of the Paris horrors saying, convincingly, that it is another case of "blowback" by enraged Muslims who do not take kindly to unwelcome interventions in their countries.  In his long article he makes some interesting points, among them:

That is, the gates of hell have been opened by Washington’s senseless destruction of regimes in Libya, Syria, Iraq, Yemen, Somalia, Afghanistan and elsewhere that refused to do its bidding. Yet not one of these backwaters of tyranny and economic and military insignificance posed any threat whatsoever to the safety and security of American citizens in Lincoln NE or Manchester NH.

That the middle east and the Arab/Islamic world in particular is now a burned out zone of failed states and an incubator of barbaric religious and sectarian fanaticism is because Imperial Washington made it that way.

So what has metastasized from the ruins left by American intervention is not an organized military threat or a tide of state sponsored attacks on the civilian life of the West; it is random blowback of the suicidal flotsam and jetsam that have been puked from the very same jaws of hell which Washington so foolishly opened

We do not see it as something as simple as that.  There are more complexities to consider though Stockman does put his finger on an important point. Like many observers of this awful jihadist mess Mr Stockman avoids mentioning the large elephant in the room that stands there like an albatross hanging over the world, and is so influential that it can snap its fingers and make super powers jump. But careful readers who have looked into these matters know that there are "behind-the-scenes" actors who are at the very least manipulating these murderous thugs into doing their dirty work for them.

The article can be read here.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Paris: Mr Putin wants to know who is "pulling the strings"

Vladimir Putin has asked the right question again: Who is pulling the strings?

We would like to know that too.

He might also have asked (if he hasn't already): Who benefits from the Paris horror?

Mr Putin also points out some facts which certain unnamed countries find inconvenient, namely: that ISIS is selling stolen oil at cut-rate prices to these unnamed countries who are, thereby, financing ISIS.

The US has supposedly been bombing ISIS for donkey's years but they always seemed to miss those convoys of ISIS oil.  How odd.