The Angry Exile: Anti fascist fascism.

The Hangman

Into our town the Hangman came,
Smelling of gold and blood and flame.
And he paced our bricks with a diffident air,
And built his frame in the courthouse square.
The scaffold stood by the courthouse side,
Only as wide as the door was wide;
A frame as tall, or little more,
Than the capping sill of the courthouse door.
And we wondered, whenever we had the time,
Who the criminal, what the crime
That the Hangman judged with the yellow twist
of knotted hemp in his busy fist.
And innocent though we were, with dread,
We passed those eyes of buckshot lead --
Till one cried: "Hangman, who is he
For whom you raised the gallows-tree?"
Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye,
And he gave us a riddle instead of reply:
"He who serves me best," said he,
"Shall earn the rope of the gallows-tree."
And he stepped down, and laid his hand
On a man who came from another land.
And we breathed again, for another's grief
At the Hangman's hand was our relief
And the gallows-frame on the courthouse lawn
By tomorrow's sun would be struck and gone.
So we gave him way, and no one spoke,
Out of respect for his Hangman's cloak.
The next day's sun looked mildly down
On roof and street in our quiet town,
And stark and black in the morning air
Was the gallows-tree in the courthouse square.
And the Hangman stood at his usual stand
With the yellow hemp in his busy hand;
With his buckshot eye and his jaw like a pike
And his air so knowing and business-like.
And we cried, "Hangman, have you not done
Yesterday, with the foreign one?"
Then we fell silent, and stood amazed,
"Oh, not for him was the gallows raised."
He laughed a laugh as he looked at us:
"Did you think I'd gone to all this fuss
To hang one man? That's a thing I do
To stretch a rope when the rope is new."
Then one cried "Murder!" and one cried "Shame!"
And into our midst the Hangman came
To that man's place. "Do you hold," said he,
"with him that was meant for the gallows-tree?"
And he laid his hand on that one's arm.
And we shrank back in quick alarm!
And we gave him way, and no one spoke
Out of fear of his Hangman's cloak.
That night we saw with dread surprise
The Hangman's scaffold had grown in size.
Fed by the blood beneath the chute,
The gallows-tree had taken root;
Now as wide, or a little more,
Than the steps that led to the courthouse door,
As tall as the writing, or nearly as tall,
Halfway up on the courthouse wall.
The third he took -- we had all heard tell --
Was a usurer, and an infidel.
"What," said the Hangman "have you to do
With the gallows-bound, and he a Jew?"
And we cried out, "Is this one he
Who has served you well and faithfully?"
The Hangman smiled: "It's a clever scheme
to try the strength of the gallows-beam."
The fourth man's dark, accusing song
Had scratched our comfort hard and long;
"And what concern," he gave us back.
"Have you for the doomed -- the doomed and Black?"
The fifth. The sixth. And we cried again,
"Hangman, Hangman, is this the man?"
"It's a trick," he said. "that we hangmen know
For easing the trap when the trap springs slow."
And so we ceased, and asked no more,
As the Hangman tallied his bloody score.
And sun by sun, and night by night,
The gallows grew to monstrous height.
The wings of the scaffold opened wide
Till they covered the square from side to side;
And the monster cross-beam, looking down,
Cast its shadow across the town.
Then through the town the Hangman came,
Through the empty streets, and called my name --
And I looked at the gallows soaring tall,
And thought, "There is no one left at all
For hanging, and so he calls to me
To help pull down the gallows-tree."
So I went out with right good hope
To the Hangman's tree and the Hangman's rope.
He smiled at me as I came down
To the courthouse square through the silent town.
And supple and stretched in his busy hand
Was the yellow twist of the hempen strand.
And he whistled his tune as he tried the trap,
And it sprang down with a ready snap --
And then with a smile of awful command
He laid his hand upon my hand.
"You tricked me. Hangman!," I shouted then,
"That your scaffold was built for other men...
And I no henchman of yours," I cried,
"You lied to me, Hangman. Foully lied!"
Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye,
"Lied to you? Tricked you?" he said. "Not I.
For I answered straight and I told you true --
The scaffold was raised for none but you.
For who has served me more faithfully
Then you with your coward's hope?" said he,
"And where are the others who might have stood
Side by your side in the common good?"
"Dead," I whispered. And amiably
"Murdered," the Hangman corrected me:
"First the foreigner, then the Jew...
I did no more than you let me do."
Beneath the beam that blocked the sky
None had stood so alone as I.
The Hangman noosed me, and no voice there
Cried "Stop!" for me in the empty square.

Maurice Ogden

Wednesday 17 June 2009

Anti fascist fascism.

Phyllip Cadwallader was told to leave Blackburn cathedral by its Dean and met outside by police. His crime was to look like he might be the sort of person who'd be in the BNP. That bears repeating: he looked like he might the sort who'd be in the BNP. Fucking hell!

He was dressed in a shirt, trousers and pair of brogues, but aroused attention because of he has a shaven head, tattoos and was carrying a bag.
BBC Radio 4 was about to start its Sunday worship programme marking the 80th anniversary of the birth of Anne Frank who died in a Nazi concentration camp at the age of 15.
Mr Cadwallader, a former autism support worker, was initially told to sit at the back of Blackburn Cathedral, before being told to leave by the Dean.
After he left, he was approached by police who had been called over suspicions that he was a sympathiser of the far-right BNP.

Far LEFT you witless cunts. They're fucking socialists!

An officer searched his rucksack, which contained his running gear, before he was allowed to go and take part in his race.

What? WHAT? Searched? Let's get this straight. Like lots of people this guy has tattoos, which is not a crime. Like a lot of men who are going bald he shaves his head, and this is not a crime. And because somebody added 2 and 2 and got 22 they thought he might - MIGHT - be in the BNP, which although he wasn't wouldn't have been a fucking crime either. So on what fucking grounds did the police search him?

Mr Cadwallader said: "The choir was singing in the background and it was lovely as I lit my candle. Then the Dean came and asked me to leave but wouldn't tell me why."

How very Christian of the bastard.

"As I sat outside on a bench waiting for them to finish the radio programme a police officer came up to me and said she needed to check my bag. When they told me why I just couldn't believe it.
"I am not a BNP member and was quite disgusted by it all. I should not have been judged on my appearance and was not there to cause trouble."

More to the point, even he was a BNP member it would have been unreasonable. I despise the cunts but if we are to supposed to believe Britain is a free country then allowing the police to become that which we hate is fucking not on. The answer, of course, is obvious: it's NOT a free country, it's a fucking police state.

Fucking bastards.