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What Exactly is a Pundit? Neocons Charles Krauthammer and Stanley Kurtz are (Willfully) Blind to Obama’s Agenda
By Nicholas Stix
February 23, 2011
WEJB/VDARE
Once upon a time, a retarded man named Greg, whom I served as a “house parent” remonstrated with me, “I may be retarded, but I’m not stupid!” So what excuse do men like Charles Krauthammer and Stanley Kurtz have?
Charles Murray, who may be the wisest man alive, has emphasized how brilliant Charlie Kraut is. And yet, Krauthammer writes about the John Doe calling himself “Barack Hussein Obama,” as if the latter were motivated primarily by a desire for class war.
Now comes Kurtz, who once showed great intelligence in his analyses of demands for same-sex marriage, to tell us the same thing, by way of explaining “Obama’s” Wisconsin putsch. But unlike Krauthammer, Kurtz has even wasted a book on “Obama.”
The fundamental precept of Black Liberation Theology, to which “Obama” has been an adherent for over 20 years, is to “destroy the white enemy.”
Is that so hard to understand? I’ll bet Greg could understand it.
Once upon a time, it was possible in America to speak of communism in class terms, without reference to race. That period ended circa 1933.
The Republican punditariat is a surreal lesson in the perversion of intelligence.
You wouldn’t know it to see them now, but Jewish neocon writers were once fearless critics of black supremacy, to the point where, 20 years ago, genocidal black supremacist Leonard Jeffries, as chairman of the City College Black Studies Department, issued a flier threatening New York Post staffers and “the Jewish people.” Eric Fettmann was the toughest of the lot.
But as blacks stepped up their race war (also here), the neocons deserted their posts. Now they seek to redefine their cowardice as courage, and routinely condemn those of us who still man our posts as “racists.”
The funny thing is, when people call these mooks “pundits,” they’re screwing up, and getting it right. They mean it as a compliment, but they shouldn’t.
A “pundit” is a Hindu priest, a man of above-average intelligence, relative to his ethnic group, whose job is to snow Indian Hindus through ridiculous mumbo-jumbo. Today’s neocon “pundits,” though their dialect of mumbo-jumbo has a more modern, educated sound, are running the same scam.
My wife’s family is Hindu, and thus I’ve known several pundits in Trinidad. One, who has since passed on to his next life, even gave me a pundit’s outfit. Another, following my mother-in-law’s death in 2006, asserted that he had said something to speed along her death, out of mercy.
The 1961 novel, A House for Mr. Biswas, was Trinidadian-born Nobel Prize winner (but don’t hold it against him!) V.S. Naipaul’s tragicomic masterpiece. In 1915, the day after the title character is born feet first, and with six fingers on one hand, the pundit pronounces his fate:
“Hm. Born in the wrong way [feet first]. At midnight, you said.”
Bissoondaye [the boy’s maternal grandmother] had no means of telling the time, but both she and the midwife had assumed that it was midnight, the inauspicious hour.
“... First of all the features of this unfortunate boy. He will have good teeth but they will be rather wide, and there will be spaces between them. I suppose you know what that means. The boy will be a lecher and a spendthrift. Possibly a liar as well. It is hard to be sure about those gaps between the teeth. They might mean only one of those things or they might mean all three.
“What about the six fingers, pundit?”
“That’s a shocking sign, of course. The only thing I can advise is to keep him away from trees and water. Particularly water.”
“Never bath him?”
“I don’t mean exactly that.”
He raised his right hand, bunched the fingers and, with his head on one side, said slowly, “One has to interpret what the book says.” He tapped the wobbly almanac with his left hand. “And when the book says water, I think it means water in its natural form.”
“Natural form.”
“Natural form,” the pundit repeated, but uncertainly. “I mean,” he said quickly, and with some annoyance, “keep him away from rivers and ponds. And of course the sea.
“And another thing,” he added with satisfaction. “He will have an unlucky sneeze.”
An unlucky sneeze.
Folks like Krauthammer and Kurtz would be less dishonest and of more value to society, if they limited themselves to debating the meaning of sports statistics.
As the United Negro College Fund tells us, “A mind is a terrible thing to waste.”
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