Monthly Archives: December 2012

Catch 22: When Dogmatic “Diversity” will not tolerate “Dissent”, Dialogue Dies and with it any Dynamic Diversity: can students be expelled for thinking?

Bucking the College Diversity Cult

Noah Steadman, American Renaissance, December 28, 2012

Asking the wrong questions at Simon’s Rock.

Bard College at Simon’s Rock is a liberal-arts school in Great Barrington, in the Massachusetts Berkshires. The town was established in colonial times, and is nearly 95 percent white. The college was founded in 1964, and is very small; there are fewer than 400 students, and almost all live on campus.

Since Bard acquired Simon’s Rock Early College in 1979, it has pushed “diversity” very hard. This graph, taken from the college website, is a source of pride: Non-whites have grown from 10 percent to 30 percent of the student body in the last 10 years.


This graph, also taken from the website, brags about how Simon’s Rock forces diversity into the curriculum.


The result is that, compared to students who attend lesser institutions, Simon’s Rock students claim to be greatly enriched.


The website describes efforts to make Simon’s Rock more diverse.

When Mary Marcy, provost and vice president of Bard College at Simon’s Rock, arrived on campus in 2004 she recognized an opportunity to deepen the College’s commitment to diversity. Like many initiatives at Simon’s Rock, the object was to go beyond the numbers and to help forge meaningful connections between and among students and faculty from diverse backgrounds with integrity, significance and context.

All students must take a course in “cultural perspectives,” and the campus celebrates something called Diversity Day. It has a Director of Multi-Cultural affairs, “spaces for students of color to meet,” a Black Student Union, a student-run Race Task Force, a Queer Student Alliance, and a Latino Student Alliance—all for just a few hundred students.

Simon’s Rock has indeed “deepened its commitment to diversity” since 2004, to the point of absurdity. When I enrolled as a freshman last fall I was unaware just how zealous the school was. Everyone took it for granted that diversity was a wonderful thing, but no one ever explained why.

It was clear, however, that many students self-segregated, with Asians spending time with Asians, blacks with blacks, etc. Encouraging students to join racial groups such as the Black Student Union encouraged identity politics and ran counter to the professed goal of diversity. The hypocrisy of this never dawned on anyone until I decided to call it to their attention.

Diversity Day is an important observance at Simon’s Rock; all courses are cancelled and students must attend three seminars on diversity. We had our pick of about 20 sessions on race, gender, and class. They had names such as “Are We Born Racist?” “Am I A Racist?” and “Dear White People,” which explained white privilege. There was no intellectual diversity.

The Kellogg Music Center: a campus landmark.

The Kellogg Music Center: a campus landmark.

I prepared for Diversity Day by putting up two dozen fliers. They asked students to email me five benefits of diversity, aside from ethnic food and music. My plan was to compile a list of the benefits and conduct a workshop to discuss them on Diversity Day. I never said diversity was bad; I just wanted to hear the reasons why it is good.

The fliers were all torn down and some students cut them into snowflakes or paper dolls holding hands. I learned that my flier was going to be discussed at a Black Student Union meeting in a few days, so I decided to go.

There were about 30 people in the room, in what was essentially a kangaroo court. Everyone sat in a circle and went around the room complaining that I was “invalidating the existence” of minorities and was willfully ignorant of my white privilege. They talked about how personally offended they were and how disgusting it was for me to ask for an explanation of the advantages of diversity. This went on for nearly two hours. I had only a minute or two to respond. At one point, a black student began to agree with me, but other blacks told him to shut up, saying I “would’ve supported slavery.”

I did not hear a single argument in favor of diversity, but there were implied threats of physical violence if I acted up again.

I received a lot of e-mail about the flier, mostly insults. A few people actually sent me arguments in favor of diversity: It broadens your perspective and makes you worldlier. When I put the text into a Google search, I found it had been copied from a website.

There were also Facebook comments that show how Simon’s Rock students think. One girl called me a “white freshman idiot” and complained that “the faculty and staff don’t do a good enough job of really reinforcing [anti-racism] to the white students in its population.” One student wanted to know, “Do we have a flag pole we can duct tape him to? Preferably naked.” An Asian Indian student wrote, “Go punch him in the gut, then talk to him.” Another student wrote “I just consider this fucker fresh meat.” One offered a reward “to whoever gives this kid the best swift kick in the ass.” Another student’s plan was to “drop him off in some housing projects somewhere, I’d say kick his ass, but daamn, why give him another reason to play the sniveling victim. For God’s sake, he sounds like the reincarnation of Samuel George Morton.” Another Indian wrote, “Your very presence effectively oppresses the being of people of color. There’s a thing called history.”

It is remarkable how quickly their fantasies turn to violence when anyone challenges their dogmas. Some people even started using my name to post outrageous messages on discussion boards. One included an image of the Simon’s Rock campus with cross hairs on it, and another asked, “Can someone tell me how to make a bomb?” I was called down to the Great Barrington police station, but the officers quickly accepted my explanation that these messages were posted by impostors.

An upperclassman, a Dravidian Indian, sent me a detailed response in which he accused me of having a “white supremacist ideology” and telling me to “check my privilege.” He went on a tirade against white Christian men, claimed he was a member of an oppressed group, and that I was the oppressor. He also called me a white boy.

I replied to his arguments and made sure to call him an Indian boy—but that was when I got in trouble with the administration. He said that I had “crossed the line between free speech and hate speech,” and filed a formal complaint. He claimed I had harassed him so terribly and his feelings were so badly hurt that he didn’t feel comfortable going about his day-to-day activities. This student was a critical theory major, but apparently couldn’t handle criticism.

I had to respond to the complaint. I argued that my accuser didn’t have a right not to be offended, and that if what I said to him was inflammatory and merited a harassment charge, then he should be charged as well, since he said exactly the same thing to me. The school nevertheless accused me of harassment and ordered a psychological assessment and diversity training—at my own expense. Even worse, there was an attempt to expel me. I was sent home for a de facto suspension of more than a week while the provost decided my fate.

Simon's Rock

Simon’s Rock

Needless to say, my family was shocked by all this. They could hardly believe I was getting in so much trouble and being treated like a danger to the campus just because I asked for five benefits of diversity.

I got in touch with the Foundation for Individual Rights in Education (FIRE), and my parents threatened to sue the school if I were expelled. Perhaps for this reason, the provost gave up on the idea. I met with the president of the college, and he had to concede that I had done nothing wrong. I was finally allowed back on campus—to the dismay of many students.

As it happened, Diversity Day was held during the very week I came back—but it was a flop. The non-white students who were supposed to be running many of the workshops boycotted the event. I didn’t show up to watch, but they gathered on campus and handed out fliers. Their flier (see entire text here) says the problems all began with “a document distributed by a student on campus questioning the value of diversity, and therein questioning our very existence and invalidating our lived experiences.”

The flier went on to complain that “the provost has, in recent decisions, explicitly gone against our wishes and best interests as a marginalized and oppressed faction, essentially legitimizing white supremacist ideologies on this campus.” So far as I can tell, the failure to expel me was what legitimized white supremacy, but in any case, they had “feelings of being unsafe and threatened.” They said that if the administration were really serious about diversity, “each day would be observed as diversity day, and every day, the needs of the marginalized students in this community would be met and with dignity and respect.” A mere one-day Diversity Day was “a consolation prize” so they tried to shut it down.

I have decided to transfer to another college, but I have not yet decided where I will go. Because I chose to leave Simon’s Rock I did not have to take the diversity training or undergo the psychological assessment—though that would certainly have been an interesting experience.


Christmas in 1941 must have been pretty dismal (just about everywhere in the world)—but how much worse (or better) was it than today?

Dear President Obama,

My name is Harold Estes, approaching 95 on December 13 of this year. People meeting me for the first time don’t believe my age because I remain wrinkle free and pretty much mentally alert..

I enlisted in the U.S. Navy in 1934 and served proudly before, during and after WW II retiring as a Master Chief Bos’n Mate. Now I live in a “rest home” located on the western end of Pearl Harbor, allowing me to keep alive the memories of 23 years of service to my country.

One of the benefits of my age, perhaps the only one, is to speak my mind, blunt and direct even to the head man.

So here goes.

I am amazed, angry and determined not to see my country die before I do, but you seem hell bent not to grant me that wish.

I can’t figure out what country you are the president of.

You fly around the world telling our friends and enemies despicable lies like:

“We’re no longer a Christian nation”

“America is arrogant” – (Your wife even announced to the world,”America is mean-spirited. ” Please tell her to try preaching that nonsense to 23 generations of our war dead buried all over the globe who died for no other reason than to free a whole lot of strangers from tyranny and hopelessness.)

I’d say shame on the both of you, but I don’t think you like America, nor do I see an ounce of gratefulness in anything you do, for the obvious gifts this country has given you. To be without shame or gratefulness is a dangerous thing for a man sitting in the White House.

After 9/11 you said,” America hasn’t lived up to her ideals.”

Which ones did you mean? Was it the notion of personal liberty that 11,000 farmers and shopkeepers died for to win independence from the British? Or maybe the ideal that no man should be a slave to another man, that 500,000 men died for in the Civil War? I hope you didn’t mean the ideal 470,000 fathers, brothers, husbands, and a lot of fellas I knew personally died for in WWII, because we felt real strongly about not letting any nation push us around, because we stand for freedom.

I don’t think you mean the ideal that says equality is better than discrimination. You know the one that a whole lot of white people understood when they helped to get you elected.

Take a little advice from a very old geezer, young man.

Shape up and start acting like an American. If you don’t, I’ll do what I can to see you get shipped out of that fancy rental on Pennsylvania Avenue.. You were elected to lead not to bow, apologize and kiss the hands of murderers and corrupt leaders who still treat their people like slaves.

And just who do you think you are telling the American people not to jump to conclusions and condemn that Muslim major who killed 13 of his fellow soldiers and wounded dozens more. You mean you don’t want us to do what you did when that white cop used force to subdue that black college professor in Massachusetts, who was putting up a fight? You don’t mind offending the police calling them stupid but you don’t want us to offend Muslim fanatics by calling them what they are, terrorists.

One more thing. I realize you never served in the military and never had to defend your country with your life, but you’re the Commander-in-Chief now, son. Do your job. When your battle-hardened field General asks you for 40,000 more troops to complete the mission, give them to him. But if you’re not in this fight to win, then get out. The life of one American soldier is not worth the best political strategy you’re thinking of.

You could be our greatest president because you face the greatest challenge ever presented to any president.

You’re not going to restore American greatness by bringing back our bloated economy. That’s not our greatest threat. Losing the heart and soul of who we are as Americans is our big fight now.

And I sure as hell don’t want to think my president is the enemy in this final battle.


Harold B. Estes

I shamelessly plagiarized this letter on Christmas Day (too tired to write [or at least to finish writing] anything original myself) from my friends and colleagues at: (besides SHE said to pass it on!)

Of course, Mr. Estes’ letters has a couple of errors.  For one thing, Mr. Estes is a little bit too respectful, as many military men are: he is wrong in doubting that our President Barack Hussein Obama is the enemy—whether this is the final battle or not is a separate question.  I’m also not sure where he gets the 23 generations from.   Even at 20 years per generation (and most people would say a generation is 25-30 years), 23 generations would but 660 years (23 x 20), and there just weren’t that many Americans going out to defend other Countries’ and peoples 660 years ago in 1342, unless he knows something about the early Aztec and Postclassic Maya that I don’t know.

But when a hale and hearty 95 year old hero of the “the Greatest Generation” stands up and speaks out like this, I think we owe it to him to send his words to as many Americans as we can. Please pass it on.  At 95, he would be six years older than my late Father, also a Pearl Harbor/World War II Navy Veteran….

What if the world really did end on Friday, December 21, 2012, and the event was so trivial that nobody noticed?

On this December 21, 2012, did our World’s, our America’s Heart of Darkness really stop? Is this really the way the world ends?  Neither with a bang nor even a whimper?  Has the old order really been burnt and snuffed out like the straw effigy of Guy Fawkes on Bonfire Night?  What if the world really DID end and nobody cared?  Are we all just stuffed and masked images of dead white male revolutionaries now?  Two years ago I arrived in New Orleans with my son Charlie from his first Semester in College at Saint John’s in Annapolis—and now without rhyme or reason he never calls me, writes me, nor even sends smoke signals—and yes, that does make me feel really rather Hollow….. I grow old, I grow old, but I shall never wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled…. But is anything really real in this night after the world ended?  Today was the day, wasn’t it?  

The Hollow Men

T. S. Eliot (1925)

Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

      A penny for the Old Guy


We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.


Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom


This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.


The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.


Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
                                Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

1925 was a great year.  T.S. Eliot published the poem reproduced above.  In other events that year, on January 3, 1925 (my wonderful Grandfather’s, Alphonse Bernhard Meyer’s, 27th Birthday), Benito Mussolini asserted dictatorial powers in Italy.  On July 18 of that year, the future Austrian Chancellor of Germany finished and published his autobiography entitled “My Struggle”, and on the date that, 35 years later, would later become my birthday, F. Scott Fitzgerald published “The Great Gatsby.”    

On February 21, 1925, the New Yorker Magazine went into publication for the first time, introducing Eustace Tilley and his Monocle to the World.

One month later, as a direct result of this first publication (and the fact that Eustace Tilley was examining a Butterfly—just as an evolutionary biologist would), on March 21, 1925, the State of Tennessee outlawed the teaching of evolution and immediately “went ape”, immediately proceeding to arrest (on May 5, 1925, 42 years later to become my wife and son’s mother Elena K.’s birthday) indict and prosecute one certain Mr. John Scopes for violating this law in the magnet schools of Metropolitan Dayton, Tennessee.  On July 21, 1925, a mere three days after the publication in Germany of “My Struggle,” John Scopes was found guilty of teaching evolution in his native Dayton and fined $100.00, despite representation by Chicago Attorney Clarence Darrow.  Scopes appealed but later dropped his appeal after a settlement.

In other miscellaneous news, on April 3, the United Kingdom, Australia, and South Africa all went back on the gold standard (that didn’t last too long, though…) and on June 1, 1925, Percy and Florence Arrowsmith were married in Hereford, England. This couple, who celebrated their 80th wedding anniversary June 1, 2005 (Percy aged 105, and wife Florence 100), were (apparently erroneously) acknowledged by the Guinness Book of Records as record-holders for the longest marriage for a living couple and the greatest aggregate age of a married couple.  Percy only survived a fortnight after their anniversary, dying on June 15, 2005.  There’s a French couple that may have been married longer but 80 years is still a really long time….

Two fortnights after the Arrowsmiths were married, a major earthquake struck the beautiful city of Santa Barbara, California, leveling the entire downtown on June 29, 1925.  FEMA did not then exist, so Santa Barbara recovered rapidly. 

Back on the Western shores of the Atlantic, the second (1915 renascent) Ku Klux Klan demonstrated and held a parade in Washington DC including 40,000 male and female members of the Klan marching down Pennsylvania Avenue in front of “Silent” Calvin Coolidge’s White House.  In 1925, an estimated 5,000,000 members belonged to the Ku Klux Klan, making it the largest fraternal and social organization in the United States.

During 1925, several important events in the development of Television took place in the U.S. England, including on June 13, Charles Francis Jenkins achieves the first synchronized transmission of pictures and sound, using 48 lines, and a mechanical system. A 10-minute film of a miniature windmill in motion was transmitted 5 miles by “radio” from Anacostia to Washington, DC. The images are viewed by representatives of the National Bureau of Standards, the U.S. Navy, the Commerce Department, and others. Jenkins called this “the first public demonstration of radiovision”.   In Great Britain, between March 25, and October 30, 1925, Scottish engineer John Logie Baird’s developed and put into service Britain’s first television transmitters at Selfridge’s Department store in Soho.

Finally, on Christmas Day, 1925, for whatever it might be worth to note, IG Farben was formed out of the consolidation, conglomeration, and merger of BASF, Bayer, Agfa, Hoechst, and two other companies.

The Year’s and the Day’s Deep Midnight—aka the Solstice—Longest Night and the Shortest Day, with thoughts on John Donne, Samuel Pepys, King Charles II, and the 1751 Calendar Act—but December 21 was the night we always used to put up the Christmas Tree as Advent came to an end…..from this day forward, the Sun Returns to Us….

Today we think about Calendars—-a large number of misguided souls believe that today has some great mystical significance in the Maya Calendar.  Some people even think the world might end today.  Some people think “it’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.”  I actually DO feel OK, come to think of it—I’m here in beautiful New Orleans, and nothing anywhere could be finer or sweeter than to savor this day in this spot and from this vantage point in the French Quarter.

But the Solstice is a fine day to think about the Calendar regardless of the correlation or miscorrelation of the Maya Calendar.  I honestly do not believe that the Aztec Fifth Sun (Nahui Ollin = “4 Earthquake”) or Maya Baktun 13 (properly correlated) are actually ending today, and if they did, good riddance I guess.  These last 500 years have not been kind either to the Maya or the Aztec.  But I still favor, as I have for almost 32 years, George Clapp Vaillant’s correlation rather than the Goodman-Martinez-Thompson works just as well with the Crónica de Oxcutzcab and MUCH better with the archaeological record of the transition between the Terminal Classic and Postclassic…. Vaillant was the pioneer of stratigraphic excavation and ceramic chronology in Mesoamerican Archaeology, and his very early (mid-1920s) Harvard doctoral dissertation on the Ceramic Chronology of the Maya Lowlands was….really just amazing, as was his work at Holmul and his later work in the Valley of Mexico while working at the American Musem of Natural History in New York….

In the mid-17th Century, until the Calendrical Act of 1751.  It is widely known that in September 1752, Great Britain switched from the “Old Style” Julian Calendar (aka “O.S.” on many 18th century monuments, including almost all the old Colonial Churchyards in Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, and Connecticut)  to the Gregorian Calendar. In order to achieve the change, 11 days were ‘omitted’ from the calendar – i.e. the day after 2 September 1752 was 14 September 1752.

An Act of Parliament triggered all this (yes, for a long time the Government has been telling us “what time it is”) – this act, the “Calendar Act” of 1751 bore the preambular title of An Act for Regulating the Commencement of the Year; and for Correcting the Calendar now in Use.

What isn’t so widely known is the second, and in some ways even more significant change which the Act introduced – as named in the first part of the Act’s title. The Act changed the first day of the year (or, if you want to impress your ignorant, historically unaware, quasi-illiterate American friends with a new word, the Supputation of the Year).

Prior to 1752 in England, the year began on 25 March (Lady Day) as it had indeed since long before the time of Julius Caesar after whom the Julian Calendar was named.   March 25 was one of the two dates seriously considered for bearing the honor of Christmas (birthday of Christ Jesus, Lord and Savior of the World—I mention this only because most people think of Christmas as strictly an event in the commercial and party calendar these days) at the Counsel of Nicea under Emperor Constantine the Great.   But March 25, from the Biblical Evidence of Shepherds being out tending their sheep on the hillsides of Judea, would make a lot more sense as Christmas than December 25, when the sheep would all have been brought down out of the cold….

Lady Day is one of the Quarter Days, which are still used in English, Irish, and Scottish legal circles. The Quarter Days divide the year in quarters (hence the name :-), and the Quarter Days are: Lady Day (25 March), Midsummers Day (24 June), Michaelmas Day (29 September), and Christmas Day (25 December).

Lady Day was one of the days when rents were traditionally due. In fact, this practice must have continued will beyond the 18th century as I’ve seen paintings of large meals for farm workers on Lady Day. Taxes were also due on Lady Day. With the ‘loss’ of 11 days in September 1752 and the stories of riots on the street, people weren’t impressed with having to pay their taxes in March 1753 like nothing had happened (in fact, as 25 March 1753 was a Sunday the taxes were due on Monday 26 March 1753 ) – so the taxman skipped the 11 days and decreed that taxes were due on 6 April 1753. And, to this day, the UK tax year starts on 6 April.

In any event, in Jolly Old England in the Good Old “Old Style” Days, the day after 24 March 1642 was 25 March 1643. The Act changed this, so that the day after 31 December 1751 was 1 January 1752. As a consequence, 1751 was a short year – it ran only from 25 March to 31 December.  The famous riots which occurred all over England “GIVE US BACK OUR 11 DAYS” were in part a response to the fact that the rents for that year were increased, along with the taxes…. always a bad thing to do in defiance of the Traditional Rights of Englishmen….

To throw some just a bit more confusion into the issue, Scotland had changed the first day of the year to 1 January in 1600 (in 1600, Scotland was a separate kingdom). When King James VI of Scotland became also King James I of England in 1603, the possibilities of date confusion must have been very large.

Historians have to tread rather carefully when reporting winter month dates prior to 1752. For example, in The Tower of London there is some graffiti scratched into a cell wall by someone imprisoned in January 1642 for his role in the Battle of Edgehill (which took place on 23 October 1642).  And this is totally accurate, historically: January, February, and most of March of 1643 (by our reckoning, were originally considered to be part of 1642—the graffitist was NOT delusional by any stretch at all).

Historical documents contain, from the century or so before the Calendar Act, substantial evidence of contemporary dual dating in England and especially Scotland.  For example, some essentially contemporary paintings of the execution of King Charles I (aka “King Charles the Martyr”) on Tuesday 30 January 1648 have a title bearing the date 30 January 1648/9.

Samuel Pepys’s famous diary begins on New Years Day (1 January) 1660, but it is clear that this is actually the year 1659/60. So was the Calendar Act in 1751 merely formalising common usage, or was it a radical change ?  The preface to one recent and authoritative edition of Samuel Pepys’s diary states that using 1 January as the start of the year was common practice at that time – i.e. 1660.

Likewise, a tourist pamphlet I once collected at Broughton Castle (just SW of Banbury in Oxfordshire, the ancestral home of the Fiennes family, including the aristocratic Norman and Cavalier ancestors of Hollywood/Pinewood actors Ralph and Joseph.  It is appropriate to recall Ralph’s portrayal of famous Fascists in “Schindler’s List” and “the English Patient” and Joseph’s “M” roles Martin Luther, Merlin, and Most recently as Monsignor Timothy Howard, not to mention their nephew “Hero” who played Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort in the Half Blood Prince.  Yet another member of the family is “gasp” an archaeologist—Michael Fiennes.

Anyhow the tourist guide pamphlet for the mediaeval manor house Broughton refers to a speech made on Thursday 27 January 1658 – and the pamphlet states it was printed in 1659.  In order for the day to be a Thursday, this must be referring to 27 January 1658/9 (i.e. the pamphlet was printed some months after the speech), however the year is specified as 1658 – and not as 1658/9.

So did the year of Charles II’s glorious restoration, in fact commence on 25 March in 1658, or on 1 January in 1660 ?

Perhaps the answer is connected with the coronation of King Charles II in Scotland on 1 January 1651 – that’s a Scottish date, for a Scottish king. Perhaps the Royalist cause Cavalier Longhairs used ‘Scottish’ dates, and the Roundhead Parliamentarian cause used ‘old style’ dates?  This theory doesn’t sit well with the fact that from 1654 Pepys had been steward to Edward Mountagu, a General-at-Sea in Cromwell’s Protectorate, but Pepys was to make his fame and fortune and contribution to literary and social history during the Restoration and Reign of King Charles Edward Stuart, II.

King Charles II did not become king of England until 8 May 1660 (coronation on 23 April 1661), after the start of Samuel Pepys’s diary.

In the Julian Calendar, leap years occurred every 4 years, and in leap years the 29 February was added.

But remember that 29 February was in the last quarter of the year by the old reckoning.

And so it appears that leap years have NOT always (at least in the Old Style) been those where the year number was one less than an exact multiple of 4! (e.g. 1600, 1660, 1776, 1788, and all American Presidential Election Years since).

The House of Commons Journal for Wednesday, February 29th, 1659 would seem to bear this out – remembering that this date is otherwise expressed as 29 February 1659/60, and appears in Samuel Pepys’s diary as 29 February 1660 (just to add to the confusion).

House of Commons Journal for Thursday, 29 February 1643 (otherwise 29 February 1643/4) and House of Commons Journal for Tuesday, 29 February 1647 (otherwise 29 February 1647/8) confirm this, although note the Latin form of the dates which was presumably dropped in the Commonwealth/Protectorate.

Anyhow, a truly Old-Style English Christmas Tree will always go up on the Night of the Solstice and this is totally perfect and appropriate and in line with the Pagan heritage of the Christmas tree.  I wish everyone else would stick to the schedule properly—I hate it that the New World Order Common Commercial Christmas starts November 1 (at the latest) in all the stores everywhere IN THE WORLD.

I love the old-fashioned ways of putting up the tree on the Shortest Day and Longest Night—and keeping it up a few days past Epiphany at the most.  Christmas really is more magical when it’s limited to “the Season” properly defined.  Kind of like how Mardi Gras in New Orleans has become a nearly year round thing with beads and tokens all over the place all year….

Thursday night, I had a young Moldovan cabdriver from Kishniev this evening to bring me back from Tulane Law via the Trolley stop restaurant on Saint Charles.  He was sure I had never heard of his country, said I was the first American ever to accurately locate it between Romania and Ukraine, and was even more amazed that anyone in the US would know where the River Moldau was….. luckily for him, he had no idea why it was I know so much about Moldavia… why I know it better than I want to…..  It was so refreshing to see someone so young and innocent talking about American Christmas and New Orleans Mardi Gras customs….and being so amazed by them all…..

Remembering that from the early 13th to the mid-18th Century, Old Style, before the 11 day Calendrical adjustment, the Shortest Day and Longest Night of the Year fell on December 13, and came to be known as Saint Lucy’s Night, I reproduce today, as I do every year, John Donne’s Nocture on Saint Lucy’s Night in memory of my grandmother who knew how to keep this season so very well…. and this was the ONLY night she ever put up the Christmas tree at 3516 Lindenwood in Highland Park, or wherever the season happened to land us….

A NOCTURNAL UPON SAINT LUCY’S DAY,                                       BEING THE SHORTEST DAY,                                                                   by John Donne

‘TIS the year’s midnight, and it is the day’s,
Lucy’s, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks ;
    The sun is spent, and now his flasks
    Send forth light squibs, no constant rays ;
            The world’s whole sap is sunk ;
The general balm th’ hydroptic earth hath drunk,
Whither, as to the bed’s-feet, life is shrunk,
Dead and interr’d ; yet all these seem to laugh,
Compared with me, who am their epitaph.

Study me then, you who shall lovers be
At the next world, that is, at the next spring ;
    For I am every dead thing,
    In whom Love wrought new alchemy.
            For his art did express
A quintessence even from nothingness,
From dull privations, and lean emptiness ;
He ruin’d me, and I am re-begot
Of absence, darkness, death—things which are not.

All others, from all things, draw all that’s good,
Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have ;
    I, by Love’s limbec, am the grave
    Of all, that’s nothing. Oft a flood
            Have we two wept, and so
Drown’d the whole world, us two ; oft did we grow,
To be two chaoses, when we did show
Care to aught else ; and often absences
Withdrew our souls, and made us carcasses.

But I am by her death—which word wrongs her—
Of the first nothing the elixir grown ;
    Were I a man, that I were one
    I needs must know ; I should prefer,
            If I were any beast,
Some ends, some means ; yea plants, yea stones detest,
And love ; all, all some properties invest.
If I an ordinary nothing were,
As shadow, a light, and body must be here.

But I am none ; nor will my sun renew.
You lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun
    At this time to the Goat is run
    To fetch new lust, and give it you,
            Enjoy your summer all,
Since she enjoys her long night’s festival.
Let me prepare towards her, and let me call
This hour her vigil, and her eve, since this
Both the year’s and the day’s deep midnight is.


Even today the Maya are restricted from carrying guns by Mexican law—and this is JUST a holdover from the Colonial Period.  Conquered peoples are ROUTINELY denied the right to Keep and Bear Arms…. The legal records of the Colonial Period are replete with the application even of “Indios Hidalgos”—Maya Noblemen—to keep and own guns for hunting FOR FOOD, never mind for sport.  The Maya peasants today are constantly harassed by “Federales” trying to confiscate their guns.  I’m ashamed to say that I even know a young woman (VM-R) who works with the Procurador in Mérida, specializing in collaborating with the Policia Judicial (Judicial Police) prosecuting the humble Maya for keeping their old rifles and shotguns out by the cornfields….

And yet there are no school shootings EVER in Mexico—you know why?  The Government already controls the Guns and so the Government doesn’t need to stage any disasters—and yet in spite of strict Federal Gun control laws in Mexico—it should be perfectly obvious that the Narcotraficantes, the Zetas, and the Mexican Mafia, have NO problem obtaining weaponry WHATSOEVER….. And they keep on killing by the hundreds if not the thousands…. there MAY or MAY NOT be U.S. and Mexican government complicity in these crimes—but “when guns are outlawed, only outlaws have guns”—and Mexico IS just further proof of the point….

Really and truly, there was no “badge or indicia of slavery” more oppressive to the Maya people than the ban on their right to own guns when Spaniards could carry them (and use them) freely…. both for hunting and, not coincidentally, shooting down rebellious or even just proud and resistant Indians….

SOME CRAZY WHITE GOOD-OLE BOYS FROM ATHENS, GEORGIA WROTE THE PERFECT SONG FOR DECEMBER 21, 2012 (R.E.M.: “World Serves its own Needs, Listen to your heart bleed. Tell me with the rapture and the reverent in the right- right.)”

“It’s The End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)” 

That’s great, it starts with an earthquake, birds and snakes, an aeroplane –
Lenny Bruce is not afraid. Eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn –
world serves its own needs, regardless of your own needs. Feed it up a knock,
speed, grunt no, strength no. Ladder structure clatter with fear of height,
down height. Wire in a fire, represent the seven games in a government for
hire and a combat site. Left her, wasn’t coming in a hurry with the furies
breathing down your neck. Team by team reporters baffled, trump, tethered
crop. Look at that low plane! Fine then. Uh oh, overflow, population,
common group, but it’ll do. Save yourself, serve yourself. World serves its
own needs, listen to your heart bleed. Tell me with the rapture and the
reverent in the right – right. You vitriolic, patriotic, slam, fight, bright
light, feeling pretty psyched.

It’s the end of the world as we know it.
It’s the end of the world as we know it.
It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine.

Six o’clock – TV hour. Don’t get caught in foreign tower. Slash and burn,
return, listen to yourself churn. Lock him in uniform and book burning,
blood letting. Every motive escalate. Automotive incinerate. Light a candle,
light a motive. Step down, step down. Watch a heel crush, crush. Uh oh,
this means no fear – cavalier. Renegade and steer clear! A tournament,
a tournament, a tournament of lies. Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives
and I decline.

It’s the end of the world as we know it.
It’s the end of the world as we know it.
It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine.

The other night I tripped a nice continental drift divide. Mount St. Edelite.
Leonard Bernstein. Leonid Breshnev, Lenny Bruce and Lester Bangs.
Birthday party, cheesecake, jelly bean, boom! You symbiotic, patriotic,
slam, but neck, right? Right.

It’s the end of the world as we know it.
It’s the end of the world as we know it.
It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine…fine…

(It’s time I had some time alone)

Indian Reservations, John Collier, the New Deal, and the Advance of World Communism

“Any man who thinks he can be happy  and prosperous by letting the 
Government take care of him; better take a  closer look at the American Indian.”
Henry Ford
           Your quote for the Day is very timely!  In today’s paper is the announcement of the beginning of a $1.9 Billion land buyback program for reservation real estate.  The intent of this program is to purchase land from individual Indians and place it in the common tribal trust.  In other words, the federal government is using $1.9 Billion of the Cobell settlement to advance communism on Indian reservations for United States citizens.  This will further the ideals that were set forth by John Collier in the Indian Reorganization Act of June 18, 1934.
         It is my belief that John Collier wanted to make Indian reservations showcases for the communistic system, to show how wonderful it would be for those living under it.  By now we should all know how good that has actually worked.  Henry Ford was right!
*(See full text of Jerry’s Letter Below)
Jerry O’Neil
Dear Jerry:
                 Yes, live on the government reservation, or “life on the government plantation” is a fairly apt analogy and metaphor for the life we’re moving towards in this country…..  New Orleans, where I am staying right now, certainly has characteristics of both reservation and plantation life….. and yet the memories in the buildings and city plan hear of a far, far better America, the echoes in the walls and over the levees and bayous….even across the vast and mighty Mississippi, is somehow still hauntingly inspirational—the river flows on as his has for a hundred thousand years, and life will go on, so even if our children are slaves…..they will someday be free again.
           Strangely enough, I knew John Collier’s son (Donald Collier) at the Field Museum in Chicago during my Chicago Law School years.  Donald Died in 1995 and has about a dozen obituaries on-line, because he really was an outstanding scientist.
         He was a delightful old gentleman and NO kind of Communist himself.  Apparently his Dad’s idea of being a good communist was to own the northern tip of the Door Peninsula at the northern tip of Green Bay, Wisconsin, specifically the 500 acres just on both sides of the WI-42 Trunk (connecting to the Door County-to-Washington Island Ferry) facing the Pilot Island and Plum Island Lighthouses at the entrance to Lake Michigan.
                 Donald Collier was so proud of his little kingdom up there, and no, although he was a graduate of the University of Chicago he never invited disadvantaged boys and girls from the South Side to camp out on his property.  Donald Collier was a fine (if distinctly “old school”) archaeologist specializing in the Middle Horizon of Peru-Bolivia who pioneered the calibration-correction of radio-carbon dating with tree ring sequences from California and Norway/Sweden.
                 One classmate of Donald Collier was my mother, Alice Eugenie.  My mother attended and graduated from the University of Chicago when the basement of Stagg Field was still used for the first controlled nuclear reactions during and after the Manhattan Project (the Joseph Regenstein Library of the U of C sits on that site now).
                   That was back in the days of Chicago’s semi-legendary “Aristotelian Method” Chancellor Robert Maynard Hutchins, two of whose closest friends were the young Marshall Field III, and Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Second Vice-President Henry Agard Wallace.  My mother was a drawling Southern girl (nicknamed “Alice Magnolia”) used to northern/Yankee derision and ridicule of Southern racism, but she always thought it strange that each of these strong leftists, Hutchins, Field, and Wallace always went around town in chauffeur driven limousines with Negro Chauffeurs…..
               Former Vice-President H.A. Wallace in addition had three Negro Bodyguards, apparently, everywhere he went (he felt he was in danger since he was the duel nominee of the Progressive and Communist Parties of the United States—few today may remember or realize that Roosevelt and Wallace were the nominees of the Communist Party (as well as the Democratic Party) in 1940 and (Roosevelt Truman) in 1944.  But in 1948, Wallace was just running as a Progressive and Communist candidate.
                For my part, the first avowed Communist I ever knew personally was one Daniel Villa Milleda in Honduras, who grew up on a Plantation waited on by 24 house servants, each of whom was paid less than $1/day (2 Honduran “Lempiras”).  I met him, perhaps not coincidentally, while participating in a World Bank-Financed Archaeological and Regional Development Project in Honduras, Central America, for the Departamento de Copan.
                    It seems that, throughout history, but somewhat counterintuitively, many of the strongest supporters of Communism have extremely rich people (like Marshal Field III, Daniel Villa Milleda, and, I guess, Franklin D. Roosevelt).  In Marshall Field’s case it might be understandable—there’s really nothing more communistic than a Department Store, is there?  Well, possibly fast food and especially McDonald’s, but they have those in shopping malls right next to all the big department stores, everywhere, for all the people, equal access and all that….  Even Great Britain’s King Edward VII is rumored to have said, either while he was still Prince of Wales or as Emperor of India, that “We are All Socialists Now.”
             The former Soviet Union was famous for the rather ugly anachronism of Communist Party Leaders “owning” seaside “Dachas” by the warmer Black Seaside of the Ukraine…. many formerly belonging to the very highest elite of the Tsarist Inner Circle.
                So I have concluded, and I don’t think I am alone, that Obviously one of the (unspoken) attractions of Communism is that it only works with a truly entrenched and established Elite who control the Dictatorship of the Proletariat.
                  When I pointed out to Daniel Villa Milleda in Honduras that, at least from my “bourgeois” perspective, it seemed that if Communists ever really came to power in Honduras, his family might be among the first to be expropriated or dispossessed he responded emphatically and enthusiastically:
                  “Nonsense—the masses will always need to be guided by the Intelligensia—do you really expect a bunch of ignorant peasants to understand how to guide the world?  We Intellectuals are the very soul of Communism.  My father and I have been to Cuba and seen how Comrade Castro and his brothers rule—they all have palaces of their own. Did you know that Cuba is almost all black except for the Communist Inteligensia—do you really think they (in Spanish “estos pinches negros”) could govern themselves?”
               In short, Communism is and always has been among the greatest and most hypocritical frauds of the world: it is the tool by which the Elite hope to extend their power through popular support forever—they have no such modest and humble goals as a “thousand year Reich”, but really and truly, forever.
                 This, I think explains how the Elites of the United States, the United Kingdom, Germany, Austria-Hungary, and France (even the relics of the Ancien Regime aristocracy) were so early on in the late 19th/early 20th century persuaded to become Fabian enthusiasts of Central-Planning and (even worse) Centralized Banking and Credit (all of which were the primary goals of the February 1848 Communist Manifesto Published by Marx & Engels).
                   Communism has, I suppose this obvious appeal to old-time Aristocrats—they get to justify their position “at the top” by saying that they support the rights and well-being of the humblest in society, while simultaneously guaranteeing that there will be no waives of competition for membership in the “Intelligensia” from upstart Upper Middle Class renegades—like the ones who started the American Revolution in 1775, for instance, or their grandchildren and great-grandchildren who resisted centralization of power in 1860-1865.   Communism offers the Elite the Chance to endure forever, and not just for any paltry “thousand year Reich” but really, and truly, absolutely, forever…….. and to freeze all the rest of society and the human race in subservient, dependent positions… awe of and ever respectful of the “Intelligensia” who make it all possible….

De : Jerry O’Neil <>
A:   Charles E. Lincoln <>
Envoyé le : Mercredi 19 décembre 2012 20h27
Objet : Quote for the Day

“Any man who thinks he can be happy  and prosperous by letting the Government take care of him; better take a  closer look at the American Indian.”

Henry Ford


Your quote for the Day is very timely!  In today’s paper is the announcement of the beginning of a $1.9 Billion land buyback program for reservation real estate.  The intent of this program is to purchase land from individual Indians and place it in the common tribal trust.  In other words, the federal government is using $1.9 Billion of the Cobell settlement to advance communism on Indian reservations for United States citizens.  This will further the ideals that were set forth by John Collier in the Indian Reorganization Act of June 18, 1934.

It is my belief that John Collier wanted to make Indian reservations showcases for the communistic system, to show how wonderful it would be for those living under it.  By now we should all know how good that has actually worked.  Henry Ford was right!

It perplexes me how Native Americans could become U.S. citizens by the Indian Citizenship Act of 1924; and relegated to live under communist land ownership only 10 years later.  But given the present similarity between the politics of FDR and of our current federal government under Obama, I suppose it could happen to all of us in the near future.

I believe the land fractionation problem was caused by the conflict between the 1887 Dawes Act, which split tribal lands into individual allotments of 80- to 160-acre parcels, and the Indian Reorganization Act of 1934 which placed those parcels in trust to be administered by the federal government or the individual tribes.  Those allotments were inherited by multiple heirs with each passing generation and held in trust for them by the government.  Because of the difficulty of selling land held in trusts administered by the Bureau of Indian Affairs, there are now more than 92,000 land tracts with 2.9 million fractional interests.

I agree something has to be done about the fractionation, but believe it would be far better to loan this $1.9 Billion to individuals living on the reservations to purchase the other ownership interests on their land and thus allow them to own it in fee simple.

Jerry O’Neil
Representing HD-3

“Any man who thinks he can be happy  and prosperous by letting the Government take care of him; better take a  closer look at the American Indian.”

Henry Ford