African American

I'm not demanding BLM on a permanent marble plaque at the entry to the statehouses in Trenton and Richmond, but the fact remains that the black vote in both states was vital to our victories there.

My father-in-law lost a leg at Stalingrad. We're not there yet. We have not reached a decisive turning point. If he were still around, I suspect he would be rooting for us. At age 17, he was the personification of Hermann Göring's "slob on a farm." It's telling that one of the architects of Hitler's plan was astute enough to have realized just whom he was forcing to to their dirty work: "Why, of course, the people don't want war. Why would some poor slob on a farm want to risk his life in a war when the best that he can get out of it is to come back to his farm in one piece?"--Göring in his cell at the Nürnberg trials. My father-in-law was drafted off his farm at 17, at Stalingrad with 40° below zero at 18, and back home a cripple at 19. When there have been enough economic versions of my father-in-law among white American men, then we can start to talk of a Stalingrad moment. So far, the MAGATs still think it's 1940, and their glorious Führer is doing a jig in front of the Eiffel Tower.