Ash In Their Feather Dusters

The villagers, he said, knew about the camp, and watched daily as thousands of prisoners would arrive by rail car, herded like cattle into the camp. Even though the camp never could have held the vast numbers of prisoners who were brought in, the villagers knew that no one ever left. They also knew that the smokestack of the camp’s crematorium belched a near-steady stream of smoke and ash. Yet the villagers chose to remain igno­rant about what went on inside the camp. No one inquired, be­cause no one wanted to know.”

“But every day,” he said, “these people, in their neat Ger­manic way, would get out their feather dusters and go outside. And, never thinking about what it meant, they would sweep off the layer of ash that would settle on their windowsills overnight. Then they would return to their neat, clean lives and pretend not to notice what was happening next door.”

”When the camps were liberated and their contents were revealed, they all expressed surprise and horror at what had gone on inside,” he said. “But they all had ash in their feather dusters.”

Excerpt from “ASH ON THE SILLS: THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE
PATRIOT MOVEMENT IN AMERICA”
By David Neiwert

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If I had wanted cream and sugar, why order the damn coffee?

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