The tweet above, located by Glenn Reynolds at Instapundit, comes from Sarah Jane Glynn, self-described on her Twitter feed as “Expertise in Econ/Gender/Lady-business. Professional Feminist & Semi-Professional Eyeliner Expert. All mind blowing views my own. She/Her.” Sarah left out “Good German,” perhaps for space, but a classic example of the rising Fascists of the Left she is, a toxic mutation of American that, in retrospect, we now realize emerged as tadpoles during the Obama Administration when the squiggly things were directed to use family holidays to propagandize relatives about the evils of climate change and the virtues of Obamacare. Now those tadpoles are full-fledged toads, and ugly ones indeed, like Sarah.
It is encouraging—maybe I’m grasping at straws here—that her tweet has many more re-tweets than “likes.” Perhaps that means that Americans haven’t lost the ability to recognize a fascist when they see one, even after four years of the fascists of the Left calling Donald Trump a threat to democracy when he was nearly the exact opposite except for his intemperate bluster.
Boy, I hope so. I have been composing in my head a series of questions for the nearby neighbor who has erected the giant eyesore of a sign near my home, a six-foot by four-foot black-painted wooden board with a giant red heart bearing the words, also in black, “Black Lives Matter,” accompanied by a medieval suit of armor standing next to the sign, for some reason. This display has been up for nearly a year now. Maybe the armor represents “systemic racism,” the accusation rather than the condition, since those who favor it think it makes them invulnerable to criticism, facts, or logic. The new fascists believe this phrase imbues them with moral certitude and unquestionable wisdom when they adopt it as their mantra, though the concept itself is empty, facile, tautological and insulting. Accepting that the United States exists and continues its evil ways because of “systemic racism,” essentially the fantastic “1619 Project’s” view of America, has become the “Heil!’ sign of the rising totalitarians among us.
I can’t wait to have a face-off with a Sarah. I’m still angry with myself for not taking full advantage of my opportunity long ago to have fun with a smug flat-Earther at the U.S. Chamber of Commerce, whose scientific perspective made Williams Jennings Bryan at the Scopes Trial sound like Carl Sagan. She was the one who condescendingly explained to me that God put fossils of dinosaurs in the ground to test our faith: of course such creatures never existed, silly! How would they get on the Ark? Wouldn’t they have eaten all the cave men?
I let her lecture go at the time because 1) she was an idiot, but a nice idiot, and I felt sorry for her 2) she worked for my boss, and 3) I realized it would make a funny anecdote for a lifetime. I also was still recoiling from the horrible regret of an ugly moment from college, when an otherwise decent Mormon dorm neighbor in my freshman year explained how he had to go to Hell with all of us if he wasn’t successful in convincing us to adopt the One True Way of his church. Along with a room mate, I metaphorically eviscerated him with a rant of my own, deft but cruel, that sent him into a prolonged withdrawal and depression.
Note that these incidents both involved religion, and though the new fascists are largely agnostic, “systemic racism” is like a religion for them, an article of faith that requires no proof but that can be used to unite, intimidate, and set apart the virtuous from the lost souls.
It’s easy to mock people like Sarah in absentia, or just let her be what she wants to be in peace. Unlike the nutball at the Chamber however, Sarah is dangerous, because there are so many of her. A disturbing number of them have power and influence, and they are multiplying. Far too many of those who encounter Sarahs passively nod and grovel to avoid confrontation, or maybe punishment.
By pure chance I stumbled upon “Judgement at Nuremberg” yesterday on Turner Classic Movies, and though I know the script well—my professional theater company produced an excellent stage adaptation directed by the brilliant Joe Banno, and I managed the project—it all struck me now less as history and legal dilemmas than a warning.
Throughout the movie, the American judge played by Spencer Tracy keeps encountering guilt-ridden Germans desperate for exoneration, all denying that “those terrible things” were their fault, insisting that their nation’s soul slipped away while they were occupied with other important concerns, and that they “did not know” what was happening. “And if we did know,” one says to Tracy’s character, “what could we do?” Spencer looks pained, but remains silent.
What he should have answered was, “You could have stood up to them before it was too late.”