Department of Book Reports 28: New & Improved! Now with a Contest!

One of the earliest things to get me hooked on the internet tubes was the Darwin Awards™. First roughly circulated as copied emails, these stories of sheer stupidity may or may not have been urban legends, that was always part of the charm: Could someone be so clueless to have actually done this? Finally organized by Wendy Northcutt on her website in 1990, the awards began to be announced annually. Wendy has 4 volumes of these tales in print at this date.
1. 2000: Darwin Awards: Evolution in Action
2. 2001: Darwin Awards II: Unnatural Selection
3. 2003: Darwin Awards III: Survival of the Fittest
4. 2006: Darwin Awards IV: Intelligent Design

Today I'd like to change directions and talk about the direct-to-DVD release of the film The Darwin Awards™. This quirky, charming comedy is at once a love story, a cautionary tale and as an extra bonus, "Stuff blows up real good!" Disgraced SFPD detective Michael Burrows (Joseph Fiennes) has finally landed a job with an insurance company, promising to develop a system for indentifying these "Darwin Cases" and stopping them before they die and cost the company millions more dollars. He is paired with a feisty insurance adjuster (Winona Ryder) and they are followed everywhere by a film student who cannot interfere because of truthiness restrictions of his documentary. Burrows is haunted by the unsolved North Beach Killer case, a serial killer who drops "Beat" poetry clues and lurks around City Lights Bookstore. In their cross country search to get to the bottom of these insurance claims, they investigate many of the stories identified as urban legends, because, let's face it, those are the funniest ones. With its sly nods to the literary world, this movie will amuse audiences beyond the presumed Nascar™ crowd.

It really feels like the cast had a lot of fun making this movie. Populated by many A-list Hollywood family name actors, they are joined in cameos by Adam Savage and Jamie Hyneman from TV's Mythbusters, and Lawrence Ferlinghetti. Sadly, this was Chris Penn's final movie; he died the day before it's Sundance premiere.

This is a fun movie, rent it and be prepared for a rollickingly fun evening.

And Now the Contest!
Jackson Street Books received a box of Fox Entertainment™ swag last week. They suggested raffling these items off to customers in shop, but I thought we could have some fun here. So, the rules:

Tell me about the time you almost became a Darwin Award™ Statistic here in the comments. It has to be true (this means you democommie™™™™®©!) It has to have happened to you, or, if it happened to a friend of yours, you had to have been there. Obviously, you are a failure as a Darwin Award™, because you are here to tell us the story. But, now you might win swag:

Grand Prize:
The Darwin Awards™ DVD plus Darwin Awards™ T-shirt and movie poster!

Second Place:
The Darwin Awards™ DVD and movie poster!

We'll announce the winner on next week's Book Report.

You'll have to contact Jackson Street Books to claim your official Fox Entertainment™ swag, we'll be happy to mail it off to you. I have no idea what other Fine Independent Bookstores are doing with their swag.

Special thanks to democommie™™™™®© for letting me borrow all those ™s!

Oh, yeah, we can get you the books, too!
~SeattleTammy

She Blinded Me With Science

It's a science song weekend at the General's (with a helmet tip to freereed). We're looking for songs about science.

Let's begin with a little Thomas Dolby followed by a lecture on (de)evolution by Devo.

As always, we want to hear your contributions. The playlist is called Blinded by Science. You can add or search for songs here.

username: jcchristian
password: ourmusic

And I have to add this video, May The Cube Be With You, by Thomas Dolby and George Clinton.

Jihadrusade!

Francunists like Max Blumenthal are always quick to attack good Christian men for their attempts to spread the Gospel, but they never mention the despicable kind of indoctrination that occurs in the Iranian military.

You won't find the following in The Nation:

Iranian actor Massoud Razi, the youngest member of the famous Razi brothers, is no longer playing Jamshid Darvishi's sidekick in comedy masterpieces like "Hide the Falafel". He has a much more serious calling these days.

Razi became a fundamentalist islamist after the invasion of Iraq, and now is the star of Operation Ali (OA), an islamist entertainment troupe that actively proselytizes among active-duty members of the Iranian military. As an official arm of the Islamic Revolutionary Army's Iran Supports You program, OA plans to mail copies of the controversial video game, Submit or Die: Road to Paradise to soldiers serving on the border with Iraq.

The Islamic Revolutionary Army's Mullah's Office, which oversees OA's activities, has not responded to calls seeking comment.

[...]

But behind OA's anodyne promises of wholesome fun for military families, the organization promotes an radical brand of fundamentalist Islam to active duty Iranian soldiers serving on the border with Iraq. Displayed prominently on the "What We Believe" section of OA's website is a passage from the Qur'an (Al-Qur'an 2:23-24) that has become the bedrock of the Islamist right's conversion theology: "And if ye are in doubt as to what We have revealed From time to time to Our Servant, then produce a Surrah Like thereunto; And call your witnesses or helpers (If there are any) besides Allah, If your (doubts) are true. But if ye cannot--And of a surely you cannot. Then fear the Fire whose fuel is Men and Stones Which is prepared for those who reject Faith."

With the endorsement of the Islamic Revolutionary Army, OA is mailing "Freedom Packages" to soldiers serving on the border with Iraq. These are not your grandfather's care packages, however. Besides pairs of white socks and boxes of baby wipes, OA's care packages contain the controversial Submit or Die: Road to Paradise videogame...

The videogame is a real-time strategy game that makes players commanders of a virtual Islamist army in a landscape that looks strikingly like New York City. With tanks, helicopters and a fearsome arsenal of automatic weapons at their disposal, Submit or Die players wage a violent war against American soldiers who, according to President Ahmadinejad's interpretation of Surrah 2, Al-Qur'an, represent the armies of the infidels. Each time a Submit or Die player kills an American soldier, their virtual character exclaims, "Praise Allah!" To win the game, players must kill or convert all the non-believers. (Video preview here).

[...]

OA has cultivated support from the Islamic Revolutionary Army for years. After a private October, 2005 meeting between OA's Naseri and Islamic Revolutionary Army officials, OA was invited to perform inside Revolutionary Command. This week, Revolutionary Command employees and active duty service members are expected to enjoy a breakfast with Naseri and Razi, followed by an OA performance in which they will receive "spiritual encouragement via an Islamic message."

Stop making fun of me...

...and my brother.

My guess...

I believe Pamala "Atlas Shrugs" Geller is telling the truth here:

Although listed in business records as a Universal co-owner, she denied it. “I have nothing to do with this,” Geller said.

And as far as the associated homicide goes, I'm guessing it might involve a drunken, enraged John Bolton, an unfortunate mustache comment, and the goading of a girlfriend who thought a stranger looked a little too "muzzie."

Give 'em Zell, Joe

How's he doing?

When being brown is illegal

Sometimes something happens that is so horrific, even the General is left speechless:

EIGHTY-NINE DAYS AFTER HE WAS DEPORTED from the Los Angeles County jail system to Tijuana, mentally troubled U.S. citizen Pedro Guzman returned to his home in Lancaster this week, shivering, stuttering and re-igniting a host of uncomfortable questions for the L.A. County Sheriff’s Department and U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE).

Guzman appeared at the U.S. border crossing at Calexico late Sunday night, where he was detained on a probation warrant. He was moved to the downtown L.A. jail, and then to the Lancaster jail. There, Superior Court Judge Carlos Chung ordered him released on August 7. That Tuesday afternoon, Pedro Guzman was finally resting at his brother Juan Carlos Chabes’ home on a flat stretch of the Antelope Valley while his mother, Maria Carbajal, and brother Michael Guzman faced a frenetic band of news reporters at the headquarters of the American Civil Liberties Union of Southern California in the Belmont area near downtown.

[...]

"This government deported Pedro Guzman because of his skin color, did not examine or review his documents stating that he was born in California because of his skin color, did not bother to comfort this family when he was found because of his skin color," Rosenbaum said.

The frenzy brought Carbajal and Michael Guzman to bitter tears. They told reporters they’ve spoken only briefly with Pedro because he returned to them in what sounded like a state of shock: trembling, fearful of people, stuttering and unable to communicate in English, one of his two languages.

"He left complete, but they took half of my son," Carbajal wept, referring to Pedro’s fragile state. "That is the government’s fault. They are guilty."

Guzman, 29, had been missing since May 11, the day he called his sister-in-law from a strange phone number. He told her he had been deported, was at the border, and was "confused." "I don’t know why I’m here," he said. The line went dead and Guzman was not heard from again.

[...]

Frantic after Pedro’s strange call, Carbajal took a leave from her job as a night-shift cook at a Lancaster Jack in the Box to search for Pedro herself. For weeks she ventured into the teeming back streets of downtown Tijuana in hopes of finding him. She went to Tecate and Rosarito, to jails, morgues, hospitals and halfway houses, and down into the dank ditches of the Tijuana River, a saga recorded by the L.A. Weekly in “Lost in Tijuana” (July 20-26).

After almost two months of living in a windowless shack at a banana distribution plant run by friends from her home state of Nayarit, Carbajal felt she needed to return to Lancaster to take care of the rest of her family and get back to the Jack in the Box where she works alongside her son Michael. She returned to Tijuana only on weekends, often accompanied by her son Juan Carlos and daughter-in-law Vicky. On July 7, his brother Michael was wed at the Stratosphere hotel in Las Vegas, without a best man. Pedro would have been at his side, and because of budget constraints, Michael could not postpone the celebration.

Last Thursday, August 2, Carbajal returned to Tijuana for what by now had become a routine weekend of searching. She told the Weekly she tried to come home on Sunday but found the traffic at the San Ysidro crossing too thick. She tried again on Monday, August 6, and that’s when she received a call from the ACLU saying that Pedro had been found. (The organization was representing the Guzmans in a lawsuit against ICE and the L.A. Sheriff’s Department.)

How did we allow ourselves to get to this point? How did we become so afraid of a phantom menace, a crisis that exists only in the spittle-flecked rantings of demagogues, that something like this could happen? And why isn't this the lead on all of the news programs? Doesn't it have more to say about where we're at as a nation than Britney Spears', Paris Hilton's or Lindsey Lohan's latest outrage.

It's easy to blame the demagogues. Lou Dobbs, Michelle Malkin, Michael Savage, Tom Tancredo, and their ilk are indeed raising the level of hate in this country. We could cite many examples of how the media promotes the notion that brown people are not "real citizens." But the blame extends beyond them.

How many of you believe that immigration poses a major threat to this country? Have you really thought about it?

How many of you have stood by silently when a friend or a colleague speaks of Mexicans or Americans of Mexican descent in a way that suggests they're our enemy. Why didn't you say something?

How many times have you heard someone tell a derogatory joke and politely laughed? Why didn't you point out that it's offensive?

How many of you laughed at the greasy taco joke in the Simpsons Movie and then felt immediate shame as the people of Mexican descent seated around you groaned in disgust. I did. It may seem like a trivial thing to many of us, but it wasn't trivial to the people in that theater. It was just another indignity heaped upon them, another reminder that "we" don't think "they" are included in "us." And it works the other way as well. In our minds, another box labeled "brown=other" is checked whether we realize it or not.

Sure, we need to expose the Tancredos, Malkins, and Dobbses of the word for what they are, but we also need to think about the thousands of tiny indignities that occur every day and seek to end any contribution we might be adding to the problem. These thousands of tiny daily indignities, when added together, are just as poisonous to our culture as a Tancredo tirade.

We have to end it.

In Country

I look at the sunlight of a dying day as it flows over his body, it's finely chiseled contours, the little swoop by the sides of his abdomen that hint that there is still muscle beneath the slight layer of softness that age has provided him. I can't bear to look for too long, but instead turn to the side of my bed, and begin brushing my hair. It is long, and still blond enough. I have had long hair for along time, so the even strokes of the brush, slowly easing out the tangles from the sweat soaked afternoon is a ritual, it calms me.

"My husband would kill me if he knew."

I say that to the air.

"But he isn't here."

I brush another long stroke, and then stop. Those hands of his are on my hip, and caressing over the curve of my figure, and then down my thigh, and then back up again. Those hands of his. Those hands that can sew together dying flesh, torn by metal or wood or stone. IT is those hands that I dream of.

"Yes, he's in country. This is the moment that makes me feel guilty, every time."

"So was I. What are you going to do?"

I try and resume the brushing, but my perception's focus is more and more and more and more upon the point of contact of the tips of his fingers on my curve, as the play up my waist, which no longer has the same swoop it did when I was reeally still young, but more than most women, I think, my age can really claim.

"Nothing until I have to, until..."

I roll back over on my back, and stare up into his blue eyes, and the features that are finely etched, but filled with imperfections that prevent it from being gorgeously magnetic. He is still handsome. And for some moment, my man, even if I can't really feel myself to be his woman. Or not completely his woman. I am drawn to wanting to say something affectionate. His hands move down my body and begin wirling in that triangle of curly pubic hair. I did not have a name for that place on my body, until he gave it one. My husband had no sense that I had nerves anyplace, except my lips, nipples and vagina. He taught me how there were nerves, and tissues and a whole connectedness, with that same stroking motion he is using now.

"How did you feel, when you came back, and your wife left you?"

He gazes down into me, and hard into me, and his fingers never stop picking the dried white flecks that are the remains of sex from my hairs.

"Feel? I didn't feel at all."

I breath out slowly and almost manage a sigh. He continues.

"Being there changed me, I expected it."

"Did you know? I mean that she had taken up with someone else? While you are there?"

"I still don't know, you never can."

I pause for a moment.

"You must have felt something."

"Not until I met you. She went off with someone else. Maybe he was more like the man she fell in love with than I am now."

"You've said this before, what do you mean?"

"I am quieter now."

"I like you quiet, sweetie."

He straightens his fingers through my pubic hairs, and without asking or needing to ask, because to move them in a slow spiral on the surface of my outer lips. I can't help not wanting him to, but there is a thrill that rises on my neck, and I want him not to stop, more than anything, I want him to continue, but hold right there, and not use this as a prelude to another round of. Of love making. Yes. That is what it is. I open my lips to say something. I stop. I start on something else. I stop again. He fills the space.

"I used to talk about everything, I had opinions about life, art, politics, the world. I don't now."

"I like you quiet."

"That's because that is what you need, a man who is quiet so you can only half fall in love."

That stings, I start a third time to say something, this time more bitter than the last. I stop again, and then start a fourth thing.

"But I have. Just not with you. With... with this. With us. I'm in love with us. Which is why I don't want us to end."

There is a rustle as his hand moves. He lowers himself down as if doing a push up, kisses my neck, suspended above me, not touching me except at the point, and then lifting himself away.

"One of the us is going to end very soon."

"No, he is stuck there."

"I'm going back there. And that will mean you will find someone else."

That stings again, but even as my intestines churn with the nausea of self-realization that I need a warmth beside me, and within me, or I will curl up and vomit until I feel like dying, talks in the back of my mind, I deny it. In that moment, I decide to deny it, and make one of those promises that is only true going forward. I feel a hardness sweep first inside of me, and then become a tautness over my chest and breasts and down my legs.

"I'm not going to do that."

My chin bends inwards as a way of emphasizing the earnestness of the statement, and I look back up into those eyes with a challenge.

"So what are you going to do, delay with both of us until we both come home?"

"Half of me wants one of you to just shoot the other."

"It will have to be him, I've had my fill of blood and killing for any reason other than pure necessity."

I start to turn away again, but his hands are upon the curve of my hips, he presses them down to the bed, and places his lips on the outside of my sex. What follows is pure pornographic moment, I can't describe it, or, I don't have the courage to describe it. What I feel is dirty, shameful and as addictive as anything I've ever known.

I gasp, because, not because I feel it, but because I want to tell him not to stop, and I can't wrap my lips around the words. He spends long minutes praying at the temple of my body. I forget the motions and precisely what he does, and even my gaze losses focus. I don't want to remember, and I try not to think about my husband or what this means.

"I want you then."

He pulls himself up again, and is again suspended over me, close enough that the radiant heat still comes off of him to me. He stares up along my geography, I look down. I stare down. I cry.

The tears force my eyes to close and I am sobbing.

"Why did this have to happen to us? Why this war, now, to us?"

"Which us? I don't think your marriage was going to live. How you put up with his affairs I don't know."

"He needed them, and I needed him."

He shakes his head.

"You needed him, so he could have them."

I open my eyes again, I take aggressive action and slide myself back down under him, my legs dangling down the foot of the bed.

"Don't go back there."

"I made a promise, even if Americans can't keep theirs to me, I have to keep mine to them."

"I'm breaking a promise by being with you."

"It was a promise that was already broken. You want the name of his woman in the Green Zone? I can give it to you. Doctors know everything."

I pause and stare up in earnest.

"Like what."

He runs his hand around a hard roundness on my tummy.

"She's pregnant, and so are you."


Signed -- Liberty

Why I Avoid Dr. Dre

Jessica Colón
Chair, Young Republican National Federation

Dear Mrs. Colón,

What ever happened to loyalty? You and the rest of the Young Republican leadership were Glenn Murphy's best friends when he was leading your slate as the nominee for chair, and you all sure as hell crowded in to get your pictures taken with him when your slate won. But the moment he gets caught sucking on a sleeping colleague's tiny republican, you all start scrambling over each other to accept his resignation.

Couldn't you have held off for a few days until all the facts were known? If you had, you would have learned from Florida State Representative Bob Allen (R-Slurp) that Republican officials aren't responsible for putting guys thingies in their mouths. Black people make them do it.

Frankly, I don't know why it's taken so long for people to figure it out. Heck, my own mouth is usually stuffed with private johnsons before Barry White gets to his first groan on the radio. I bet that's what happened to Sen. Larry Craig in that Union Station restroom as well. There are always a lot of black people there. South Carolina too...need I say more about Lindsey Graham?

Anyway, I bet ex-Chairman Murphy was just lying there in bed with his sleeping YRNF colleague, trying to peek around young Reagan's morning wood to see the tee vee, when, BAM, Soul Train comes on and Murphy's mouth immediately latches on to the most available hunk of GOPper sausage around. You can't blame him for that. It was Soul Train's fault.

Heterosexually yours in a chaste, black-man-avoiding, and biblically appropriate kind of way,

Gen JC Christian, patriot

Dancing Liberally

We're having another get together at Cafe Wellstone tonight at 6:00 PM SLT/PDT. Join us. The last one was a blast, so many people came, we overloaded the server (limit of 50, I think).

Here are a few pics:


Dick tends the bar. Just don't ask him for a shot.



Some dancers with the Tomb of the Unknown Legal Settlement in the background (It's slowly becoming a must-see SL attraction.)


One of the General's readers--is that John Lucid or Jillan?

Finally, this shot's from the U2 Concert. Yeah it sounds a bit nerdy to see a virtual concert, but it was a lot of fun. Bono is really into Second Life. Here he is with Green Days Billy Joe Armstrong.

Hulk Horny Smash House Remodel

Sen. Ted Stevens
United States Senate

Dear Sen Stevens,

I know you're very busy right now fighting against ethics reform and preparing for your pending corruption indictment, but I really think you ought to take a few moments to consider the possible ramifications of the FBI raid on your home. I'm particularly concerned with what was on the hard drives of the computers the G-men seized.

You know it's only a matter of time until the content of those files appear in indictment papers. Our failure to completely purge the Justice Department of those whose loyalties lie with the rule of law rather than the Party pretty much guarantees an that'll happen unless we can replace the current US Attorney with mezzo-soprano Bradley J. Schlozman.

That's why it's so important to get ahead of the release of this information and inoculate yourself against it. I'd go for the family values angle. Begin by holding a press conference about how you needed to have your house remodeled by a lobbyist to make it easier for you to infiltrate the comic book character porn industry. Then make the fairly reasonable argument that given his inarticulate nature, it would be very difficult for your Incredible Hulk character to seduce the likes of Wonder Woman, Aunt Harriet, Aqua-Man, or Thundercat if you didn't have a swingin' bachelor pad where you could entertain them. I mean the Little Hulk, no matter how incredible it might be, only gets you so far with someone who's been intimate with The Thing.

And speaking of the Little Hulk, it might provide you with an in with Bill O'Reilly at Fox, particularly if it's a detachable prop rather than simply your little senator painted green.

Heterosexually yours,

Gen. JC Christian, patriot

Elsewhere: Restroom victim Larry Craig weighs in.

A helmet tip to reader Rabit.

In Search of The Grand Unifying Blue Dog Bill

Rep. Melissa Bean (D-IL 8th)
United States House of Representatives

Dear Rep. Bean,

I'm writing to thank you for your vote to give Inquisitor General Gonzales the power to wiretap Americans without a warrant. I'm sure he'll use that power as responsibly as he's conducted the rest of the Department of Justice's business. Perhaps, he'll even delegate it to some lucky recent Regent University grad who needs to beef-up his or her resume to compensate for attending a fourth-tier law school.

I see you also voted for the bankruptcy and habeas corpus/torture bills. That gives me an idea. How about sponsoring legislation to combine all three? Think about it. Let's say someone at Providian or MBNA notices that Joe Sixpack has been a little late on a few payments. Wouldn't it be great if he could just call up "Earl," the assistant to the Assistant Deputy Division Director for Consumer-Related Crimes and say "Hey, I need a tap on Joe Sixpack to see if he's fulfilling his responsibilities to us before he goes grocery shopping," and get a wiretap?

And let's go a little further and say that the wiretap provides evidence that Mr. Sixpack is indeed, putting the feeding of his family ahead of his revolving credit repayment responsibilities. Shouldn't the Department of Justice have the power to detain him long enough to apply a little high voltage credit counseling to his potentially deadbeat testicles. I sure think so.

And if he still defaults? Well, I'd say we've just added another family to our list of guest workers without needing to issue a single warrant.

I hope you'll consider it. It'd surely earn you a bit of good will at the White House (although given your record, you probably already have it). Heck, who knows, maybe the assistant to the Assistant Deputy Division Director for Consumer-Related Crimes will return the favor by ordering a wiretap on your primary opponent.

Heterosexually yours in a chaste and biblically approved kind of way,

Gen. JC Christian, patriot

Elsewhere: Shortened version posted to Rep. Bean's Facebook Wall.

Rep. Tancredo's fire from heaven

Bay Buchanan
Tancredo for Leader

Dear Mrs. Buchanan,

I'm writing to congratulate you for the bang up job you're doing for the Tancredo campaign. I know it's been difficult, especially given his statements about nuking Mecca and Medina, two of the three cities held to be most sacred by the followers of Islamunistfacism (The third is Jerusalem. Why isn't Rep. Tancredo demanding its nuclear annihilation as well. I bet your brother, Pat, is very disappointed).

Many people, including anonymous sources within the State Department (I have a list of the names of 157 crypto-Islamunistofascists who serve at State, BTW), are using words like insane, "reprehensible" and "absolutely crazy" to describe those statements. Rep. Tancredo doesn't deserve that, and thank God he has you to defend him.

You're response that Rep. Tancredo was simply being "open-minded" was sheer genius. By employing one of the character traits for which Rep. Tancredo is most closely identified, his renowned open-mindedness, you effectively shut down all of the critics. It's like the nuclear option of rhetoric.

But more importantly, Rep. Tancredo's threats are scaring the hell out of the brown people's Gods. Take Lord Shiva for instance. He's reacting to the Tancredos remarks in much the same way I react to the thought of a not-man president.

Heterosexually yours in a chaste and biblically acceptable kind of way,

Gen. JC Christian, patriot

A helmet tip to Karl at Operation Yellow Elephant.

Sunday Morning Prayer

Heavenly Father Above,

Please protect the General, as he is smack dab in the middle of Liberal Central surrounded by God-haters, America-Haters, and sodomites at that perfectly dreadful KOS convention. Seeing as the General is a strapping, handsome, virile man easily prey to the wily ways of loose women like Hillary Clinton, please send huge Warring angels to surround him yielding signs that say "BACK OFF SINNER! This man belongs to Jesus".

Amen.

Ps... Lord, if it is your will, please smite that evil RINO Andrew Sullivan for spreading lies about me three times last week in his abominable article.

Maintaining White Power in America

_{Image © Austin Cline
Original Poster: National Archives
Click for full-sized Image}

It's reasonable to want immigration and border traffic to proceed in an orderly, safe, and legal manner, but whatever reasonable points might be made about this have long been lost in the din of anti-immigration hysteria. One might wonder what it is about immigration that would lead to such hysteria, but the reason soon presents itself once we realize that all the attention is directed south rather than north: that's where all the brown people are.

If anyone expresses concerns about Canadians taking away jobs from Americans, or smuggling al-Qaeda agents through the forests of the Northwest, they aren't getting a lot of attention from the anti-immigrant crowd and I don't think they've been interviewed by Lou Dobbs yet. Expressing concerns about the same problems along American's southern border with Mexico, however, will garner a lot of attention and perhaps some media interviews. Even if we could concede that the risks to the south were a little higher, and even given the fact that Canadians are far too boring (sorry, guys) to merit much media attention anyway, that still wouldn't explain the differences.

If we consider race as the key factor, though, it all becomes much easier to explain and understand — and it would also fit in with other developments, especially among so-called "thinkers" of the far-right. David Frum has expressed concerns about how the Republican Party may start losing elections because it isn't popular among non-whites — even though the GOP built its current power on appealing to white fear of non-whites. Gee, do you think the two might be related? It's not as though the GOP can start appealing to Black Pride or anything, so what are they supposed to do? Rig the elections? Oh, wait, they already do that.

How about keeping brown people from voting at all? Jonah Goldberg has that covered, arguing for imposing tests on people before they can vote. He can't be unaware of the fact that literacy tests used to be used to keep poor blacks from voting, even though many whites might not have done better, so he must expect his proposal to be similarly classified.

The larger problem, going beyond the implied racism, is that voting is the basic right that differentiates the citizens of a democracy from those under other political systems. Voting is what gives a citizen power and makes them sovereign. Without the power to vote, then, they are not sovereign. Under Goldberg's proposal, voting would be a privilege of the few, not a right of all, and thus the people would no longer be sovereign — and America would no longer really be a democracy.

The link between American nativism and this sort of fascism is not incidental. In The Anatomy of Fascism, Robert O. Paxton writes

It may be that the earliest phenomenon that can be functionally related to fascism is American: the Ku Klux Klan. Just after the Civil War, some former Confederate officers, fearing the vote given to African Americans in 1867 by the Radical Reconstructionists, set up a militia to restore an overturned social order. The Klan constituted an alternate civic authority, parallel to the legal state, which, in the eyes of the Klan's founders, no longer defended their community's legitimate interests.

By adopting a uniform (white robe and hood), as well as by their techiques of intimidation and their conviction that violence was justified in the cause of their group's destiny, the first version of the Klan in the defeated American South was arguably a remarkable preview of the way fascist movements were to function in interwar Europe. It should not be surprising, after all, that the most precocious democracies — the United States and France — should have generated precocious backlashes against democracy.

The current crop of nativists can be traced directly back to the militia movement of the 1980s and 90s. Like all fascist movements, they claim to represent the true (white) face of America, to be promoting the true American ideals, to want to live the true American way of life, to be fighting for the rights of all true Americans, etc. They accept similar conspiracy theories, hold similar views about non-Whites and non-Christians, are similarly patriarchal and militant, etc.

Not every belief and idea is identical, but much of it is and many of the same people are involved. Where do you think they all went, to Canada? Maybe that's not such a bad idea...they want to deport brown people south of the border, but why don't we just deport them north? There's lots of empty space up there, right? Let them argue with the ultra-nationalists in Russia over which white power structure has the right to the Great White North.