Undermining Our Faith
Fay Glenn
By Ed Kaitz
"What is it then that drives some intellectuals in free countries to
hate their native land and wish for its annihilation?"
- Eric Hoffer
I left the campus library at the University of Colorado, Boulder some
time after noon. Outside in the library courtyard, I heard something
strange and unsettling drifting down from the student union complex just
up the hill. It was the raucous roaring of a crowd -- similar to the
Saturday football games -- but with an eerie flavor of something dark
and unhinged.
I turned toward the noise and began walking.
I was running late on this particular day. A much-heralded campus
exhibit exposing American "racism" overseas during World War II had
caught my attention near the library entrance. The exhibit included
personal letters from Marines and other combat infantrymen who had used
words like "Jap" in their correspondences home. Their letters were
openly displayed on a maze-like configuration of walls that trapped the
curious onlooker in a sea of "racism."
Little red flags had been neatly pinned by the event organizers to the
offending words in the letters -- just in case, I presume, a rushed
spectator had no time to read the letters' entire contents.
The dozens of little red markers had a strange effect on me, however.
Instead of thinking "racism" as the progressive literati had intended, I
thought of a haunting and terrifying passage in E.B. Sledge's timeless
Pacific War memoir With the Old Breed. Sledge and his fellow Marines
were returning to their gun pit late one afternoon during a lull in the
brutal fighting on the island of Peleliu in 1944.
The men -- at this time used to seeing dead and covered Marines lined up
on stretchers awaiting removal -- passed a low and hastily constructed
defilade that contained three new stretchers:
As we moved passed the defilade, my buddy groaned, "Jesus!" I took a
quick glance into the depression and recoiled in revulsion and pity at
what I saw ... [T]hese Marines had been mutilated hideously by the
enemy. One man had been decapitated. His head lay on his chest; his
hands had been severed from his wrists and also lay on his chest near
his chin. In disbelief I stared at the face as I realized that the
Japanese had cut off the dead Marine's penis and stuffed it into his
mouth. The corpse next to him had been treated similarly. The third had
been butchered, chopped up like a carcass torn by some predatory animal.
My emotions solidified into rage and a hatred for the Japanese beyond
anything I ever had experienced.
What seems remarkable, however, is that despite these and other
battlefield horrors, Sledge managed to preserve an innate sense of
decency and humanity during his harrowing ordeals on Peleliu and on
Okinawa. On the contrary, it seemed to me rather inhumane for the
library exhibit organizers not to grant to these young Marines a certain
amount of sympathy for their mostly temporary hatreds.
I could conclude then only that the exhibit had been organized for a
different purpose: to add yet another insult to those remaining students
at the university who still loved their country.
Outside the library, as I walked toward the student union plaza, I
passed a beautiful, ivy-covered building on the left. I remember walking
down one of its hallways as a young graduate student and standing
face-to-face with a giant portrait of Mao Tse-Tung posted in a student
lounge. Having lived, worked, and attended college in the Bay Area, I
thought about my many Chinese friends and their references to "Dear
Leader" as "the great butcher." When I expressed my revulsion for Mao's
murderous regime to a young, white graduate student sitting in the
lounge, he replied, "C'mon, man, he did it for the people."
The screaming and yelling intensified as I began climbing the stairs to
the large, concrete veranda that served as the campus apex for student
rallies and other events. When I was halfway up the stairs, a skinny,
young black student named Art rushed down past me. Art managed to say
"Hey, Mr. Kaitz" before he and his bulging backpack bounced down the
path toward the library.
Art sort of fell into my office one day several weeks earlier -- his
face covered in tears. Some of the other black students had been
accusing him of "acting white" and of being a "sellout" for both his
enormous backpack and for his paranoia about his grades. I explained to
Art at the time that much of his identity would be fashioned by what he
worked for and achieved.
I told him that working hard for something would develop other good
qualities that would serve him well in life. I also told him that the
irony of his ordeal was that so many of the early civil rights leaders
had sacrificed so much in order to give young black students like him
access to the world's culture in our universities.
But I knew that Art's accusers were not entirely at fault. I had worked
for a couple of years in a writing program for minority students who had
been accepted provisionally into the university, as Art had been. Our
job as instructors was to help these mostly unprepared students learn
how to write the kind of research papers that would improve their
performance in their regular classes.
The problem, however, was that the faculty consisted mostly of Bill
Ayers-type America-haters who had sharpened their destructive spurs
during the 1960s.
In other words, instead of teaching the kids how to write properly, the
faculty poured most of their passion into unloading their personal
grievances and hatreds on the mostly innocent and unsuspecting minority
students. Students were encouraged to write just about anything that
included a loathing for America, the white "establishment," American
"imperialism," corporations, and capitalism. They were led to believe
that since the university and the country contained a majority "white"
population, the country and the university were both institutionally
"racist."
I encouraged the students to write on topics that interested them --
like music, history, or sports, for example -- but when the classes
invariably drifted into politics, I passed out essays by Thomas Sowell
and Shelby Steele to balance out the discussion. None of the students
had even thought it possible that values like self-reliance and
entrepreneurship could be defended by black men. Many of the students in
the program did, however, drop out of school.
As I reached the top of the stairs, I was met with a blast of red faces
and vitriol coming from hundreds of students surrounding a tree in the
center of the open square. Something at the center, near the tree, was
provoking the crowd's rage. Using moves I acquired as an all-conference
linebacker in high school, I managed to navigate my way through the
profanity, flying saliva, and wildly swinging arms that lurched
repeatedly at the accused.
As the tense bodies in the center parted before me, I noticed a man in
his mid-twenties, handsome and well-built, in jeans and a t-shirt,
reading a book out loud. Students were pressed up against him on all
sides, with several students screaming directly into his ears inches
away.
But the young man, calmly and unfazed, continued reading aloud. I looked
down at the book. It was the Bible.
Eric Hoffer observed some years ago that "nowhere at present is there
such a measureless loathing of their country by educated people as in
America, and the savage denigration is undoubtedly undermining the faith
of the country's potential defenders." Says
Hoffer:
In a Western democracy the adversary intellectual is not only against
his country and against the middle class into which he was born, but he
sides with the colored races against the white, with animals against
man, and with the wilderness against the sown. Predictably, an adversary
intellectual who is a Jew sides with the Arabs against Israel.
Hoffer wondered whether this kind of loathing for "one's own" is the
product of self-hatred. "Hardly so," he said. Instead, he reasoned that
it is a product of an insane kind of vanity:
One who hates what most people love probably savors his uniqueness. He
believes that secession from his country, class, race and species
bespeaks righteousness and partakes of the heroic. But above all he has
an almost insane vanity. ... He lusts instead for an apocalyptic
denouement that will topple the power structure and give him his chance.
Hoffer makes the fascinating case that FDR's statist policies were able
to work to some degree because the recipients of state aid "saw
themselves as victims of the Depression, and felt that once things got
back on the rails they would not only be able to help themselves but
might eventually be in a position to help others."
In contrast, during the 1960s and beyond, "there is evidence that too
many of the people who were carrying out the civil rights and poverty
programs did not wish America well."
Those in charge, in other words, "were less interested in healing and
conciliating the weak than in aggravating their illness and sharpening
their grievances."
By "discomfiting and denigrating, and by rubbing the noses of the
majority in dirt," the present day adversary intellectual, according to
Hoffer, "undermines the faith" of democracy's defenders and prepares the
way for a new and terrible kind of regime."
..That is, only if the faith is completely undermined. Americans of all
colors who gather to defend their beautiful Constitution should not be
deterred by the faux charges of "racism" or "vitriol" from the Left.
Like the brave young man I saw years ago, Americans need to stand fast.
We have something precious to defend.
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LEGALIZE THE CONSTITUTION
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DON'T BLAME ME---I DIDNT VOTE FOR HIM
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BO voted as a senator for everything he's bashing Bush for now
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