Arnold Schwarzenegger and Theodore Bilbo [brief comment]
hunterbadbear at earthlink.net
Mon Sep 15 03:48:55 MDT 2003
I don't like Arnold Schwarzenegger, never have and, of course, I never will.
For my informed money, one of the worst American demagogues to grace the
latter 19th century very, very deeply into the 20th was long-time United
States Senator Theodore Bilbo [1877 1947] of Poplarville, Pearl River
Absolutely raw racist hatred -- mostly against Blacks ["N_____rs"] and Jews
[by many nefarious names, of course] -- but also against labor unions and
immigrants and much more -- spewed forth almost continually from his
venomous mouth until the very moment he passed into the spirit world. He was
a physically little man and he liked and encouraged lynching.
Now, when I see grinning Schwarzenegger's slippery antics, doubletalk and
lying, and mass adulation by the crowds around him, I think of Bilbo --
hatemonger and opportunist of the first water. [Maybe it's psychic.] Of
course, Schwarzenegger is not Bilbo by a very long stretch -- but there
certainly are many deep chills-and-fever similarities. Plenty of "people of
the fewest alternatives" are still summarily killed physically these days
but the preferred approach now, obviously, is to kill their socio/economic
There are always decent people -- even in the pits of Hell. One in
Mississippi at that blood-dimmed time was "to the manor born" William
Alexander Percy of Greenville [1885 1942], then and now one of this
country's most gifted writers. [See his splendid and timeless Lanterns on
the Levee: Recollections of a Mississippi Planter's Son.]
He was a consistently vigorous foe of the Ku Klux Klan and all its works and
a sworn enemy of Bilbo. Asked once to succinctly sum up the Poplarville
Entity, Percy didn't have to think long at all.
"A pert, glib little monster."
And I pass that along for 2003.
Hunter Gray [Hunterbear] Micmac/St Francis Abenaki/St Regis Mohawk Idaho
Protected by Na´shdo´i´ba´i´
In our Gray Hole, the ghosts often dance in the junipers and sage, on the
game trails, in the tributary canyons with the thick red maples, and on the
high windy ridges -- and they dance from within the very essence of our own
inner being. They do this especially when the bright night moon shines down
on the clean white snow that covers the valley and its surroundings. Then
it is as bright as day -- but in an always soft and mysterious and
remembering way. [Hunterbear]
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