One morning in mid-August, Americans woke up in what felt, to some, like an altered country.

The week’s most

notable political event had begun with hundreds of Americans carrying torches while chanting “Sieg heil” and “Jews

will not replace us.” White supremacist radicals like these had been active and energized throughout the presidential

campaign, but much of their energy had been restricted to the internet. The rally in Charlottesville was markedly

different. It confronted America with an unlikely question: Was it possible the nation was seeing a burgeoning

political faction of ... actual Nazis? People we should actually call Nazis?

“Nazi” is a remarkable example of the very different routes a word can take through the world. In this case, that word

is the Latin name “Ignatius.” In Spanish, it followed a noble path: It became Ignacio, and then the nickname Nacho,

and then — after a Mexican cook named Ignacio Anaya had a moment of inspiration — it became delicious, beloved

nachos. In Bavaria, a much darker transformation took place. Ignatius became the common name Ignatz, or in its

abbreviated form, Nazi. In the early 20th century, Bavarian peasants were frequent subjects of German mockery, and

“Nazi” became the archetypal name for a comic figure: a bumbling, dimwitted yokel. “Just as Irish jokes always

involve a man called Paddy,” the etymologist Mark Forsyth writes in his 2011 book “The Etymologicon,” “so

Bavarian jokes always involved a peasant called Nazi.” When Adolf Hitler’s party emerged from Bavaria with a

philosophy called “Nationalsozialismus,” two of that word’s syllables were quickly repurposed by Hitler’s

cosmopolitan opponents. They started calling the new party Nazis — implying, to the Nazis’ great displeasure, that

they were all backward rubes.

That original, taunting meaning of “Nazi” is now long gone, replaced forever by the image of history’s most despised

regime. This is precisely why the word has resurfaced in American conversation, aimed at the white supremacist arm

of the so-called alt-right: It is perhaps the single most potent condemnation in our language, a word that provides

instant moral clarity. Not everyone, though, is entirely comfortable with this new usage. The New Yorker’s Jelani

Cobb finds “Nazi” insufficient as a label for American racists, because when we use it, he writes, “we summon the

idea of the United States’ moral victories, and military ones” — references that make little sense when we’re talking

about American-made moral failures. Lindsey E. Jones, a Ph.D. student of history in Charlottesville, tweeted that a

long history of American racism is “conveniently erased” when figures like the white nationalist Richard Spencer are

reduced to “Nazis.”

But if “Nazi” isn’t quite the right word for the fringe groups now attempting a takeover of national politics — if it’s

sloppy and inexact and papers over just how widespread some of these bigotries are — then “Nazi” will, in a way,

have returned to its roots. It began as a broad, imprecise and patronizing slur. Then it became a precise historical

classification. (One that, you might argue, “conveniently erased” widespread anti-Semitism throughout Europe and

America.) Now we find ourselves arguing over whether it can serve as a general epithet again — a name for a whole

assortment of distasteful ideologies. Nearly 80 years after Kristallnacht, we are not exactly sure what a Nazi is, or

should be.

Not so long ago, it seemed as though “Nazi” had lost much of its frightening power. A person with an abiding fervor

for flawless syntax could quite casually be labeled a “grammar Nazi.” A comically exacting chef on “Seinfeld” could
be called a “soup Nazi.” On right-wing radio, any woman with a challenging opinion could be called a “feminazi.”

Some of these were jokes, others pointed accusations. But in each case, what the word described was a kind of

outsize zealotry — a person who was too stern, too demanding, like an order-barking villain in a World War II

movie.

This tradition has unexpected roots, too: It begins with surfers. Shortly after World War II, some surfers started

toying with Nazi regalia, mainly out of a desire to offend. By the early ’60s, some young California surfers had begun

wearing a Nazi-themed pendant called the Surfer’s Cross. (One teenager told Time magazine he liked it because “it

really upsets your parents.”) Despite condemnations from the surfing press, this strange association eventually

resulted in the term “surf Nazi” — which, oddly, didn’t describe beachside fascists but cultishly single-minded

surfing fanatics.

Actual Nazism remained in circulation, becoming one of various extremist ideologies on the international fringes. In

that sense, a Nazi was a very concrete entity. A Nazi was a believer in a very specific mythos. A Nazi was someone

who murdered members of my distant family. At the same time, the word was also a frivolous way of comparing

decidedly nongenocidal behavior — like using “whom” correctly or being persnickety about etiquette — to the best-

known example of human wickedness. This double life was possible, in part, because professed Nazis had very little

public voice; identifying as one disqualified you from mainstream conversation, a reality racist communities remain

well aware of. As Wired’s Ashley Feinberg discovered, some members of the white supremacist forum Stormfront
were concerned by the symbols used by marchers in Charlottesville: “Some were carrying swastikas and that isn’t

good for our image, because of the propogabda [sic] embedded into everyone’s minds,” wrote one.

Hence one rhetorical strategy of the alt-right, which constantly gestures toward Nazism without actually assuming the

designation. Just after the election, Richard Spencer told a crowd, “Hail Trump, hail our people, hail our victory,” and

was saluted with outstretched arms in reply. Online forums have concocted an imaginary alt-right country called

Kekistan, whose flag is basically a Nazi flag, only green, with a cluster of Ks instead of a swastika. This winking take

on fascism has helped mainstream the alt-right, bringing us to a point at which President Trump might say that there

were “many fine people” among the demonstrators in Charlottesville. (It has also brought us to the point at which

there can be earnest argument over whether we should consider a sitting president a Nazi sympathizer.) This is one of

the most remarkable results of the alt-right’s emergence into the national dialogue: Talking seriously about Nazis is

part of the new normal.

It has long been a standard of political argument to liken your foes to the Third Reich — enough so that, in 1990, an

annoyed attorney named Mike Godwin proposed what’s now called Godwin’s Law: “As an online discussion grows

longer, the probability of a comparison involving the Nazis or Hitler approaches 1.” This was intended as a critique of

the level of argument on the internet. Now, as we half worry that swastika-wavers might seize some contemporary

political power, such comparisons don’t seem quite as fanciful, as evidenced by a recent tweet from Godwin himself:

“By all means, compare these [expletive] to Nazis. Again and again. I’m with you.”
One problem with calling American extremists Nazis is that the word carries an inevitable outlandishness. Nazis

have a unique place in the cultural imagination; their image is a singularly terrifying and ridiculous thing. Applying

that label to the alt-right runs the risk of making them seem like exotic cartoon villains. But the men and women

marching in Charlottesville weren’t exotic; they were people’s neighbors, colleagues and study buddies. The racism

of the Nazis wasn’t particularly exotic, either: The uncomfortable truth is that Nazi policy was itself influenced by

American white supremacy, a heritage well documented in James Q. Whitman’s recent book “Hitler’s American

Model.” The Germans admired, and borrowed from, the “distinctive legal techniques that Americans had developed

to combat the menace of race mixing” — like the anti-miscegenation laws of Maryland, which mandated up to 10

years in prison for interracial marriage. At the time, no other country had such specific laws; they were an American

innovation.

What term, then, is the right one? None — fascists, white nationalists, extremists — fully encompass the men and

women in this mass. Watchdog groups like the Southern Poverty Law Center have spent decades tracing the intricate

ideological differences among various fringe sects: neo-Confederates, neo-Nazis, Klansmen and so on. Yet when

these impulses collect into one group, it’s impossible to arrive at a simple, low-syllable explanation of their particular

ugliness.

But that’s precisely why “Nazi” was, originally, such a useful word. It was never intended as an incisive diagnosis. It

was a snappy, crude, unfussy insult, repurposed and wielded by people the Nazis intended to dominate, expel or kill.

It contains a larger lesson, which is that we do not have to engage in linguistic diplomacy with people who want to
destroy us. We don’t have to refer to them with their labels of choice. There is a time for splitting hairs over the

philosophies of hateful extremists, but there’s also great value in unambiguously rejecting all of them at once with

our most melodious, satisfying terminology. “Nazi” is not careful description. But careful description is a form of

courtesy. “Nazi,” on the other hand, has always been a form of disrespect.

The linocuts"Black bird N2 and-Black bird i3 epitomizethis premise Thebirds stare bac with fascination a

passersby, just as humans would in their habitat, leaving one to wonder what the birds are thinking Other works,

like Patrick's Garis Langit si-a 18" and"Bardo", see Patrick put a twist on the mundane and everyday, "The study of

lines in my works was based on electrical lines and the patterns that they make on the urban skyline, The more l look

at them, the more I notice their symmetry," Patrick said of tbe theme, which be first encountered in Seattle. "They

might scem to be disorderly, but their structure does have a pattern, logie and will that are subtle and intangible

Applied to human figures, the lines show how governments silence the public, though for the most part[the

artworklare studies Garis Langit u1-18, a study of lines, sees the artist reinterpret thc mundane and everyday

structure of electrical lines UPTunggul Wirajuda) Patrick pointed out that his work in Awas Tegangun Tnggi, as

well as in prior exhibitions, reflect his conflict between needing to control or allowing the creative process take its

course, as well as getting ahead of the curve"Reinvention plays a big role in my work, as does unpredictability. I

also seek to instill an element ofsurprise," he said. "If lose the element ofsurprise,l'd rather destroy the work. Patrick

added that he would continue to exhibit his work in Jakarta and Seattle, though he has a particularly soft spot for the
former"Jakarta provides a spark for my work, perhaps because ofits changes and raw encrgy, and thc potential

Indonesians have to connect with my work right away, despite their reluctance to step out of their comfort zone,

while American viewers might take a while to grasp my concepts," he said. am also exploring new ideas, among

them the notion of the bathroom as a meditative space where we can get our ideas and inspiration. This contrasts

with the long-held belief of the bathroom as a defiled place that is all but taboo How Patrick intends to convey his

concepts or when remains to be seen. But if his previous works are a measure, they are certainly worth looking

forward to, (kes) A media practitioner for over 10 years in both TV and print. Tunggul Wirajuda found a niche in

the latter, particularly as a features writer. He often writes about visual or performing arts, but just is at home in

writing about automotive, culinaryandfilm, among other thingt. A media practitioner for over 10 years in both TV

and print. Jakarta Wed, August 30, 2017 12:47 pm Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this article are those of

the author and do not reflect the official stance of The Jakarta Post.

All options' on table after North Korea missile launch: Trump A woman walks in front screen displaying Japanese

Prime Minister Abe and US President Donald Trump(R) Tokyo on August 29, 2017. following a North Korean

missile test that passed over Japan Abe said on August 29 that he and US Trump agreed to hike pressure on North

Korea after it launched a ballistic missile over Japan, in pyongyang's most serious provocation in years(Agence

France-Pres hiro Nogi) US President Donald Trump warned Tuesday that ll options remained under consideration

after North Korea launched a missile over Japun Threatening and destabilizing actions only increase the North
regimes isolation the region and among all nations Korean in of world, the White House said in a statement. "All

options are on the table The statement said that the world has received North Korea's tatest message loud and clear th

regime has signaled its contempt for its neighbors for all members of United Nations, and for minimum standards of

acceptable intemational behavior. The statement reiterates Trumps past threats to use military action to resolve t

crisis ongoing with North Korea, including an apocalyptic warning of raining"fire and fury" on North Korea after

Pyongyang last month carried out two ICBM tests Pyongyang in turn threatened to fire a salvo of missiles t US

territory of Guam Trump also spoke by phone with Japanese Prime Minister Shinzo Abe following the missile

launch"The two leaders agreed that North Korea poses a grave and growing direct threat to the United States, Japan,

the Republic of Korea, as well as to countries around the world, the White House said in a separate statement-

President Trump and Prime Minister Abe committed to increasing North Korea, and on doing their utmost to

convince the international community to do the same. Agence France-Presse Washington, United StatesITue,

August 29, 2017108:15 pm