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Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Jonestown revisited...

In an earlier post on Tuesday 13th September 2011 entitled 'Latest Despatches From Planet Bizarro...' we mentioned the Rev. Jim Jones. We have found an article written shortly after the Jonestown incident and thought it might be of interest to the gentle reader. Enjoy...

The 'sallow skinned' Elvis wannabe, Jim Jones





Jonestown by the bay

The tunesmith who cranked out the teary, “I Lost My Heart in San Francisco,” lost his own anatomical bearings. He should have written “head” instead of “heart.” For the last quarter-century San Francisco has been the symbol and reality of Western degradation and animalism. It was in the Bay Area that the Filthy Speech Movement sprouted, thereby launching the global deluge of pornography. The student rebellion in Berkeley set the pace for similar outpourings of banality and terrorism not only across America, but across the world. The Students for a Democratic Society was the model not only for the Baader-Meinhof killers in Germany, but for Marxist crazies up and down the Western and Eastern Hemispheres. It was in San Francisco and environs where dope first became as popular as chewing gum, where hippies hypnotized the media, where the flower children bloomed and blustered, where the Black Panthers were first organized, where the Symbionese Liberation Army did its murdering and kidnapping, where marauding black Zebras killed scores of whites, where the Zodiac maniac stalked, where Charles Manson fathered his brood of zombies, where last year an epidemic of syphilis was traced directly to the anal antics of the world's largest concentration of gays.

Was it any wonder that San Francisco was the American headquarters of the Peoples Temple? Was it any surprise that the black-haired, sallow-pigmented Rev. Jim Jones there recruited most of the slaves for his plantation in Guyana? When the United States and white civilization everywhere becomes a vast Peoples Temple, San Francisco will undoubtedly turn into the Mecca and Jerusalem of the 21st century. Hindus will bypass the Ganges to dip their shrivelled bodies in the sacred waters of the Sacramento River. Cripples will forego Lourdes and throw their crutches away beside some mystic shrine in North Beach. Perhaps the College of Cardinals will desert Rome and hold its future conclaves in the Oakland Coliseum, where the first homosexual Pope may be elected. On Alcatraz there will surely be erected the world's largest and gaudiest mausoleum (in the shape of a phallus, of course) where the miracle-manufacturing, cancer-curing ashes of Jim Jones will be interred. Around him will be the remains of his apostles, the late Mayor Edward Moscone, who depended on Jones for the swing vote that secured his 1977 election, and of Harvey Milk, the bosom companion who visited him in Guyana. On the ceiling there may be a fresco, not of the Last Supper, but of the famous lunch with Rosalynn Carter and the various sensitivity sessions with Ruth Carter Stapleton.

Earnest Lawrence built the first cyclotron in the Berkeley hills, ushering in the atomic age, and William Shockley and Arthur Jensen still work in the Bay Area in their brave attempts to rescue modern science from its reversion to witchcraft. But Lawrence is dead, and Shockley and Jensen will have to go. The Peoples Temple or its successors will have no truck with any science except the science of the obscene. The river of human filth which has flooded San Francisco in recent times was too much of a torrent to be purified or cleansed by the river of white fog that rolls in from the Pacific. The catenary grace of the two great bridges, among modern man's greatest artistic and engineering accomplishments, has been tarnished by the plague of suicides. A century of masculine history-the Gold Rush, the Barbary Coast, the earthquake, the Hearstian jingoism has been completely wiped out by mobs of limp wristed hustlers, who spend the better part of their lives picking up each other in bars. Nature created the site of San Francisco. Men improved on it. Half-men, many of them self-proclaimed environmentalists, have destroyed the work of Nature and Man. Already the city is as empty and pathetic as the imaginary, nuclear-wasted San Francisco depicted in Nevil Shute's On the Beach.

There is a law of human behaviour that states the worst gravitates towards the best, the ugliest towards the most beautiful. San Francisco is no exception to the law. In 1940 the city's population was 634,536, minorities accounting for 31,835 or 1/20th of the total. In 1950 the population grew to 775,357, including 43,502 blacks and 24,813 Orientals. Today the figure has shrunk to 668,000, but it now comprises 102,000 Hispanics, 99,000 blacks, 63,000 Chinese, 24,000 Filipinos, 10,000 Japanese and 3,000 American Indians.

A quarter of a century ago the city was run, as so many others in America, by the Irish, who allowed Wasps, with a sprinkling of civilized Jews, to control the industry, commerce, banks and the arts. San Francisco Chronicle columnist Charles McCabe explains that the city “has gone down the tube, because of the minority groups that have come in since 1940 and sent scurrying to the suburbs the Irish and the Germans and the Italians that were the traditional power base around here.” McCabe dates Aug. 2, 1977, the day Moscone was elected mayor, as the death knell of San Francisco.

But there are no death knells for cities that are al ready dead. All "minorityized" American cities are dead or dying. San Francisco is the greatest municipal tragedy because it was the most splendid American city. It was only to be expected that almost the first act of the new mayor, Diane Feinstein, after the assassination of Moscone (which certainly had much to do with Moscone's close association with Jones) was an announcement that it was her "moral responsibility" to appoint a homosexual to fill the seat of the late minority fairy, Harvey Milk. Meanwhile, Deputy Mayor Teitelbaum, executive deputy Rudy Nothenberg, press secretary Mel Wax and administrative secretary Cyr Copertini said they would stay on. No lesson had been learned.

Even a leper can appear handsome at a distance in the dark. Stand above the Lawrence Radiation laboratory at night and look west. Beneath you, stretching from San Jose on the south to Marin County on the north, is a galaxy of light-one of the world's most enthralling views. Or on a radiant early morning look out upon a white billowing sheet of fog that covers the bay, the peninsula, San Francisco, the Pacific-a veritable magic landscape. All that is visible are the tips of the Oakland and Bay bridges, outlined like giant buoys in a sea of clouds. But in broad daylight and close up the city reverts to the aesthetic and demographic disaster that so fascinated Reverend Jones.

However, even Jones and his pack of nihilistic predecessors and hangers-on are not to be saddled with the entire blame. The real killers of San Francisco were ideas-equalitarianism, social Christianity, minority racism, Marxism, Freudianism and sexual laissez faire. It is no accident that all these ideas, which comprise the received opinion of the modern intelligentsia, came together, nested and festered in the tortured sewer of Jim Jones' psyche. It was no accident that Jones preferred the Black Panthers to the Klan, Democrats to Republicans, Lenin to Hitler, that he was an apostle of miscegenation, that he fawned upon and lived off the poor, that he willed the money he stole from his infantile followers (some $7 million) to the Soviet Union, that he was arrested for committing an X-rated act at an X-rated movie house.

Jones may be dead, but the ideological distillate that produced him is still very much alive. We hear it every evening on the TV news, find it every morning on the front page of our daily newspapers, hear it spoken to us from a thousand political and academic throats, read it in almost every book in every leading bookstore and library. Jones was a miserable creature of the times. San Francisco has become a city of the times. When historians of the remote future cast about for symbols of our age, they may well confuse the Peoples Temple with San Francisco itself. It was only a quirk of fate that the demented degenerate, who sat on a creaky wooden throne in a South American jungle, ordering mothers to squirt cyanide into the mouths of their babies, had not issued a similar order earlier from his pulpit in Jonestown North, Jonestown by the Bay.

Wilmot Robertson 1979

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

What any commentator on Jones seems to always 'forget' is Jonses' rabid anti-racialism.