Сергій Кабуд ( Кий ) (xyu) wrote,
Сергій Кабуд ( Кий )
xyu

I remember when we first moved from Russia, my Mom was constantly crying. She was separated from her mother and brother -- who were also afraid to engage in correspondence because it was too dangerous for them. Sometimes my Mom would cry for what seemed like forever. I will never forget, as a nine-year-old, that feeling in my heart when my Mom cried like that.

The Soviet system did that to my mother.
.......


These tortures included laying a man naked on the floor, forcing his legs apart, and then an interrogator stepping on his testicles, applying increasing pressure until the confession surfaced. Keep in mind that many people refused to "confess." Then think about the Soviet secret police raping daughters and sons in front of their fathers and mothers – for the sake of extracting "confessions."

Now visualize me sitting in a graduate studies lounge in Toronto, listening to my colleagues explain to me that communism "isn’t really so bad," that the Soviet Union made some "remarkable achievements," and that Western democratic-capitalism is the most oppressive system of all. At the same time, picture my lecturers having absolutely no respect for a free exchange of ideas on this subject.
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Both of my grandfathers were exterminated by Stalinist terror. My father and mother both just barely escaped the Gulag.

But here I am, with Ph.D. students, being treated to a one-hour discussion about "homophobia" on campus. My colleagues are agonizing about how "Homophobia-Free Zone" pink stickers must be put on every door in the university. "But what if a professor or a teaching assistant refuses to have one put on his door?" one of them asks indignantly. After a few seconds of silence, the other answers, "Well, then a committee might just have to be set up where these people will be taken to account." Serious head-nods follow.

..today’s politically correct campus..there are certain individuals -- the most spoiled and self-centred people I have ever met -- who remind me of the scum who fostered the Soviet experiment, who promote the same ideas that gave us the Gulag, Mao’s Cultural Revolution, and Pol Pot’s killing fields.

Working fervently to destroy their own society, they praise other societies -- such as the one that caused my mother’s eternal tears. They are our left-wing intellectuals.

I spit in their faces.




War Stories From Academia

By Jamie Glazov
FrontPageMagazine.com | Thursday, March 22, 2001


POST TRAUMATIC Stress Disorder: I think I still suffer from something of that nature. I didn’t serve in a war; I spent eleven years in academia.

David Horowitz’s recent encounter with the campus Gestapo at Berkeley has given me flashbacks all over again.

Try to imagine being an émigré from the Soviet Union – as I am – and sitting in the company of left-wing "intellectuals" who think they are oppressed. Picture coming from a society where a myriad of your relatives simply disappeared; where this relative or that family friend died under interrogation and torture for his/her beliefs – or for simply nothing at all. Think about Alexander Solzhenitsyn’s account of the tortures that the Stalinist machinery inflicted for the objective of extracting "confessions." These tortures included laying a man naked on the floor, forcing his legs apart, and then an interrogator stepping on his testicles, applying increasing pressure until the confession surfaced. Keep in mind that many people refused to "confess." Then think about the Soviet secret police raping daughters and sons in front of their fathers and mothers – for the sake of extracting "confessions."

Now visualize me sitting in a graduate studies lounge in Toronto, listening to my colleagues explain to me that communism "isn’t really so bad," that the Soviet Union made some "remarkable achievements," and that Western democratic-capitalism is the most oppressive system of all. At the same time, picture my lecturers having absolutely no respect for a free exchange of ideas on this subject.

Both of my grandfathers were exterminated by Stalinist terror. My father and mother both just barely escaped the Gulag. But here I am, with Ph.D. students, being treated to a one-hour discussion about "homophobia" on campus. My colleagues are agonizing about how "Homophobia-Free Zone" pink stickers must be put on every door in the university. "But what if a professor or a teaching assistant refuses to have one put on his door?" one of them asks indignantly. After a few seconds of silence, the other answers, "Well, then a committee might just have to be set up where these people will be taken to account." Serious head-nods follow.

Fascinating. Simply fascinating. The great issues of our time.

I remember when we first moved from Russia, my Mom was constantly crying. She was separated from her mother and brother -- who were also afraid to engage in correspondence because it was too dangerous for them. Sometimes my Mom would cry for what seemed like forever. I will never forget, as a nine-year-old, that feeling in my heart when my Mom cried like that. My consolations seemed to soothe her slightly, but I understood well that they were not the panacea for her grief.

The Soviet system did that to my mother.

Perhaps some of you might understand why I am not amused by the politics on campus. I am not amused by endless discussions of how we are all oppressed because we are being "attacked" by Pepsi commercials. "By trying to tell us that we are not cool if we don’t drink Pepsi," a graduate student told me, "the capitalist machinery practices the politics of exclusion. By trying to pretend it offers us choice, it actually negates choice." And there is no debate permitted on this subject. The anti-capitalist theme is simply just drilled into your mind.

My mom’s father was executed by the Soviet secret police. He did not have the luxury of being oppressed by Pepsi commercials.

One day, when I was nine years old and living in Halifax, Nova Scotia, my father and I were on our way to Church. As we walked near the entrance, I spit on the ground. In a very serious but patient way, my father said to me: "It is ok to spit outside of KGB headquarters, but never in front of a place such as this." I never did it again. I was very wrong that day, because I had ignorantly spit on sacred and holy ground.

But there is another environment that is far from sacred and holy – today’s politically correct campus. And there are certain individuals -- the most spoiled and self-centred people I have ever met -- who remind me of the scum who fostered the Soviet experiment, who promote the same ideas that gave us the Gulag, Mao’s Cultural Revolution, and Pol Pot’s killing fields. Working fervently to destroy their own society, they praise other societies -- such as the one that caused my mother’s eternal tears. They are our left-wing intellectuals. I spit in their faces.
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