KEN BURNS’ JACKIE ROBINSON EVOKES APARTHEID AMERICA
America, thou art Hypocrisy.
Thy promise was fairness to all.
Instead, ‘twas planted a bitter-fruit tree –
Today, yet, we still taste the gall!
Generally, Ken Burns’ excellent filmings of the American story are so remote in time that static images are required to dramatize the narratives. That is not the case with his recently released Jackie Robinson. It depicts an America in which Jackie Robinson (and this writer, as well) lived, as it was being devoured by the quickly developing and all-pervasive sound-film technology. I experienced all but the first ten years of Jackie Robinson’s lifetime.
From Burns’ story, I learned that Jackie Robinson and I had attended the same army officer candidate school (OCS) at virulently racist Fort Riley, Kansas. During WWII, Robinson’s application, at first, was rejected, but he later was admitted through Joe Louis’ intervention. During the Korean Conflict, I discovered that the only way to get out of hated, racist Alaska was to apply for OCS. When I was sent to Fort Ord, California for pre-OCS leadership training, I attempted to renege, but was forced to honor my commitment. After several weeks of Fort Riley’s oppressive racism, I resigned. To the board they convened for the occasion, I said only that I just wanted to leave.
After leaving OCS, I was assigned to a holding-company on the base for a new assignment elsewhere. It was the practice to use such troops for chore assignments around the base. One day, I was the only Colored soldier in a work-party that was loaded on a truck for an unknown destination. We arrived at a non-commissioned officers’ club and ordered off the truck. I asked why. The reply was that we were going to clean the club. I responded that I was not going to work in a club where I was refused admittance. They told me to stay on the truck. When we returned to the company, I was sent to see the commanding officer. He asked me why I had refused a lawful order. I said it was not a lawful order; that President Truman had ordered desegregation of all the armed forces, and that I refused to supply my free labor to a club that collected dues and refused membership to me. I was told to return to the barracks and wait for a call-back for a punishment-hearing. I never saw that captain again.
The rich output of that modern film technology was available to Ken Burns in this case, and he utilized it to maximum effectiveness. In Jackie Robinson, baseball serves only as the tab with which to pull off the scab of that perennial, putrid, American wound that still affects the bloodstream of so many of us who are still around.
Despite the many other class struggles that properly have utilized the penetration the African American Civil Rights’ spear has forced into the gut of American’s misbegotten sense of singular superiority, it must be understood that – apart from the Native American question – the racial separation in this society, from its beginning and including the Civil Rights era, was strictly, White and Negro.
As an example, apart from their righteous struggle against racism, mainly in the Southwest Region of the U.S., by people of Mexican origin, the cynical one-drop theory applied only to African Americans. As a matter of fact, in order to avoid discrimination, Mexicans who were light-skinned but unable to disguise their linguistic heritage, tended to refer to themselves as, Spanish, which gave them, más categoría. In other parts of the U.S., where the Southwestern racial culture did not apply – but where the White-Colored distinctions always were enforced – the Latino appearance (or that of any other ethnicity) defaulted to White. This carried over to the armed forces, as well. A teenage friend from our church, Julio Andino, of African American and Puerto Rican parentage, was placed into a White unit in the Army, post-WWII. His treatment became so intolerable that he asked to be transferred to a Colored unit. In short, in that America, if you were not recognized as Negro, generally you were defaulted to White. But, as can be seen in Julio’s case, that system had its “flaws.”
The extra-baseball racism depicted by Ken Burns is so widespread and stinging that baseball itself is reduced to what, basically, it is: child’s play! The Robinson family escaped from Mississippi literally in the dead of night. The conditions had not much changed since Jackie’s great-grandmother had lived on that same plantation – not as a human being – but as a single-nomenclature item of chattel! Jackie would find that their escape to California – and, ultimately, throughout the rest of the U.S. – never would completely free them from that Mississippi bondage. That endless chain, he would find, would follow him even as he served as an officer in the U.S. Army.
I have personal testament as to how the U.S. Army uniform was no protection against that virulent hate, so deeply embedded within the DNA of our culture. That infected bloodstream has the same resilience as those Mississippi chains. They follow the Stars and Stripes to whatever corner of the globe in which it is planted:
· Fort Dix, NJ: A family visitor and I were turned away from Service Club NO. 1 and directed to Service Club No. 2, which was reserved for Colored.
· An Army Air Force Base in New Orleans: I, along with a White soldier with whom I was traveling, was required to eat breakfast on a butcher-block in the kitchen.
· Chicago: During a change of trains, while in uniform, I attempted to enter a pub near the station. No Colored.
· Seattle. WA: With several White soldiers, on our way back to base after visiting a roller-skating rink, we wanted to have a beer. We were told that I could not be admitted, but that we could take the beer to go.
· Also in Seattle, I discovered a new level of discrimination. Although they would do business with me, a liquor store carried the blatant sign: “We Do Not Serve Indians!
· Sometimes the bias came in multi-levels and jumped species. Post-Army, on tour with the multi-ethnic Los Angeles City College Chorale, we attempted to have dinner in Yuma, AZ. The restaurant had posted a sign: “No Niggers, Mexicans or Dogs.”
· Even pristine San Diego, where people of color were restricted to the area south of Market Street and women and Colored were barred from the U.S. Grant Coffee Shop: I entered an employment office in a building on the southwest corner of 5th and Broadway. It was crowded, with people filling out application forms. I was told it would be a waste of time for me to complete a form.
(It has occurred to me that it would be propitious to collect these types of experiences, such as what was done with interviews of former enslaved people during the New Deal.)
Jackie Robinson missed the advent of Barack Obama, but he would not be surprised that – although reduced now to the clumsy subtlety of the dog whistle – that long chain and infected bloodstream still have currency.
***** ***** *****
Jackie boy, you sure hit the ball!
It was you who answered the call.
Little did you know
How much of a blow
It would take ere the ball would fall!
OUR FLUKEY AMERICAN REVOLUTION – WHAT IF…?
It is now all so hallowed and holy, with the documents sanitized and vacuumized, and a George Washington apotheosized. It has become such an untouchable temple – that mythical American Revolution. The school books formed our early vision of that remote city upon a hill, idealized and motive-pure. That mush of which our early brains are formed is difficult to overcome. The fact is, if Washington had stood against the British landing at New York, with his bedraggled army of unproven amateurs – instead of smartly skedaddling across the river – there would have been no revolution. All that mythical nonsense would have remained in the Land of Myths.
The truth of the matter is, the Founders were not complete frauds. They were among the brightest men on earth, at a time when renewed brightness was sprouting all over the world. However, they were not as generous and fair-minded as reported. Basically, they were disloyal citizens of Great Britain, who conspired to commit the most treacherous act this side of regicide. That yearning for autonomy was well developed, of course. Foolishly, the Crown had allowed the colonies to govern themselves. It was just natural when this remote individual independence congealed into a united push against Papa. All that business about taxation and representation and becoming slaves to the Crown just meant that the leaders of these thirteen diverse populations of the hoi-polloi merely wanted to cut out the middleman and keep all the profits for themselves.
So, they took out their quills and scratched out a bill of charges against their royal liege. The traitorous indictment was preceded by a poetic pronouncement of personal rights. Although its poetry is accurate, it was specious as applied to their cause. As it turned out, their pleadings were meant only for themselves and their ilk.
Suppose the myth never had started? Suppose Washington's army had been destroyed in New York? Well, true to the lives and sacred honor allusion appearing in the postscript of the Declaration, those signatories duly would have been hanged. The next step would have been manumission. The British already had learned what a bulwark against sedition enslaved people could be. Lincoln's was not the first emancipation proclamation. In 1775, the British Governor of Virginia Colony issued an emancipation proclamation. Outraging both Patriot and Tory slave-owners, he soon had to take refuge aboard British ships, along with 300 former slaves.
Had the revolution died in its crib:
· Ostensibly, there would not have been a Confederacy, and its subsequent horrors.
· Actually, with a considerably different shape of map, Great Britain of North America probably would have had a more peaceful evolution than that experienced by the United States of America.
· The crown would be resting just as easily on our heads, as loyal subjects, as it does with current Brits.
· There probably would be just one ocean front; Mexico most likely would have retained all of its northwestern territory.
· Although he sorely needed the money, it is unlikely Napoleon would have sold the Louisiana Territory. Therefore, today's map area most likely would consist of a trifecta of Mexico, France and Great Britain.
· British territory likely would have extended quite far to the north.
· Without the Jacksonian eviction, the plaint of the original peoples of these lands, perhaps, might have been slightly less anguished.
· Alaska probably still would be retained by Russia.
· Cuba and Puerto Rico might still be Spanish outposts.
Contemplating what might have been, one at least has an alternative choice of myths. Here in the 21st century, the cynical and selfish intent of the Founders has flourished to the point where they could not possibly have imagined. Apart from our current president being the first mixed-race person to occupy the office, the next president most likely will be first in one of these descriptions:
· The first woman
· The first of Jewish heritage
· The first of Cuban extract
· The eldest
***** ***** *****
Two myths, out, abroad in the earth,
Said, "If 'twere not we, there'd be dearth.
"Sans Britain and Spain,
"There'd be much less pain.
"Let's give this New World a new birth!"
Terrible Knowledge Part 5
For Part 4 click HERE
Short memories were a commodity much in demand after the war. I can understand a man looking after his own skin. That is to be expected even if it shows a certain lack of courage and honour. Especially these men. They carried an oath with them to the graves. That was always the intention. They seem to have taken up oaths as others would their shopping. They had declared a fellowship that could never end. It ended the day the war finished. Their oath lasted five minutes after the old man shot himself in the bunker. They swallowed their promises and shat it out into the Americans hands. They are worse than Jews. A Jew is doomed to his condition. There's no escaping it. They live with it to the end of their days. These criminals. They had been given a chance to become something they could never have hoped for — they took it — parodied it — then when the time came — they turned on it.
These are the reasons why we collapse as a nation. We're like the others. We have no backbone. We have a nation of little men scared that the Russians will jump over the Wall and eat them. So they hold the Americans hands while they fall on their knees and hope to high heaven that they don't mess up all over their clothes. Not too long ago I read an article in the Springer press by an old intelligence officer who was down in the bunker. I knew the man. Knew him very well. Once a devotee of Kaltenbrunner he became close to Heydrich. It was said of Heydrich that he had records on everyone that breathed. He was a cunning and brutal man. I befriended hilm as a younger man and he matured into a pure piece of machinery. Perfection. Too much of a politician for my liking but he set about his work like a man posessed. He could not be faulted. I was proud of him. He was murdered by partisans. A great loss. Had he lived there is no doubt he would rail against these old soldiers as I do. A little more force perhaps.
I have forgotten what I was going to say. Yes. I read this article in Stern or Spiegel where this old soldier talks about his days in the bunker. He makes a comedy of the situation. He turns events inside out. He builds up himself and makes the rest seem foolish. He describes the days in the bunker as days of Hell. I was there. That's not how I remember it. Certainly not. They were for me days of great promise. Still. We had lost in one arena but there was a world of other arenas to enter. These were days of opportunity. I think I am expressing the ideas of the leadership at the time. Certainly there were waverers but I was not amongst them. I appreciated the grave situation but I was not scared. Quite the opposite in fact. What we had started could be finished in another way. It wasn't impossible.
There were many signs that we had friends in the Allies. They were quite aware and to a degree complicit in what we had done. They were aware of the camps. They did nothing. That was true of the red saviours too. When the Warsaw Ghetto attempted its puny uprising the reds could have helped their beleagured comrades. They didn't. They wanted us to finish the job. Yes. There were many signs. Many. This excuse for a man, Wolff writes in this article that the bunker was a mad house. I suppose he was paid a fortune for his confessions. All lies. All lies. How could a man do this not only to a nation but to himself? Every year there is a story of disgrace. Penned by a new name. An intimate. I was there. Who are they? Who? This man also mentioned my name as a sinister force in the last days. How can they speak this way? To defile honour in this way. I sit here and I want to rid my stomach of its contents. How can they get away with it?
It is Wolff and men like him who cry out long and hard to defend the interests of Israel. This sanctuary in the desert. I know what I would do with this sanctuary. Let the chosen ones feel what I am feeling. Attacked from all fronts and expecting any day to be anhillated. All armies of the Middle East would descend on their sanctuary and tear it apart bit by bit. Take apart their idealism bit by bit. The chosen ones. They have a home now. Even if they don't live there. There's more of their number in New York than their is in Israel. Sending their shekels to save the sanctuary. Our nation also pays the filfth. We pay them. Reparations. Worse than Versailles. We beg ethical alms from the vermin. They shall perish. That was our cry. Now we pay for their sanctuary and let them live amongst us. How long do we have to live through this torment? What have they given me? Not a sanctuary. A cage that pulls towards me tighter and tighter. For years now I have had difficulty in breathing. I seem to be gasping for air. I am a man who should still be in good health. I have tried even under these conditions to keep myself fit. It was a standing joke amongst my colleagues to catch me in my office doing push ups and lifting weights. Heimmann wants to live for the Thousand Year Reich. A man whose body is fit can withstand all sorts of pressures. Every year from 1932 I went mountain climbing going to heights that few men imagine. It was no chore for me. I took to it with a passion.
We had too many amongst us who were degenerates. Men who drank themselves to oblivion at every opportunity. As the war was ending it got harder and harder to get intoxicants. These people hoarded. Drank it from morning to night. That's not the worst of it. Others spent their time in the company of boys and girls old enough to be their grandchildren. They became wastrels waiting for the war to end. They wanted to plunder and take the benefits of our great victories but were unprepared to fight when the times got very tough. If I had had my way. They would have gone by transport and ended up coming out of the chimney as smoke. I would have kept those furnaces going. All day and all night.
Albert Speer writing his memoirs in Spandau. This know nothing. This scoundrel. Profiting by altering his memory. He was always against us. He was an artist he says. He didn't know what course we were taking and if he did he would have tried his best to subvert it. This artist. This man in minature. This loathsome creature who followed the leadership around like a lovesick animal. This small man playing the innocent. Not for the benefit of the movement but for his own sake so that he can go to live in the Alps in comfort to write his best selling memoirs. This architect. These pilferers of our history have turned the world upside down so they can get out through a hole in the corner. These vermin. We should have taken harsher measure. We should have made a clean sweep on our part and eliminated forever these characters who sucked life from us. We should have had streets full of men like Speer hanging from the lightposts. We should have. Certainly. Made the city like a christmas tree with traitors hanging from lightposts. This would have taught those who wavered that to stand straight meant that you could stand in the light. We should have carried them by the truckload into a forest and burnt their bodies so that the flame would send a message. That would have given the shopkeeper and the clerk a bit of backbone. It wasn't enough to design fine suits for our warriors to wear. We had to design the man. Those who went into battle — changed — they developed and carried high our flag. Those who stayed away from the battle lived off our soldiers blood. They lived like there was no tommorrow. These windbags. These degenerates. I wanted and needed to put them to the flame. How much work was there still to be done. My hatred of them is not sufficient expression of what I want to do to them. A man measures another man. That is the nature of social relations.
I would give fifty of these traitors for one Eckstein. I knew that he amongst men would not turn his back on his kind no matter how unfortunate their origins. How unfortunate that he was not amongst us. Why am I so drawn to him. Even then. When I left his hovel in the ghetto I knew I was going to save him. I still don't know why. I knew I would do my best to keep him away from the flame. Unknown to Eckstein I put it around that he was an informer for my people. This would save his skin for a time. The idea came to me as I wandered through the ghetto from his hovel. An incident occurred. We allowed the chosen ones to set up their own government. Impoverished. It served our purposes and I suppose theirs for awhile. They had their own police force. What I saw was one group of Jews being set upon by another group who were in rudimentary uniform. They were breaking up a meeting of some kind. What amazed me was the ferociousneess with which they went at each other. The gendarmes came out the better because they had clubs. As they finished their work they noticed me and one of them looked to me for some kind of approval. I allowed a smile to pass my lips and moved on. I would let it be known that Eckstein was an informant. Passing information. I was known as an exemplary collector of intelligence so I was not implicated and the old Jew Eckstein was none the wiser. To this day it mystifies me why I set about such a trick. I was a man of rare power. When I stood in a meeting everyone noticed. Not a few shut their mouths if they knew I would be there. These men feared me. Justifiably so. I was a man to be feared.
IDAHO FISH AND GAME USED TAX DOLLARS ON SKYDIVING BEAVERS (VIDEO)
IDAHO FISH AND GAME USED TAX DOLLARS ON SKYDIVING BEAVERS (VIDEO)
Although it reads like something designed to make heads explode among members of the House Freedom Caucus, according to a story published recently on Mashable.com, that's more or less what happened in Idaho in the early 1950's.
The state's Department of Fish and Game, concerned about diminishing populations of beavers, then much in demand by furriers, milliners and fashion accessory manufacturers, conceived a bold plan to capture and redistribute the creatures into wilderness areas, whence they had previously been hunted and trapped to near extinction.
What was that plan, you ask? Why, simplicity itself, that's what it was. First, gather as many beavers as possible, load 'em into cages with parachutes attached, and fling 'em earthward from 1000 feet or so, high above likely looking streams and river beds.
As to whether the DFG's strategy met with ultimate success, little is known, as the head of that august body has refused to release any pertinent data.
Representatives of the beaver community, meanwhile, have declined to comment.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=APLz2bTprMA
