The Making of an American Nazie, Rain on the Scarecrow

by Tom C. Purcell

One day a brilliant artist might create a masterpiece of truth, chronicling what happened to the American farmer and his family in the 1950s and ‘60s on the mainland. It took me years to recognize that my family was more or less just one of thousands of casualties in the federal and mogul land-grabbing era who’s farm was lost to circumstance, sometimes devised but usually just preyed upon. Such is the nature of runaway capitalism, nothing is sacred. And then who am I to blame anyone for making a bid on land at auction.

After WWII and the innovations that followed, a trend ensued where small towns and self-sufficient communities on the American plains began to transform into ghost towns. Whether it was economic trends, tax liens or loan demands, family farms were auctioned off to those with the cash and means to capitalize on the misfortunes of others.

The ace of American life catapulted from horse & buggy to jets and rocket engines in a matter of decades. How was the modest family farm going to keep up and make ends meet? This is where America might have taken one of her worst turns as it pertains to the common family. Technology brought opportunities for mega-rich to purchase thousands of acres, the latest, biggest, best machines to work the land and essentially, this trend swiftly priced the American family farm out of existence. The culture of raising a family on a homestead became history almost overnight. Thus the path towards a society of a handful of elites with a country full of angry, discounted serfs was cleared and we’ve all but arrived.

Farming families in America did due diligence in adapting to the new order of the mainland. For a generation or so, the father and head of household went to his office, the factory or fields every day to work for a paycheck to provide for his family. A lot of teens and young men enlisted to the military, seeking a niche in this now hard-to-thrive America. As technology and greed raced parallel into the next generation or so, mom had to work and maybe another member or two of the family as well.

Offices transformed into cubicles and ever since, cubicles shrink ever smaller. Corporations keep fitting more workers into less office space all the time, providing less and less to the employee while taking more and more from him or her. For big success in America, it’s in the corporations’ best interest to make as many employees as unnecessary as possible, as disposable overhead.

Yet powerful bureaucrats in Washington continue to import unsavory people into America’s cities and towns, adding stench and weight to swelling slums. The rich continue to get richer, the poor continue to get poorer. This is never a good scenario; when elites become so arrogant that they assume they’re immune to collapse of civilization when actually they’ll be the first targets and the last to receive mercy.

A few tax cuts are nice. I might even raise an eyebrow to a mandate for increased cubical space at offices. But don’t call me out of my cave until the modest family farmstead really makes a comeback because unlike chain migration and DACA rubbish, that will show respect for the common American family.

So we children of this lost heritage study and come to find that it didn’t have to be that way, and with a triumph of will we can change the status quo. We study history to understand who we are and where we came from, and to pay homage to our forefathers no matter in what soil they lay at rest.

What do we come to realize? We learn that the turn our ancestors took was either forced or mistaken, that grandfathers’ and his grandfathers’ great sacrifices for this nation might well have been in vain. We learn that we aren’t descendants of evil, racist, slavers. We come to realize that in most cases we are the grandsons of heroes, conquerors, of the most valiant men and it was by their great sacrifices and conquests that we are able to comprehend their sacrifice here and now.

In this generation, White American men like me are blamed for the failure of the natives centuries back, blamed for the subjugation of Africans in a time when subjugation, especially of Africans was commonplace around the world. Not that anyone wants to be someone’s slave but if you want to be really honest about it, today’s Black Americans ought to be grateful for the history of slave trading because now American Blacks have super rights, especially the criminals.

Herein lies the birth of your American ‘Nazi’. In many cases, as with my ancestors, settlers and warriors came to the U.S. centuries ago from the British Isles and Europe. They left behind noble legacies, castles and acres of land for a peaceful, albeit modest existence in the new world. For generations their sacrifices paid off. We weren’t lords of land here like we were in Ireland, England and France. We left behind our Lordships in war-torn Ireland to prosper in America. And for a while we did prosper.

In the 20th century WWI and WWII changed everything. Americans sacrificed lives, legacies and livelihoods for the sake of theirs and other nations’ and future nations between 1917 and 1945, not to mention every war since.

Loss without gain is not sacrifice. When generation after generation only sacrifices and returns are increasingly diminished, then on top of it you impose mandates that an average-skilled dark-skinned (minority) person gets rank over elite-skilled White native in the job hunt, academia and politics, then on top of that you increase his payment towards the government to which his family has sacrificed so much, reduce his monthly earnings and overall quality of life, then on top of that accuse him of leading a life of White privilege, a generation of proud White men will turn their backs and look to themselves,

Then, the nation names this Frankenstein, ‘Nazi’, after the most demonized yet glorious manifestation of a nation in world history, accuses him of White supremacism (whatever that means), and demands his guns be taken away and his rhetoric silenced. Of course, some folks actually adopt Nationalism and proudly call themselves ‘Nazis’ and for that alone they’re nearly stoned to death. Personally, I’ve never made a conscious decision to call myself a Nazi or any particular thing and I’ve never been compelled by group-think.

Frankly, I don’t pay much attention to whether or not I’m an Independent, Democrat, Republican, Nazi, or whatever. I just vote with my values and beliefs, so one day I’m a Nazi and the next day I’m a liberal and the next day I’m something else to someone new. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is truth, and that’s what I’m offering in this piece.

I observe the globe on my rickety old desk, and where I live it still reads, “The United States of America” but that’s not really where I live anymore. Now, I don’t know what to call it.

From the 1980s hit, Rain on the Scarecrow by John Mellencamp,

“Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow

This land fed a nation, this land made me proud

And son I’m just sorry there’s no legacy for you now”

“Well there’s ninety-seven crosses planted in the courthouse yard

Ninety-seven families who lost ninety-seven farms

I think about my grandpa and my neighbors and my name

And some nights I feel like dyin’ like that scarecrow in the rain”


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