GW Professor, NY Times Call For National Gun Confiscation

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“Given that even micro gun control measures will be effectively blocked by the NRA and its allies, and that promoting mini measures as potentially effective is misleading, progressives may as well go for the big enchilada: Call for domestic disarmament,” writes Amitai Etzioni, a professor of international relations at George Washington University.

Etzioni, writing for the Huffington Post, suggests electing a president who will stack the Supreme Court and attack the Second Amendment.

He would also have Congress pass legislation making gun manufacturers “liable for harm done with their products” and outlaw the sale of ammunition.

….The New York Times has meanwhile called for the implementation of laws that “would require Americans who own guns to give them up for the good of their fellow citizens.”

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28 COMMENTS

      • Maybe they’re not all cowards. But they sure are sleepy most of the time, and refuse to fully wake up. Bunch of pansied plaid pajama boys if you ask me.

        Real men don’t need guns, right Mommy?
        http://cdn.meme.am/instances/500x/65674742.jpg

        I’m not planning on getting in a bunch of bar fights at my age. Or even getting hit by someone I don’t even know. I don’t think I’ve ever even been in a bar fight really, unless you count trying to break one up whenever its reasonably safe to do so.

        I have no use for swords. Or any martial arts. Or less lethal defense methods really. Maybe in an ideal world, we’d all use only our two hands, or maybe a bamboo stick.

        But in this America, depending on where I’m at, my plan is to just run the fuck away as fast as I can like I always do, and as soon as I can, unless someone I care about is threatened, and hasn’t already hit the ground running like I’ve tried to teach them.

        Come to think of it, there is one time when they can finally get me to start running.

        If left no choice, I’ll use the maximum stopping force available. But I hope it never comes to that. That’s just a big long conversation and deeper relationship with force, I never want to have again, now that I’m finally fully grown.

        If only the Wizard of Emerald Green Fiat Currency, would print me enough money to buy myself a brain.
        http://images.sodahead.com/polls/001446589/barbara20boxer1_xlarge.jpeg

  1. These are the 18 assholes from the New York Times: Andrew Rosenthal, Terry Tang, Robert B. Semple Jr., Linda Cohn, Vikas Bajaj, Philip M. Boffey, Francis X. Clines, Lawrence Downes, Carol Giacomo, Mira Kamdar, Ernesto Londoño, Anna North, Eleanor Randolph, Dorothy Samuels, Serge Schmemann, Brent Staples, Teresa Tritch, Jesse Wegman.
    http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/opinion/editorialboard.html

    These are the lying psychopathic terrorists want to take your guns and leave you defenseless, with no way to protect your life, liberty, property, or sacred honor.

    These are your sworn enemies, not some random Ndugu or Haji in some foreign land, who’s probably never even heard of the town that you live in. These are the minds behind the Fascinators who cynically control the weak minded through print and through screen.

    I guess this is it. It’s finally Eight O’Clock in the Morning.

    Eight O’Clock in the Morning
    http://www.whale.to/b/eight_o.html

  2. My second day of kindergarten arrived like the crack of doom. The door to the restroom was missing this time, so I’d have to think of something else besides locking myself inside and yelling at the top of my lungs for them to all leave me alone.

    Today was Physical Education time, and the “coach” lined up all the boys in my class, about fifteen of us, at one end of the playground and pointed to the other end of the playground.

    Listen up, said he, “Now we’re going to run a little footrace here. I’m going to count to three and then say go. When I say go you guys are going to run as fast as you can and see who can get to the gate at the other end first. He’ll be the winner. The last one to get to the gate will be a rotten egg.”

    I looked over my competitors and figured the odds. One chance to be a winner. Fourteen chances to be a loser, including one to be a rotten egg. Some of my classmates were a lot taller than me, and easily more muscular and athletic than me.

    I listened with a small sliver of my brain. Most of my thoughts were about the fence that looked about eight feet high, and calculating the probability I’d be fast enough to get there and climb over, before I’d get caught. I also kept my eye on a couple more adults standing around, which I decided were probably guards, and wouldn’t ever let me go.

    I heard the coach as he forcefully counted. “One, two, three, go!” Fourteen boys ran like crazy. One boy, me, just stood there.

    “Let’s try that again,” said the coach. He lined us up again and counted down again, but this time he gave me a little shove. Fourteen boys ran. One, me, didn’t.

    He looked at me, face brick-red with fury and growled, “I’ll tell your teacher.” But it turned out my teacher couldn’t get me to run, the principal couldn’t get me to run, my parents couldn’t get me to run, my parents’ psychotherapist couldn’t get me to run, and all those same people at some other catholic school five hours away near my Aunt & Uncle’s couldn’t get me to run.

    All these years later, and I still haven’t run. I also learned how to slow down in class. Getting enough answers wrong and acting dumb on purpose so I could at least be placed in the classes with the more interesting kids.

    I had learned what no child is supposed to learn, that if you say yes to the game you can, at best, win out against a ragtag troop of little kids your own age. If you say no to them you can win out against the entire adult world. They can hurt you, they might even kill you, but they can never make you run.

    • “They can hurt you, they might even kill you, but they can never make you run.”

      Man, I liked that. Where did that come from, tor? If it’s an excerpt from a book, I’d like to read the book.

      • It might have been from anywhere, really. I really did shutdown my kindergarten class the first day. And piss everyone the rest of the way off by refusing to participate in PE on the second day or any day after that.

        Guess you might call me a Conscientious Calisthenics Objector or something.

        But I don’t any longer remember how I came to have this thing, which I had to copy and rework a bit, since most of my stuff has a few or a lot of errors in it, since my only standard is it makes sense to me at the time of writing or transcribing.

        it’s just one of countless things I have in my archives of hundreds of notebooks, and thousands of wordprocessing files, most with little to no background on just what they are, or if they’re by me, or by some one else or what.

        Maybe its even did based on things I heard as a kid while collecting the rent from one of the many ghetto flophouses several members of my family have operated, since not too long after I stopped wearing shortpants.’s owned and operated since I don’t know how long way back when. Or something I copied down after hearing it in some old radio broadcast I’ve spent so much of my freetime attentively listening to. And then decided to make something for real, instead of just joining everyone else’s pretend.

        I guess I’ve always lived like I’m going to get off this rock somehow and end up somewhere else where I’m the only human anyone knows.

        And then it won’t even make any sense to worry about giving a hat tip to anyone, since I’ll be the only human they’re ever going to meet.

        I went back and found another one, this one in even worse shape, but this is what I could salvage:

        I remember seeing P K Dick for the last time, he was usually hard to catch and get a rent check from, and my Uncle always got sore when I pretended he was paid up, when he hardly ever was, since I really admired the guy.

        But this last time, he was beside himself with glee, having recently received a fat check from his agent for film options I think they were on a long shopping list of novels and short stories he had written.

        I was only eavesdropping, but it seemed that getting money for something made into a film paid far better than whatever a humble science scribbler can ever get for their original publication.

        I think the biggest one was for a series of optioned stories that was being made into Blade Runner, but he was pretty far into his cups, though I could tell he heartily approved of how it had finally turned out.

        I remember even now the small, dim, shabby apartment he occupied and I’m pretty sure his friend said “I suppose now you’ll move out of here and get yourself a mansion with a swimming pool and hot and cold running starlets”.

        But then he loomed over the other guy who was lounging on a threadbare sofa, and then slowly shook his head.

        “I have responsibilities,” he intoned.

        “But surely you still got some of the money left, enough to at least rent a place better than the one run by this little schmuck’s tinhorn family, and more in keeping with your material success”.

        P K just gazed down at him with his wide cocker spaniel eyes.

        “No, I can’t afford to move, I also have my priorities. There are things more important than worldly show. In point of fact, I have already spent most of the money.”

        “Donations to your favorite charities?” the guy asked.

        “No, nothing like that.”

        “Gifts to the wives of all your friends?” he again prodded him.

        “How little you know me.”

        “A shipment of little pills to make you more cheerful?”

        “Wrong again, old friend. I know you are the soul of discretion, but if I tell you the last of my many secrets you must swear on a Bible or at least on your copy of Stranger in a Strange Land that you will not reveal what I tell you until after my death”

        “Good grief P K” the old four flusher screeched.

        “Swear!”

        “All right, I swear.” he solemnly agreed.

        His slightly slanted catlike eyes darted about the room, as if seeking some hidden eavesdropper.

        “You know when we were kids at School, I believed without question that Walt Disney personally drew all those talking ducks and mice and stuff.”.

        “Well, so did I. I took it for granted.” His friend echoed. Of course we both know now that he didn’t even draw his signature. He probably didn’t himself actually invent Mickey Mouse. He fooled everyone.”

        “Not everyone. Can you imagine Larry Niven being taken in?”

        “I guess not.”

        “No old-timer, Larry would have laughed at us. I can just imagine his scornful, hurtful laughter if he had found us out.”

        “But that was a long time ago. We’ve changed.” P K’s friend asserted.

        “Oh? Larry hasn’t changed. He still has no room in his universe for talking mice. Today, if anything, he’d be more scornful, more sarcastic than he must have been as a child.”

        “Get to the point P K.” he said curtly.

        Again P K glanced around. He paused, gathered his courage.

        “I still believe” P K whispered.

        The other fellow burst out laughing.

        “You too, P K? Yes, you and Larry have changed all right. Only I have remained faithful.”

        “So that’s it? The big secret?”

        “That’s it.”

        “I have to say, I don’t believe you. You had me going there for a second, but I don’t believe you really still believe in Disney.”

        He looked hurt.

        “I went on a pilgrimage”, He said, rising out of his usual slouch to stand like an indignant christian martyr before a Roman persecutor.

        “To where?”

        His dignity send me into another fit of laughter.

        “Disneyland,” P K said defiantly.

        “What?”

        “Disneyland. I drove myself the whole way.”

        “I don’t believe you , P K you can’t do that with your health the way it is.”

        “I have proof.” P K said.

        “Let’s see it.”

        P K took out his wallet and extracted a laminated card. “It’s a pass to Disneyland, good for one whole year.”

        “You must have paid a fortune for it”. His friend took it in his hand and stared at it. It appeared to be exactly what He said it was. “To pay so much for one visit”.

        “For one visit, yes. But it’s a bargain for several times.”

        “Several times?”

        “Many times.”

        “How many?”

        “Every day for a month at first. Now only two or three times a month.”

        “My God P K.”

        “There’s a little cafe in Disneyland. They have outdoor tables. I’ve gone there so often the waiters started greeting me by my first name”.

        “That’s amazing.”

        “Even Mickey. Mickey greets me by my first name. You know what a tulpa is?” asked P K.

        “No.” said his friend.

        “In Tibet they believe that if you imagine someone, set a place for them at the table, talk to someone as if He was really there, talk to other people about him as if He was real, after a while you’ll glimpse that someone out of the corner of your eye.

        The food on that someone’s plate will start to disappear. You’ll hear someone breathing at night when you’re all alone. Finally one night, out of the shadows a someone will step into the light from the campfire and sit down, and perhaps, perhaps…”

        “Yes?”

        “He’ll speak. Come with the next time I go back there. You’ll see. The last time he was there at the next table. I didn’t dare look at him directly.”

        “The tulpa?” his friend asked.

        “No, Walt” P K said, and then brushed me away and closed the door on my wad of bills and the rest of this not quite as wonderful world.

        • It’s a small world after all, it’s a small world……….Raised in a county with 2000 ranchers and that many otherly employed, my class worked their asses off to go somewhere, to be honest, anywhere that didn’t consist of slopping hogs, working cattle, plowing, baling hay, etc. After all, we were products of the Rolling Stones, the Beatles, the British invasion and so much country western and a some soul and R&B(we had to sneak lots of music like the early days of Little Richard, Muddy Waters and all the good British bands, RS, Beatles, etc.) We work our butts off for 4 years doing the worst jobs nobody else would do. Out class sponsors had dreams of doing bs that was not what 18 year olds wanted to do. Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm, etc. 20 young men and 6 young women in the class and all the men wanted was some strange, Ca. strange which looked good back then. Even restaurants we went in, the waitresses could comment on how physically strong, tanned and good looking the young men were. We could have had the time we wish had not the “sponsors” been such a bunch of Bible thumping Baptists who went out of their way to see we never had a minute alone.

          But the big tourist traps were replete with girls who’d heard every line and still we stood out to them. We Could have had fun but not in the tourist traps. Ah well, I guess the sponsors enjoyed the bullshit and riding herd over the young men. I had my fun for the most part(this is sick, considering the fun we could have had)leaving various motel rooms with a plan already in mind of how I’d lead him to places I could exit without his seeing, return to my room and drink alcohol(I took it with me)while I and my room-mates watched the fool haul ass everywhere looking paranoid. He’s stay up way past when we went to bed still trying to figure out where we were . Boy, what a fun senior class trip.

          Clovers, how wonderful a world without them would be.

  3. Gun confiscation by a Jewish Communitarian and all around great guy, I’m sure. At his 1929 birth in Cologne, Deutschland, his name was Werner Falk.

    Of all people that shouldn’t ask for anyone’s gun, it’s got to be fucking Werner. What an intolerable cunt.

    The way I think of Jews, based on their behaviors. Is they’re the Alpha Africans. For whatever reasons, Africans don’t want to live only according to their own abilities.

    They’re always looking for someone else more capable to do the difficult technical things they never seem able to accomplish without enslaving others. So think of Werner as the elite upper echelon of a nation filled with Jar Jar Binkses.

    The lesson Jews should have learned from the National Socialists, is never rely on others for things you need. But instead, it seems most of them are doubling down and are now trying to be part of the World Socialists.

    As literate as they all are, they sure seem to be stuck on stupid. They’ll be the first ones robbed blind during Trump’s 4th term when he takes everyone’s excess wealth because he’s got something hyuge planned and all the Jew’s are left to protect themselves with is their rape whistles.

    Meesa gonna taka yousa guns
    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9jmF900DHKk

    Amitai Etzioni – Short Biography
    http://www.gwu.edu/~ccps/etzioni/short_biography.html

    Communitarian and Libertarian Views

    In a 1993 debate between libertarian and communitarian philosophies, Mr. Boaz presented the libertarian and Professor Etzioni the communitarian view. 

    This discussion was hosted by the World Future Society, a scientific and research organization interested in future social and technological developments.

    http://www.c-span.org/video/?53430-1/communitarian-libertarian-views

    Born in Cologne, Germany in 1929 to a Jewish family. Early in his childhood, the Nazis rose to power in Germany, forcing his family to flee the country.

    They ventured in 1935 to Italy and Greece before finally moving to Mandatory Palestine in 1936 and settling in Kfar Shmaryahu.

    Werner. He dropped out of high school in 1946 to join the Palmach elite commando force of the Haganah, the underground army of the Jewish community of Palestine.

    He was sent to Tel Yosef for military training. During this time young Amitai chose fully distance himself from his past as Werner Falk and adopted the surname Etzioni.

    During Etzioni’s time in the Palmach, underground Jewish groups, mainly the Irgun and Lehi militias, and to a lesser extent the Palmach, were carrying out a violent campaign against the British authorities to compel them to allow more Jewish immigration to Palestine and leave the country to enable a Jewish state to be established.

    Etzioni participated in a Palmach operation to blow up a British radar station near Haifa being used to track ships carrying illegal Jewish immigrants attempting to enter Palestine. Etzioni’s team managed to breach the fence protecting the radar station and plant and detonate a bomb, and escaped after the British shot their team leader through the head.

    After the Israeli Declaration of Independence and the outbreak of the 1948 Arab–Israeli War, Etzioni’s Palmach unit participated in the defense of Jerusalem, which was under siege by the Arab Legion. They snuck through Arab lines and for the next few months, fought to defend Jerusalem and to open a corridor to Tel Aviv, participating in the Battles of Latrun and the establishment of the Burma Road.

    Following the war, Etzioni spent a year studying at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem where he completed both BA (1954) and MA (1956) degrees.

    In 1957 he went to the United States to study at the University of California, Berkeley, and was a research assistant to Seymour Martin Lipset. He received his PhD in sociology in 1958. Etzioni then remained in the United States to pursue an academic career.

    Tweet. Tweet. Oy Vey. Help. Police. I’ve been robbed by the state again.

    • Interesting, Tor – thanks for the backgrounder on this guy.

      So, he’s a former terrorist, who likes guns (apparently) when they are in his hands. I think what he likes even better, though, is a disarmed and helpless opposition.

    • Sounds like Etzioni isn’t even a Jew, just a National Socialist Israeli. The Nazisraelis take refuge in the jewishness of their ancestors by screaming “ANTI-SEMITE” at any critic, though they aren’t even adherents to the Judaic religion.

  4. Right, so only cops and criminals will have guns, but I repeat myself. Of course the PTB already have way more powerful weapons than my 12 gauge, but I will use it if backed into a corner and hopefully take out a few of them before my demise. I’m old enough not to give a shit anymore; as the saying goes “if you ain’t got nothin, you got nothin to lose.”

    • If it is plausible that enforcers will be killed it is difficult to get enforcers to do the work. If they don’t have enforcers they can’t win. Even if people use hammers and garden tools the state can find itself unable to achieve its goals. If the people have even simple guns it will be impossible once resistance begins.

      • THe first step is delegitimizing their authority – and thus, their persons. This process is already well under way. Almost everyone I know – and these are almost entirely white, college-educated, professional white people – do not like cops. The more turgid the demands we regard these (usually) beady-eyed, low-IQ thugs as “heroes,” the greater the contempt in which they are held.

        It is mostly starry-eyed older people who still cop suck. But even they are coming around.

    • Mike in Boston, I share your view of a man’s responsibility to his family and himself even though his weapons may be weak compared to those of the Imperial forces.

      I hereby declare you a Serious White Person, and as such you are entitled to all the status that this title confers on those of our distinct minority among White People at large.

      Congratulations, fellow SWP.

  5. ‘The New York Times has meanwhile called for the implementation of laws that “would require Americans who own guns to give them up for the good of their fellow citizens.”’
    I would like to call for the NYT to give up its ‘progessive’ ideas for the good of myself and my fellow citizens.

  6. If they want a real shooting civil war, that’s how they will start it.

    It would be incredibly stupid on the part of the federal government to try that. Its the only reason why it hasn’t been tried so far. We are not Australia and that example will never work here.

    People can only take so much, and even our rulers know that (not that it is stopping them from turning the screws).

    • Give them a couple more generations with the schools and americans will be disarmed. In three generations or so it went from HS shooting clubs to lockdowns (a wonderful prison term for ya) for rumors of a gun.

      • I was in high school in the ’80s; several friends had shotgun racks – with shotguns – in the school parking lot. No one gave it a thought.

        • Exactly. It went from shooting clubs in the schools to hunting rifles/shotguns in student lockers to by the 80s leaving it in the car…. to being told to leave it at home… then to severe punishments for having a firearm on school grounds… now to outright paranoia with lockdowns. It’s progressive. They are progressing towards a goal. Now passing on a fear of guns to children who will become adults that will accept the new laws.

          Today’s political victories by today’s adults will be undone by today’s children tomorrow. So long as they have the schools things like more concealed carry are minor setbacks.

          I sound like a broken record but so long as they have the schools they will eventually get total and complete control. They took the schools first for a reason. All the intellectual and moral teachings in the world fight an uphill battle against childhood conditioning.

          That’s the battle for libertarians on every subject, getting people to rethink what their grade school teachers told them. People don’t want to admit they were duped, even if the duping happened when they were eight years old and defenseless.

          • Gary North says they took ‘the robes’ first – judges, professors and mainline ministers. With the professors gone, it was only a matter of time before they had the teachers and administrators, then the kids.

          • Amen, Brent.

            Clover is the obvious example. He is Carlin’s “obedient worker,” who (apparently) can function in a technical sense at some specialized form of rote activity but who is no longer capable of conceptual thought.

            It’s as though he was lobotomized.

        • eric, Tx. was a “shooting club”. We occasionally read about people in the NE belonging to shooting clubs but we were too busy shooting and hunting to have a club. We shot at pebbles, egg shells(who could take one down to the smallest piece?…..everybody)and fairly much anything. If you could eat it, we shot it and lots of things you wouldn’t want to eat. It was almost unheard of for someone to shot another person. We’d hear about it on the news(radio mostly)or in a larger newspaper and wonder what was wrong with the people in (fill in the blank)where ever it might have been. We knew it took place in Houston but that wasn’t really part of Texas. I bought my first handgun when I was 14…..took it to school and of course, the teachers wanted to see it. It was the superintendent of high school who first took me shooting his hand me down WWl Luger.

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