Fiction

Blowback

by Michael Walsh

THE ACCOUNTS DEPARTMENT trainee was blissfully unaware of the consternation spreading like a bush fire through the newsroom. If Toby heard the expressions of indignation he paid no attention. Angry and confused, the previous night’s date had promised faithfully to call him but he had not done so.

“You’ve got to be joking! A demonstration outside and we are supposed to be the racists?” the newsreader Everard grunted as his brow wrinkled.

“It’s all news to me,” chortled Laura who always saw the lighter side of life.

“See for yourself, you cynics.”

The receptionist’s invitation to take a peek through the office windows was irresistible for most of the TV and newspaper employees. Eagerly, each member of the news team left his or her desks to take in the clamour being made by as many as one hundred demonstrators now gathered on the concourse fronting the news offices. A reporter exclaimed that some of the demonstrators appeared to be stopping people from coming in.

Protests were par for the course for the newsroom employees but this rally was surreal. Anxious eyes took in the angry mob. But the attention of the news staff was mainly caught by the captions on the many waving placards.

One carried the slogan, “The Racist Press Stinks — Jump before you are pushed.” Another depicted heads being pulled free from the sand and carried the message, “ENOUGH of Anti-White Media.” Yet another carried the German expression for the lying press, Die Lugenpresse.

Upon the banners were printed many similar messages. In each case the captions made clear that Whites had woken up to the anti-White bias and censorship of mainstream media. Several of the placards depicted a well-known advertisement that used a mixed race couple to sell its products. Superimposed on the image was the red slash of a “No Entry” road sign.

“What the f—,” screamed Giselle. Despite the femininity of her name the crop-haired newsroom manager was a tireless activist for several LGBT campaign groups.

“This is f—ing anti-Semitism,” screamed one of the newsroom’s sub-editors.

The newsman’s attention had now been drawn by a large photo image of the anti-Gentile Louis Nizer. He had openly called for the genocide of the German people. The sinister lawyer’s image was set upon a backdrop of stacked corpses.

“I can’t believe this is happening, tell me I am dreaming,” one of the newsroom’s junior staff gasped. “Nightmare more likely,” a colleague whispered in awe. “Look at that guy over there; holding the placard with the picture of George Soros.”

The creepy Hungarian Jew’s image carried the caption in capital letters, “SOROS IS FUNDING WHITE GENOCIDE.” Most of the waving placards were subtitled “Ethnic-European and Proud of it.” “This is organised, this is a provocation,” screamed Gail.

The young staff member’s ranting was separated by language so profane a trooper might blush. As the rookie reporter screamed her indignation, colleagues tried to draw each other’s attention to the messages carried by the demonstrating crowd.

“Wait a minute,” Lionel screamed. “Those shoppers are applauding the Nazi scum. Where are the police when you want them? Someone call the police, they should all be arrested.”

Several placards carried images of notorious Jewish figures who had called for genocide of non-Jews. Underneath was printed, “RACISM AGAINST WHITES — WE HAVE HAD ENOUGH.’

“Oh, they have had enough have they,” grunted the newsroom’s editor. “We will see about that. Never mind the police; the cops are going to need reinforcements. Get the LGBT and Socialist Workers Party, get the liberal caucus here and we will run this Nazi scum out of town.”

Among the thirty or so news staff worried frowns were now in evidence. Among the anxious faces there was alarm and indecision. Nearby, the more hard-core newsroom staff slammed their fists on the office windows. Those gathered outside the newspaper office windows were calling for the newspaper’s staff to be run out of town.

White activists taking part in the rally grinned as they surveyed the contorted hate-filled expressions on the faces of the distressed newsroom staff. Several of those who appeared to be rally organisers were pointing to the vestibule fronting the media offices. From their gestures it was obvious that they were directing activists to block the exits.

“The photo on the placard the blonde girl is waving, isn’t that a picture of Susan Sontag, the Jewish radical activist? What’s the inscription say?”

The newsroom clerk’s question was answered by a sharper sighted colleague. “It says, ‘The White Race is the Cancer of Human History.’

“Oh, my God, well, that is a bit extreme isn’t it?”

“There’s a picture of Barbara Lerner-Spectre too. Oh dear — she is not popular is she?”

“Are you surprised after she called for genocide of ethnic-Europeans too?”

“For goodness sake, Gerard, I think you had better change your tune or go and join the scum outside.”

There were among the hundred or so placards many negative images of prominent Jews and non-Jew shabbos goyim calling for White genocide through race-mixing, birth control, and the promotion of same-sex relationships. However, there were also posters carrying positive images of mostly young White women, healthy in appearance, with many of those shown accompanied by their children.

“This is outrageous,” screamed Bertha who had since emerged from the men’s room. “I tell you, this is Hitlerism; you wouldn’t listen. What will happen to us now?” she wailed.

A silence descended on the wailing tumult in response to a loud clap. Herbert Kaplan, the newspaper’s rarely seen proprietor, had now appeared in the newsroom, accompanied by several editors. It was clear from his expression that the pivotal member of the city’s Jewish community was startled but still in control.

As the noise evaporated, Kaplan jabbed his finger at the gathered employees. The newspaper owner’s face was contorted by hatred mixed with apprehension. The media mogul knew that he was carrying history on his back; it was in his genes — and in his face was a ruthless determination.

“I warn you, each and every one of you, if word gets out about this demonstration then you will never work again. Is that clear?”

The few murmurs of dissent were submerged beneath the grunts of begrudging agreement. Someone whispered low enough so that only his nearest companion could hear: “Somehow, I am going to get this into alternative media.”

“Facebook, sharing, Twitter, and suchlike?” a colleague asked.

“Precisely, this is blowback time,” his colleague responded. “Let’s get this story shared. It marks the end of our complacency.”

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