Damn Straight.
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Let's end this now. Hippies: Prepare to Have your Asses Handed to YouThe man on the left is Chief of Sàigòn Police Nguyễn Ngọc Loan, later promoted to the rank of Brigadier General in the Army of the Republic of Việt Nam. That's: Nguyễn Ngọc Loan The man that's about to get a hot beef lead injection through his right temple is Nguyễn Văn Lém. (No, they both don't have the same first name - they have the same last name.) That's: Nguyễn Văn Lém You may know this guy also as Việt Cộng Captain Bảy Lợp, a.k.a. Bảy Lợp, Việt Cộng (What's that? the apple sanity writer knows Vietnamese?) No shit, Sherlock, tao là người Việt Nam. Cue the 'native informant' usual. This photograph was lauded as a poster child for the anti war movement against the Vietnam War. Seems strange that Eddie Addams, the Pulitzer-Prize winning photographer who took this photograph, thought quite the opposite. “What the photograph didn't say was, 'What would you do if you were the general at that time and placed on that hot day, and you caught the so-called bad guy after he blew away one, two or three American soldiers?'” “How do you know
you wouldn't have pulled the trigger yourself?” Nguyễn Ngọc Loan defended Sàigòn bravely while he held his rank. In so many examples that you can find easily on search engines, he risked his own life to protect his beloved city, while Việt Cộng guerillas like Nguyễn Văn Lém were busy hacking apart the family members of his deputies. So What?We are the first generation in America not to know true suffering. We gripe when the unemployment rate reaches 7%, but we've never experienced the 25.2% of 1933. We bitch and moan about a few thousand Marines coming home from Iraq inside tidy wooden coffins, draped with tidy polyester American flags. But we didn't witness 407,300 soldiers get shipped back from the frontlines of Nazi Germany or Imperialist Japan. We all complain (myself included) about having to wait in ridiculous lines at airport security, but we've never had to testify in front of a House Committee, in order to defend our political beliefs. Every other student at Columbia protests about the Euro-centric 'CORE' curricula, but none of them have ever needed military escorts on their way to their classes, for fear of getting shot. Face it: our post-post-post-modern society has it too good. And instead of being grateful, hippies just whine louder. I rant about Kip Hawley and the TSA because I know that they're a bunch of fucking assholes. But it's all in jest. May Jesus Christ have mercy on your soul if you actually took the terrorism article seriously. I'm not marching in the streets. I'm not licking the runny shit coming out of Michael Moore's asshole. There was a time when it would have been in my best interests to keep my mouth shut for fear of getting arrested, and I am very aware of that fact. To all you goddamn tree-hugging, bleeding heart, pinko Commie hippies: stop comparing the inconveniences of your lives to the suffering that the generations before us had to endure. Just shut the fuck up. Bush is not Hitler, Iraq is not Vietnam, and you fully-baked potheads aren't Che Guevara. A few months ago, some Columbia freshman had the audacity to tell me that Vietnam can't be that bad. He rationalized on some pretense about how Communism works in theory. So I asked him, “what, you've been to Vietnam?” To which he responded, “No. Why, have you?” |
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Meet the wet dream fantasy of tree-hugging, bleeding heart
pinko Commie hippies everywhere: Ho Chi Minh; oh so lovingly featured on the cover of Soldiers from Ho Chi Minh's army |
“Yes son. Yes I have. So shut your fucking mouth.”Let me tell you how Communism works on paper. Communism is me on a motorcycle, driving past the local elementary school on a Monday morning, as schoolchildren practice their calisthenics in front of a giant mural of Hồ Chí Minh. That's: Hồ Chí Minh After their little exercises, they tighten their adorable little red scarves, pick up their tiny, adorable little red books, file up in rows and columns like darling, obedient soldiers, sweaty palms pressed against beating hearts, and they start chanting. Praising the People's Democratic Republic. Praising the Party. Praising Comrade Hồ Chí Minh. Praising Comrade Vladimir Ilyich Lenin. Forsaking all the ties that bind, vowing to only one loyalty, one finality, one truth: the state. And they don't stop chanting. There's a little girl, 5 years old, barely comprehending the propaganda she's raving; there's a teenager with a fierce glimmer of determination and fidelity in his eyes. They chant. They chant for at least an hour. That's Communism in reality. I write a letter to a friend in America, describing my experiences. As I'm walking out to drop it off, my aunt runs after me; she tells me to give her my letter. I ask her why; she says, “Let me check it. Don't you know that the post office reads your letters?” That's Communism in reality. I go home; one of my uncles talks to me about some business ideas that he's been exploring but have been unable to undertake. I point out that in America, we don't have all those Communist regulations hindering free enterprise. In walks one of my cousins. I love her dearly. She loves me too. She had just come home from rousing day of indoctrination at school. She overhears us. “How dare you denounce the Communist State!” she exclaims. “I'm going to report you to my headmaster!” If you didn't follow what happened, I assure you that she actually meant what she said. Our grandmother had to sit her down for two hours, convincing her not to hand me over to the authorities. Apparently, she loves Comrade Bác Hồ more than family. That's Communism in reality. How many more examples do you need? To live in a society where your own flesh and blood will rat you out... You think the prisoners at Guantanamo have it bad? If you even hint at anything bordering sedition in the presence of an armed Party member in Việt Nam, you will be shot on sight. No Bill of Rights. No pro-bono ACLU lawyer to bitch and moan about state-sponsored discrimination for you. So understand that every time one of you goddamn fucking hippies regurgitates some fantastic sound bite, doomdsday stat, or alarmist trend, realize that you're full of bullshit. Complaining about global warming or globalization as you take your stepdad's Cadillac Escalade to the student rally, armed with gigantic cardboard signs that denounce the fascist logging industry. Fascist this, capitalist pigs that, corporate greed here, there, everywhere, neo-cons amuck, fascist corporations, imperialistic conglomerates, 1984, Hitler, Big Brother, Patriot Act, Nazis, Nazis, Gestapo, racists, sexists, racists, sexists, Bush this, Bush that, little Eichmanns, anti war, peace, love, and a million Mogadishus... Just shut the fuck up. All you goddamn tree-hugging, bleeding heart, pinko Commie hippies aren't suffering from a case of too much compassion. You've all got a serious case of rich white guilt. Tell me, why do most hippie protestors come from upper-middle-class (or rich) white suburban families? Are your lives so good that the only way you can rationalize your pathetic reason for existence is to show everyone below you how benevolent and understanding you all are? If you care about the black man's plight, does it mean you're not a racist? If you save a few whales, will Jesus forgive you of your sins? No thanks, you fucking honkies. All of you fucking hippies are so quick to take up causes. None have you have ever experienced war, or any other issue that you've embraced so fondly. None of you have ever experienced the choice of either enlisting or having the enemy raid your city on Tet, watching Việt Cộng take over your temple by killing all the monks and using you as a human shield. You don't know war. Until you've seen war or the aftermath of war, don't start making opinions about war. Oh that's right - most wars are fought in impoverished regions. Why bother going to a place where the people closest to you are encouraged to spy on you? Why bother going to a place where's there's no electricity to recharge your “iPod?” Or where the drinking water will give you dysentery? (severe, bloody diarrhea; followed by sepsis, liver infection, kidney failure....) I suppose it's less inconvenient to stay home; a home that our grandfathers defended while getting disemboweled by Japanese prison guards, a home where our grandmothers had to explain to their fat, spoiled children the meaning of food rations. “Oh, so you're telling me that just because I've never had firsthand experience of the ravages of warfare, my opionions don't mean shit?” Damn straight. |
I don't care who killed this woman. She's dead. The blame game won't bring her back to her grieving son. What matters now is if you have ever witnessed or experienced total suffering. What matters now is if you have any grasp of how truly painful existence can be; if you have any basis to start comparing your comfortable suburban lives to the painful reality that lies beyond your painfully white picket fences. Before you block the streets with your fucking anti war drum circles and pot smoking (the streets I have to cross to get to the job that forces to me to work for a living), before you think that you're the shit because you've just cheerfully allowed yourself to be paraded into a air-conditioned paddy wagon for “civil disobedience,” in front of a live news cast, before you beam and shine in incandescent shades of self-satisfaction, why not use your trust fund money, and book a flight to the war-torn country you're yelling about? Join the local Red Cross effort. That little kid in that picture is an orphan now. Are you going continue marching in the streets, or are you going to help him find a home? Actions speak louder than protestors. Join some inter-faith or non-denominational relief organization. Or just shoot yourselves in the head. Down the block from where my cousin in Sàigòn lives, resides this crippled man. He begs for money. You think the cripples in the NYC subway cars have a nice sob story? This man maintains a constant, open wound, dripping with blood and crawling with flies and maggots. Yes, he allows maggots to feed on his bleeding flesh. (I tried to take a photograph, but I think I was choking on my own vomit.) Every time it starts to heal, he cuts it up again. He pours rice wine on it to prevent infection. He makes quite a buck from the tourists. The tourists have a slight case of sunburn. All you goddamn tree-hugging, bleeding heart, pinko Commie hippies have zero credibility. Absolutely none. Nothing. So shut the fuck up. Đụ má mày
Written by Dinah Cheshire |
