James Joyce - Terrorist

Give me a child until he is seven
and I will give you the man
Joyce
I remember being terrorised as a child by the priest's sermon in Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. It took me months if not years to get over it. It's hard to tell because that sort of thing was part of the environment in which I grew up. Guilt, fear and terror were the instruments of "development".

There is, of course, truth in the slogan above which is attributed to the Jesuits, God's Storm Troopers and Educators Extraordinary. The minds and psyches of children are malleable and none better to mould them than the Js.

Jews
I've just watched a film called Defamation in which an Israeli, Jew and film director, sets out to find out what all this "anti-semitism" is about and where it can be found. Two stark points emerge from his journey.

His film shows that much of the current reported anti-semitism appears to have been manufactured. In the USA by the Anti-Defamation League in order to keep themselves in a job and ensure that their officers are held in high social and political esteem throughout the world. The key premise on which they survive is the assertion that all those who are anti-Israel are closet anti-semites. And at home in Israel, it is manufactured by some of the media who see the need to cultivate resentment and victimhood so that the Israeli State can misbehave with impunity.

His film also shows disturbing sequences of Israeli children being brought to Auschwitz to experience the Holocaust first hand, so to speak. In itself this would be no harm, we should not forget. But it is the context that is worrying. The trip is used to reinforce the line that Jews are still being persecuted on a grand scale, and that, therefore, "proportionate" retaliation is in order. The film-maker asks one of the young Jewish girls "How do you feel?". "I want to kill them". "Kill who?" "The Nazis". "But they're all dead" "Yes, but they've got heirs".

Palestine, Iran, or whoever you are, you have been warned.

Homeland Security
We all had paintbooks, or colouring books, as they now appear to be called. They had animals and cartoon characters, baloons and buildings, all for colouring in. Guess what? They now have colouring books for children to colour in TERRORISTS. I kid you not. And, they have little cards, like the cigarette cards of my day which pictured footballers or cars or whatever. But these have pictures of TERRORISTS and right in the middle of them is Julian Assange. Nuff said.

Credits
Now, where did I get all this subversive stuff. I got Joyce from my excellent school English teacher, Michael Judge. I got "Defamation" from a comment on the blog of that sterling ex-Foreign Office employee and now human rights campaigner, Craig Murray. And I got the colouring book from a Tweet retweeted by @wayupnorth, whom I follow on Twitter.

Punchline
And what is the point of this rambling and semi-coherent post. It is that you pick your own sources over time. Follow those that you can trust, irrespective of the particular format in which they publish. And, above all, be wary of the MainStreamMedia, or the Presstitutes as they are known in some quarters. They present themselves as objective, moderated and authoritative but they all have an agenda from the ideological to the profit motive.

And do read some Joyce,
he can be fun.

Dachau

The year was 1985 and the Germans were running courses for foreign civil servants showcasing how well Germany was doing and how the federal system was working well.

After a few days in Bonn, the then capital of West Germany, we went to Munich, to see how one of the German Länder was making out. We arrived at the beginning of the weekend and so had a day's respite before getting down to serious business on the Monday.

I had been looking at the map and saw a Dachau nearby. I wondered if that might be the concentration camp and it turned out it was. So I resolved not to pass up the opportunity to go and see it. The other members of the Irish contingent were game and even some of the British said they'd come along.

Come Sunday morning and there was no sign of the British, so we decided to carry on ourselves. Some among us needed to get mass so this was taken care of in Munich before our departure for Dachau. As it turned out it was some sort of feastday, of St. James I think, and everyone leaving the church was presented with a single stem rose.



Off we set on the train to Dachau. I don't know what we expected but when we came out of the station in Dachau there wasn't a concentration camp in sight. We were in a leafy residential part of town. We might as well have been in Foxrock. So what next? Where's the camp? How do we find it? The obvious thing to do was to ask. But what do you say? Excuse me, where's the concentration camp?

I was certainly reluctant to take this line since the time I nearly gave an elderly German man a heart attack when I tapped him on the shoulder from behind in Aachen. Maybe he was a war criminal in hiding but I only wanted to ask the way to the motorway to hitch a ride to Ostend.

So we decided to have something to eat first. Big mistake. The only thing that got eaten was part of the day so it was heading well into the afternoon when we were back out on the street and none the wiser.

Eventually, we plucked up the courage to ask a passing backpacker and were told to ask for the Memorial or the Anlager, but we'd be as well just hailing a taxi as it was not far off closing time for the camp. That we did.



We reached the camp with about an hour to closing time so we had to keep moving through the various exhibits. You could have spent the whole day there. The emotion was overwhelming. You could feel the fear, the sadness, the anger. Whether it was coming from inside yourself or not was hard to know. But the effect was devastating.

Dachau was one of the earliest camps. It was both a training ground for those who went on to run other notorious camps and it was also a medical "research" centre which performed horrendous medical experiments on the prisoners.

We eventually ended up in the crematoria. Yes, there were gas chambers in Dachau, but they were never used. Victims to be gassed were transported to other camps. But people were shot there, in large numbers, and the bodies burned in the crematoria along with those who died from other causes. There were over 200,000 people registered as entering the camp and there are records of over 30,000 dying there, whether from illness or being shot or as a result of torture or medical experiments. These figures are probably underestimates as many went unrecorded and some records were destroyed when it was clear that Germany was losing the war.



One thing that made a huge impression on me and stays with me to this day is the cigarette butts. These were standing on ledges in front of the doors of the crematoria like candles at a shrine in a church. I can only think that people were so affected by the place that by the time they got to the crematoria they wanted to express sadness or sympathy or hope, in some way or other, and left lighted cigarettes standing on the ledge like candles. These had then burned down to the butts. It was so sad. Fortunately we still had our single stem roses which we gently placed on the ledge.

The next morning at breakfast in the hotel our guide, an elderly German who had fought on the Russian front, was asking participants how they had spent the Sunday. Some had gone to the lake, others to see castles and the like. When he got to us and we told him we'd been to Dachau he clearly got a shock. After all, it was part of his job to show us the positive side of the modern Germany. He didn't really comment and passed on to the next table.

A short while later we met him in the lift. His immediate, unprovoked, comment was "Ja, it was good you went to Dachau". He had been clearly mulling over what we had done and had, himself, the strenghth of character to see the positive side of it. Full marks. The man shot up in my estimation, which was already high, by the way.

By way of contrast. I know there had been more than Jews in Dachau, in fact the Jews were probably not even a majority in this particular camp, but the overwhelming sadness I felt there, and which has stayed with me all these years, is rapidly fading and turning to cold anger when I contemplate today's vast concentration camp on the Gaza strip where the Israelis are subjecting the population to nothing short of what they themselves were subjected to in places like Dachau.

The abuse continues.