| |||
|
Arts & Entertainment Books Comics Health & Body Media News People Politics2000 Technology - Free Software Project Travel & Food ![]() Columnists
Current Click here to read the latest stories from the wires. - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - Also Today For a full list of today's Salon Mothers Who Think stories, go to the
Mothers Who Think home page. - - - - - - - - - - - - Search Salon - - - - - - - - - - - - Recently in Salon Mothers Who Think Complete archives for Mothers Who Think - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - |
- - - - - - - - - - - -
August 12, 1999 |
Exactly a month to the day after I interviewed the Nazis, Buford O. "Neal" Furrow shot five people, including three children, at a Jewish Community Center in suburban Los Angeles. The connection with my interview was about more than just the date: On the very same Nazi compound I visited, Furrow was married to Debbie Mathews, the widow of Robert Mathews, who founded the Nazi paramilitary organization the Order in 1983. Early news reports identified Furrow as head of security for the compound, but it turned out he was just a lowly volunteer. Richard Butler, the founder and pastor of the Church of Jesus Christ Aryan Nations, officiated at Furrow and Mathews' wedding, although he claims not to remember. But Aryan Nations leaders frequently do not remember much about their current or former members after they have gone off and done something stupid with a weapon. Furrow's vicious deed will now have the world swarming to the Coeur d'Alene compound again. Reporters will hear what I heard: that being a Nazi is not about hate. "It's about love of your own kind," they told me. "That is the derivative of the word kindness." They said that Benjamin Smith, the lone white supremacist sniper who went on a killing spree in the Midwest last month, would not be welcome on the compound. "Killing yourself," Christian Teague told me, "is a sin." Today, Christian was on NBC. She says the word on Furrow is that he was a quiet guy they barely knew. Butler, who also barely knew Furrow, still said he understood what made him do it: "It's the rage of the white man."
| ||
Arts & Entertainment | Books | Comics | Life | News | People
Politics | Sex | Tech & Business | Audio
The Free Software Project | The Movie Page
Letters | Columnists | Salon Plus
Copyright © 2000 Salon.com All rights reserved.