Born on Enemy Territory
By Eric Thomson (2000)

I was born on alien and hostile territory: the United States of America. No one told me or taught me this fact. I had to learn it for my own survival.

Before I reached the age of ten, I knew that there were alien and hostile influences at work around me. Elementary school was my first steady exposure to these. My teachers were jews and mestizos, and while they could not teach me to read, they did teach me the hypocrisy of “student government”, that is government without sovereignty. Later, I was exposed to racial alien students who interfered with my pursuit of education and who attempted to shake me down for money, without success, I can add. This was already occurring in the early 1950s.

As I say, the realization that I was living on enemy territory didnot occur until I reached the age of 10, although I had a glimmer when I was 8 or so: I was reading a book about German E-boats (their equivalent of the British MTBs or motor torpedo boots) which had been published after World War II. In it, there were black and white photos of German E-boat crews. I had been exposed to a few scary propaganda films and saw German “villains”, most all of whom were played by jews, so I never identified with them, but suddenly, I saw pictures of real Germans and I showed them to my mother. “Mom,” I exclaimed. “They look just like us!” My mother missed the point, for to her it was obvious. I did not explain that I wondered why we would fight people who looked so much like us. One of the German E-boatmen was a twin of my uncle George.

At the age of 10, I was looking through a stack of Fortune magazines which a neighbor had dumped out. These were all wartime editions and each one had a propaganda item entitled “Why We Fight.” One struck me as peculiar. It showed a White soldier with a big bandage on his head. He declared that he fought to avenge the death of his buddy. I did not understand such a motive for fighting, any more than I could understand someone who declared that he would drive a car because his buddy got killed in a car accident. Then I saw it! Another “Why Be Fight” picture depicted a young German soldier who stood guard on an obviously American street corner, Elm Street and some such name. The text read as I recall that “we fight to keep the likes of him off our streets and out of our beloved towns.” I looked at the artist’s rendition of the soldier’s face. I was first impressed by the flashing blue eyes and the facial features. Although the soldier was older, there was no doubt that it was my face. I studied the picture and pondered. If someone who looked like me was so horrible, then there was indeed a question as to my status in this country. I always kept these impressions in the back of my mind and with years of experience I conclude that I was indeed born on enemy territory.


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