The telephone rang. It was Heinz. “Can you do me a favor. I’d like you to go over to Billy Joe’s, to help him with music”. Kurt drove across town to Billy Joe’s neighborhood, carefully avoiding the Negroes walking down the middle of the street. The area had been a white working-class enclave. When Billy Joe walked down the street the Negroes regarded him with a mixture of fear and wonder. Like wild animals, the only thing they respected was force – and Billy Joe was quite willing and able to apply that force violently, if necessary.
One time a group of local “teens” managed to steal the Kenwood stereo out of Billy Joe’s car. Billy Joe and his group had managed to track the offenders down. They stomped the shit out of them with their steel-toed combat boots, and threw their groaning victims into a garbage dumpster. Even if they were aspiring rappers, future NBA stars, or just beginning to turn their lives around, Billy Joe could care less. As far as he was concerned, he was the community’s garbageman. And sometimes, when you take out the garbage, your hands get dirty.
Walkinq into Billy Joe’s small studio, he noticed the Waffen-SS recruiting posters on the wall. “Join the fight against Communism” they appealed in differing languages. Billy Joe explained that there were more foreign volunteers than Germans in the group, that Germans were actually a minority in the armed SS. The world’s largest multicultural army, dedicated to fighting Communism. In their tailored black coats with silver piping (designed by Party member Hugo Boss) they did cut a dashing figure, and Kurt could see the appeal it held for young men – like all young men, eager for action – even if that action was in the hellish bogs and swamps of he Russian front. Recalling that Heinz’ own father had fought the Germans, Kurt realized that the war, like life itself, was a commplex game, full of contradictions.
“What do you think of this?” Billy Joe strummed some chords on the guitar and sang in a soft, Southern melody. “White ghetto bitch with your hair piled high on your head/you keep fucking niggers, I wish y’all were dead”. “I like the chord progression. The vocals? Well, do you have a day job?” A couple seconds of tension, then Billy Joe burst out laughing. “I know, I’ll have to work on that. But you see, I’ve got to get something going for me besides Nationalism”.
Kurt himself was apolitical, asking “What does Nationalism mean to you?” “Well, it’s the idea that the State justifies it’s existence by protecting and propagating the Nation, or Race. In German, the Volk, in Greek, ethnos. For example, in Japan, everyone’s Japanese, in the Congo, a Congoid.” “As opposed to America, where the people could be anything from Albanian to Zimbabwean, as long as they pay the taxes to keep the State machinery running” Kurt surmised. “Very good. Nationalism – People first, State second, money used to facilitate exchange. Capitalism and Communism – State first, People second, money = God. Consider your friend Heinz – his Spartan ancestors discouraged citizens from stockpiling wealth to use as a weapon against society. Bill Gates and Oprah would have been ostracized”, he laughed.
“Getting back to Heinz’ people, the Greeks. They too, reject superficial individualism and see themselves as links in a continuum, strectching from the Gods and Heroes of the past into an infinite future. Their everyday actions writing history, what they do today echoes in Eternity”.
Kurt felt as if he has stepped into a new world.