And by a prudent flight and cunning save A life which valour could not, from the grave. A better buckler I can soon regain, But who can get another life again? Archilochus
Sunday, October 29, 2017
Wednesday, October 25, 2017
Tuesday, October 24, 2017
Sunday, October 22, 2017
Had it not been for the necessity of confronting the German Nazi regime, would post WWII desegregation and social integration of Black Americans into the American social mainstream have ever occurred? Throughout the war, we often proclaimed that we were "better than them." But in reality, being "better than them" didn't really begin until AFTER the war. And the Communists of the Soviet Union, were they "better than us?" I think that they discriminated against ethnic non-Russians is many of the same ways that pre-Civil Rights Act Americans discriminated against non-whites, and as most Europeans overtly discriminated against "Colonials".
Nationalism pre-WWII was a defacto "ethnic nationalism." Since post-WWII, it has been structured so as to provide equality of opportunity for all ethnicities legitimately present within the national boundaries of the post-modern nation state.
Monday, October 16, 2017
Sunday, October 15, 2017
Friday, October 13, 2017
Thursday, October 12, 2017
-James Patrick Kinney, "The Cold Within"
Six humans trapped by happenstance
In bleak and bitter cold.
Each one possessed a stick of wood
Or so the story’s told.
Their dying fire in need of logs
The first man held his back
For of the faces round the fire
He noticed one was black.
The next man looking ‘cross the way
Saw one not of his church
And couldn’t bring himself to give
The fire his stick of birch.
The third one sat in tattered clothes.
He gave his coat a hitch.
Why should his log be put to use
To warm the idle rich?
The rich man just sat back and thought
Of the wealth he had in store
And how to keep what he had earned
From the lazy shiftless poor.
The black man’s face bespoke revenge
As the fire passed from his sight.
For all he saw in his stick of wood
Was a chance to spite the white.
The last man of this forlorn group
Did nought except for gain.
Giving only to those who gave
Was how he played the game.
Their logs held tight in death’s still hands
Was proof of human sin.
They didn’t die from the cold without
They died from the cold within.