Posted on 06/16/2005 9:19:22 AM PDT by Destro
Define support - support him in charges he was responsible for genoicide? Kosovo? Bosnia? Especially when charged so by the UN court? Damn straight/ That said - in belgrad he probably would be found guilty of many things by a Serbian court.
Do you have the evidence for that?
While you are correct about the Western media choosing sides, you are wrong about the reason why.
The media chose to portray the Serbs as evil because many of them are Christians (of course, the Communists among them most often were not) and the Muhammedans certainly were not. If it's Christians vs. non-Christians, the Western media will always support the non-Christians.
They vilified Milosevic because he was a Serb, not because he was a Communist. Just look at how the Western media stands on its head to avoid ever saying anything bad about Castro and you'll see what I mean.
"Villified" does not mean "despicable".
Had he been put on trial in Belgrade as he should have been, the evidence would have been posted large for all to see. But that really doesn't matter at all thanks to Clinton.
Maybe you can have another slogan besides what you spew out, which is disgusting, "Free Slobo" equates him to Hitler/Stalin.
"Would have been"? It is said that so many people are eager to attack and morally lynch a man just because he is villified by the mass media. George Orwell was right in his judgment of mob psychology. The mob is always eager to condemn, to engage in hatred against the designated person and to believe without doubt in his guilt and evil character.
It was nearly eleven hundred, and in the Records Department, where Winston worked, they were dragging the chairs out of the cubicles and grouping them in the centre of the hall opposite the big telescreen, in preparation for the Two Minutes Hate.
[...]
The next moment a hideous, grinding speech, as of some monstrous machine running without oil, burst from the big telescreen at the end of the room. It was a noise that set one's teeth on edge and bristled the hair at the back of one's neck. The Hate had started.
As usual, the face of Emmanuel Goldstein, the Enemy of the People, had flashed on to the screen. There were hisses here and there among the audience. The little sandy-haired woman gave a squeak of mingled fear and disgust. Goldstein was the renegade and backslider who once, long ago (how long ago, nobody quite remembered), had been one of the leading figures of the Party, almost on a level with Big Brother himself, and then had engaged in counter-revolutionary activities, had been condemned to death, and had mysteriously escaped and disappeared. The programmes of the Two Minutes Hate varied from day to day, but there was none in which Goldstein was not the principal figure. He was the primal traitor, the earliest defiler of the Party's purity. All subsequent crimes against the Party, all treacheries, acts of sabotage, heresies, deviations, sprang directly out of his teaching. Somewhere or other he was still alive and hatching his conspiracies: perhaps somewhere beyond the sea, under the protection of his foreign paymasters, perhaps even -- so it was occasionally rumoured -- in some hiding-place in Oceania itself.
Winston's diaphragm was constricted. He could never see the face of Goldstein without a painful mixture of emotions. It was a lean Jewish face, with a great fuzzy aureole of white hair and a small goatee beard -- a clever face, and yet somehow inherently despicable, with a kind of senile silliness in the long thin nose, near the end of which a pair of spectacles was perched. It resembled the face of a sheep, and the voice, too, had a sheep-like quality. Goldstein was delivering his usual venomous attack upon the doctrines of the Party -- an attack so exaggerated and perverse that a child should have been able to see through it, and yet just plausible enough to fill one with an alarmed feeling that other people, less level-headed than oneself, might be taken in by it. He was abusing Big Brother, he was denouncing the dictatorship of the Party, he was demanding the immediate conclusion of peace with Eurasia, he was advocating freedom of speech, freedom of the Press, freedom of assembly, freedom of thought, he was crying hysterically that the revolution had been betrayed -- and all this in rapid polysyllabic speech which was a sort of parody of the habitual style of the orators of the Party, and even contained Newspeak words: more Newspeak words, indeed, than any Party member would normally use in real life. And all the while, lest one should be in any doubt as to the reality which Goldstein's specious claptrap covered, behind his head on the telescreen there marched the endless columns of the Eurasian army -- row after row of solid-looking men with expressionless Asiatic faces, who swam up to the surface of the screen and vanished, to be replaced by others exactly similar. The dull rhythmic tramp of the soldiers' boots formed the background to Goldstein's bleating voice.
Before the Hate had proceeded for thirty seconds, uncontrollable exclamations of rage were breaking out from half the people in the room. The self-satisfied sheep-like face on the screen, and the terrifying power of the Eurasian army behind it, were too much to be borne: besides, the sight or even the thought of Goldstein produced fear and anger automatically. He was an object of hatred more constant than either Eurasia or Eastasia, since when Oceania was at war with one of these Powers it was generally at peace with the other. But what was strange was that although Goldstein was hated and despised by everybody, although every day and a thousand times a day, on platforms, on the telescreen, in newspapers, in books, his theories were refuted, smashed, ridiculed, held up to the general gaze for the pitiful rubbish that they were in spite of all this, his influence never seemed to grow less. Always there were fresh dupes waiting to be seduced by him. A day never passed when spies and saboteurs acting under his directions were not unmasked by the Thought Police. He was the commander of a vast shadowy army, an underground network of conspirators dedicated to the overthrow of the State. The Brotherhood, its name was supposed to be. There were also whispered stories of a terrible book, a compendium of all the heresies, of which Goldstein was the author and which circulated clandestinely here and there. It was a book without a title. People referred to it, if at all, simply as the book. But one knew of such things only through vague rumours. Neither the Brotherhood nor the book was a subject that any ordinary Party member would mention if there was a way of avoiding it.
In its second minute the Hate rose to a frenzy. People were leaping up and down in their places and shouting at the tops of their voices in an effort to drown the maddening bleating voice that came from the screen. The little sandy-haired woman had turned bright pink, and her mouth was opening and shutting like that of a landed fish. Even O'Brien's heavy face was flushed. He was sitting very straight in his chair, his powerful chest swelling and quivering as though he were standing up to the assault of a wave. The dark-haired girl behind Winston had begun crying out 'Swine! Swine! Swine!' and suddenly she picked up a heavy Newspeak dictionary and flung it at the screen. It struck Goldstein's nose and bounced off; the voice continued inexorably. In a lucid moment Winston found that he was shouting with the others and kicking his heel violently against the rung of his chair. The horrible thing about the Two Minutes Hate was not that one was obliged to act a part, but, on the contrary, that it was impossible to avoid joining in. Within thirty seconds any pretence was always unnecessary. A hideous ecstasy of fear and vindictiveness, a desire to kill, to torture, to smash faces in with a sledge-hammer, seemed to flow through the whole group of people like an electric current, turning one even against one's will into a grimacing, screaming lunatic. And yet the rage that one felt was an abstract, undirected emotion which could be switched from one object to another like the flame of a blowlamp. Thus, at one moment Winston's hatred was not turned against Goldstein at all, but, on the contrary, against Big Brother, the Party, and the Thought Police; and at such moments his heart went out to the lonely, derided heretic on the screen, sole guardian of truth and sanity in a world of lies. And yet the very next instant he was at one with the people about him, and all that was said of Goldstein seemed to him to be true. At those moments his secret loathing of Big Brother changed into adoration, and Big Brother seemed to tower up, an invincible, fearless protector, standing like a rock against the hordes of Asia, and Goldstein, in spite of his isolation, his helplessness, and the doubt that hung about his very existence, seemed like some sinister enchanter, capable by the mere power of his voice of wrecking the structure of civilization.
It was even possible, at moments, to switch one's hatred this way or that by a voluntary act. Suddenly, by the sort of violent effort with which one wrenches one's head away from the pillow in a nightmare, Winston succeeded in transferring his hatred from the face on the screen to the dark-haired girl behind him. Vivid, beautiful hallucinations flashed through his mind. He would flog her to death with a rubber truncheon. He would tie her naked to a stake and shoot her full of arrows like Saint Sebastian. He would ravish her and cut her throat at the moment of climax. Better than before, moreover, he realized why it was that he hated her. He hated her because she was young and pretty and sexless, because he wanted to go to bed with her and would never do so, because round her sweet supple waist, which seemed to ask you to encircle it with your arm, there was only the odious scarlet sash, aggressive symbol of chastity.
The Hate rose to its climax. The voice of Goldstein had become an actual sheep's bleat, and for an instant the face changed into that of a sheep. Then the sheep-face melted into the figure of a Eurasian soldier who seemed to be advancing, huge and terrible, his sub-machine gun roaring, and seeming to spring out of the surface of the screen, so that some of the people in the front row actually flinched backwards in their seats.
(1984, chapter 1)
He is? Read my quote from 1984.
And again - I do support Slobo's freedom from ICTY. FREE SLOBO!!!
He is innocent until proven guilty and the ICTy court's verdict does not count.
He stole mucho dinero from the Yugoslav treasury, remember, he was a banker before he became a politician. You actually think his son Marko had a brain where he could actually make money legitimatley?
See, that is the good thing about being as removed from it as I am. I can see what I beleive is the inherent fallacy in that statement. Milosevic is a political strongman; a thug, if you will. He is guilty of many things, IMO. None of these things rate him being brought up in front of the UN ICC, though. Brought up with trumped up charges, no less.
I agree with Destro in that Milosevic should be tried in Serbia, in a Serb court, in front of a Serb jury. As I said, if Milosevic is to be tried by a UN court, then Bill Clinton should be, too.
Have you ever lived there or know anyone who has?
IF there's any reason for it. Nothing I've ever heard in the western media so far would qualify.
I see, so your evidence is that "he was a banker before he became a politician". I am impressed.
mark502inf, Here's an article you will find interesting. I don't think you're a paid hack like hoplite and would be interested in your take on this article. After all, it's was in 'Freeper' David Horowitz's very reputable magazine!
Hoplite, I hope your computer is working, I'm concerned as you didn't address my remarks on a previous thread.
Re hoplite...Slobo is Serbia's OJ, their Michael Jackson..
Well finally you got something right, I suppose by accident. Both trials were exploited by the 'press' to the point that the truth was lost. The judges and prosecutors were ambitious hacks engaging in 'public' manipulation. But it didn't work, the juries had the final say.
IMO, they screwed up on OJ and were on the money with Jackson. OJ's trial I recall lasted less than 6 months while Jacksons was about a month. What's taking so long with Milosevics trial, now more than 3 years? Don't have a case do you?
What it has to do with his guilt? Do not be ridiculous.
I would even accept a tribunal made up of mixed judges from all the former Yugoslav republics - with even (or more accurately) honest and blind indictments across he board including Muslim Bosnians, Croats and Albanians. With the possibility that NATO officials would be indicted as well - or have an agreement that NATO officials can be brought to trial in their own countries based on evidence gathered by this hypothetical tribunal.
The massacre of 7000 men is not genocide? OK, how about "mass murder"?
I really have a hard time feeling sorry for someone who argues, "hey, we executed 7000 men but it wasn't genocide, it's only mass murder". Oh, sure, that makes it all better. (/sarcasm)
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