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History See other History Articles Title: Mutiny on the Bounty There are various ways of describing and understanding the unfortunate turn many in Western Civilization have taken over the past century. Comparing events to “revolutions” and the course of specific nations to the Titanic striking the iceberg are common (engaged in by this writer as well). But every now and then a new perspective may help better see the possible causations as well as the potential remedies/outcomes to our plight. “History repeats itself” we are told and sure enough that seems to most often be the case. More than that, specific historical incidents seem to foreshadow events on a greater scale and era. Such an event is the Mutiny On The Bounty. (I should state that I’m no expert on the subject and that my casual interest in it was sparked by viewing the 1984 film ’The Bounty’.) That mutiny, wherein a group of men from a civilized Western nation, having temporarily grown accustomed to a leisurely life of hedonistic nihilism on a tropic Island, rebel against their commander when faced with returning to a orderly and disciplined, (Western) way of life, has a general theme which can be applied to our current situation. Though it is common today to lay part of the blame for our slide into ruin on the influence of outside groups who, through media and finance, encourage activities that harm us, it is not quite telling the whole story, nor is it reflective of the less glamorous parts of Western history. That that influence is there is undeniable. However when we look at the way Western Men, born and raised in a strong and potent Western nation at the height of its power, behaved on their own, far away from outside influence, over two hundred years ago, in an era that openly recognized racial and class differences, we see men who acted not much different than some men do today. The Bounty was to travel to Tahiti to obtain bread fruit plants which were to be taken to the West Indies to be used as a cheap source of food for the slave population. When The Bounty arrived the plants were not fully grown and so the crew had to wait for around five months for them to mature enough to be gathered. During this time the officers and crew were treated to a world of friendly natives, easy living, no responsibilities, no (immediate) consequences, free sex and plenty of free time. It was the antithesis to their own civilization of law, order and civility and they (or rather, some of them), apparently, embraced it cordially. Naturally problems arose on the return trip when it was time to return to Western standards of behavior, self-discipline and morality. By that time around half of the men had “gone native”, including Master’s Mate and Acting Lieutenant Fletcher Christian, who had fallen for a Tahitian woman named Maimiti. Eventually, these men yearned so much for a return to the depraved (and ultimately destructive) life they had known on Tahiti, that they cast off all consciousness of law, honor, loyalty and discipline and mutinied on their leader, Lt. Bligh, abandoning him, and seventeen of the twenty one loyal to him, in a 23ft open launch with meager supplies and only a sextant and watch to guide him. The mutineers sailed the Bounty back to Tahiti where they took supplies and natives (men and women) with them to seek a place to hide from the British Navy and justice, and live out a life of racial and cultural miscegenation. This hedonistic utopia was, ironically, founded by people of low character and no qualms about disloyalty and lack of honor or restraint. It’s not difficult to imagine how well that worked out. Bligh addressed the temptations to which they had yielded in his published account of the mutiny in 1790, writing: “It will very naturally be asked, what could be the reason for such a revolt? in answer to which, I can only conjecture that the mutineers had assured themselves of a more happy life among the Otaheiteans, than they could possibly have in England; which, joined to some female connections, have most probably been the principal cause of the whole transaction. The women at Otaheite are handsome, mild and chearful in their manners and conversation, possessed of great sensibility, and have sufficient delicacy to make them admired and beloved. The chiefs were so much attached to our people, that they rather encouraged their stay among them than otherwise, and even made them promises of large possessions. Under these, and many other attendant circumstances, equally desirable, it is now perhaps not so much to be wondered at, though scarcely possible to have been foreseen, that a set of sailors, most of them void of connections, should be led away; especially when, in addition to such powerful inducements, they imagined it in their power to fix themselves in the midst of plenty, on the finest island in the world, where they need not labour, and where the allurements of dissipation are beyond any thing that can be conceived.” image image left, William Bligh; right, Fletcher Christian. The mutineers chose Pitcairn Island as the local of their multi-cultural utopia. Once there, they burned their ship. An act that can be seen as done not only to hide their presence there, but, arguably, as symbolically destroying their one remaining tie to their own civilization. The general story is thus. As to be expected the experiment ended with some of the Polynesian men murdering some of the Englishmen and the Polynesian women murdering several of the Polynesian men in revenge. Drunkenness, more murder, sickness and insanity ensued, leaving - eventually - a Mr. John Adams as the sole surviving mutineer (after less than a decade of settlement on the island) and leader of the remaining population of about nine women and several mixed race children (the leader of the mutiny, Fletcher Christian, is said to have been either murdered by a Polynesian or grown depressed, eventually committing suicide). In other words the utopia they imagined in their darkened hearts predictably turned into a living hell rather than the heaven they had envisioned. A sort of small scale, predictable, turn of events, the likes of which are now playing out on a grander scale throughout many Western nations. The descendents of that bunch (about 50 in total) are still on Pitcairn Island today. In fact, they even made the news back in 2004. Just google “Pitcairn“, “2004” and “trial“. Lt. Bligh, on the other hand, made a remarkable 3,600 nautical mile journey (using only a sextant and watch in a small launch) back to a civilized European port in Timor, along with the men who had remained loyal to him, themselves, their civilization and it’s people. No, there was no television or MTV or fashion magazines or left-wing newspapers out there on the Bounty in the middle of the ocean in the 18th century. Just White Western Men at a time when White Western Civilization, and pride in it, was at its peak. Many of them, acting on their own part, chose to debase themselves in treachery, miscegenation and multiculturalism at a time when such acts were openly denounced. Their motivations and actions were just that, theirs. (An outside hand can offer us a dagger, but it is bound up in the character of each and every Western man as to whether or not to expect it.) And whereas around half of the men turned their back on their civilization and embraced the very same destructive behaviors we see about us today, it is important to remember that the other half stayed true and loyal. Cast adrift in an unfriendly ocean they demonstrated remarkable skill and courage (dealing with murderous natives and starvation) in their long journey back to Western civilization, back to home. The Point? There is no doubt that those outside groups who would wish us harm today have encouraged and cheered on that percentage of us who seek to mutiny against Western Civilization in favor of a multicultural hell. But the fact is it takes a willing participant to be led. And sadly there are not only all-to-willing followers amongst the disloyal, but leaders as well. In the end we must be careful in our duty of defending the honor or our people, not to deify them or absolve them from the treachery that many of them so willfully engage in. To be clear, this is not an advocacy of abandoning the resolve to expose the activities of those who might wish us ill, but rather a call for a little more focus on the inward development of the qualities that are needed for the difficult task of preserving and nurturing our people and their civilization back to a safe harbor. We need to once again champion the virtues which established our great societies but which have, of late, fallen out of favor. And part of those virtues was the belief that every man is to, ultimately, be held accountable for his own actions regardless of circumstance or whatever outside influences might have swayed his behavior or actions. It is indeed a question of character. Some men have poor character and give heed to whatever impulse happens to strike them, while others remain true and honorable no matter how enticing the deceptive voice whispering in their ear is. There has been a mutiny on the HMS West, and those who remained true to their own have been set adrift. But we must keep hope, for upon reflection of past events we can see the inevitable fate of each group based upon the path they have chosen. So to all those good men who remained loyal to their blood and now find themselves mutinied against and set adrift on a vast ocean of danger and uncertainty I ask this question, shall we set round the life raft and ponder endlessly the underling motivations and ostensible outside influences upon the mutineers, or shall we hold them ultimately responsible for their own actions, while we, the other half, set ourselves to the arduous task of surviving the storms to make the long journey back to civilization, back to our home? And should one say, “but our home has been burned by the mutineers!”, then let a chorus rise up in reply, “then we shall rebuild and ever endure!”. Posted by Guest Blogger on Saturday, June 20, 2009 at 04:13 PM in History Comments (15) | Tell a friend Comments: Posted by Fred Scrooby on June 20, 2009, 05:35 PM | # Good essay. As always from The Narrator. Posted by Roger Gray on June 20, 2009, 06:28 PM | # I’ve been reading this site for a long time, and I must say it never once occurred to me that its contributors want to preserve the dominator system that Fletcher Christian and his men were trying to escape from. Perhaps I should get new reading glasses. I once wrote a newspaper review of The Bounty by Caroline Alexander. I said: “But it was the lure of Tahiti that scuppered the Bounty and its cargo of breadfruit plants. It is impossible to escape the contrast between the ship’s crew and the islanders. The seamen, bandy-legged, some toothless and with pockmarked faces, and ‘filling the deck, milling and laughing around them, the tall, clean-limbed, smooth-skinned Tahitians […] Their brown skin gleaming with perfumed oil, garlanded with flowers.’ […] “Every man must have suffered from, and felt liberated by, the contrast between their scarecrow ship, where brutal floggings were meted out for the slightest wrongs, and the carefree life of the islanders. “Alexander doesn’t point out the obvious, that in a sense it was English values, and not the men, that were tried and found wanting. “Instead she invites the reader to imagine what it was like on the day of departure, the tearful farewells of the men’s women and children as the ship slipped away.” I take it that no one on this site wants a return to breadfruit-eating slaves and the cat o’ nine tails. English Law as it was at the time the Bounty sailed was breathtakingly unjust, where men could be put away for a long time for minor infractions, and space could always be found for another law, and frequently was, to keep Britons in wretched helotry (unless they were rich). Posted by danielj on June 20, 2009, 06:30 PM | # Always obvious you were at some point a Christian. An insufficient amount of self-flagellation on your part to whip that pesky and devilish faith gene out of your genome. All this talk about morality? Grounded in what? Repent! Posted by James Bowery on June 20, 2009, 06:49 PM | # Sorry, but this is howling at the moon. People learn from their mistakes unless they are taught otherwise. Who were the teachers? Posted by Bill on June 20, 2009, 07:58 PM | # Christian was seeking the multi-cult Utopia in preference to the hard brutal life at sea in Britain’s navy. It was not a top down decision by Captain Bligh. (but I must confess his regime was a great prompter for Christian) We are having the multi-cult Utopia foisted on us from the top, not only that, what is being foisted upon us is intended to destroy us. Bligh didn’t wish to destroy Christian. Posted by Fred Scrooby on June 20, 2009, 08:18 PM | # This beautiful Roger Whittaker song seems à propos in a way, so I’ll throw it in: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yqj64EJc1J4 Posted by james on June 20, 2009, 08:31 PM | # “History repeats itself” it certainly does as I keep getting the same non-responce to my question. How come when I metiioned about contacting someone at the Eurasia movement for a Majority Rights interview I never got a responce? Are you going to interview Norman Lowell again in the future anytime soon? Posted by I Am The Sword on June 20, 2009, 08:57 PM | # Whites have three main enemys. Blacks, jews and ourselves. If we could only sort ourselves out we’d be alright. Death to the White liberal. Posted by Fred Scrooby on June 20, 2009, 09:25 PM | # Commenter Roger Gray says he once wrote the following in a review that was published in a newspaper: I once wrote a newspaper review of The Bounty by Caroline Alexander. I said: “But it was the lure of Tahiti that scuppered the Bounty and its cargo of breadfruit plants. It is impossible to escape the contrast between the ship’s crew and the islanders. The seamen, bandy-legged [victims of childhood rickets, in other words], some toothless and with pockmarked faces [uglified smallpox-scarred victims in other words], and ‘filling the deck, milling and laughing around them, the tall, clean-limbed, smooth-skinned Tahitians […] Their brown skin gleaming with perfumed oil, garlanded with flowers.’ […] Every man must have suffered from, and felt liberated by, the contrast between their scarecrow ship, […] and the carefree life of the [physically beautiful] islanders.” Were the English sailors of that age really so deformed? I dunno, I suspect Roger Gray has been a little “taken in” by accounts of social conditions in early Industrial-Revolution England and their supposed effects in disfiguring the population, accounts written by the social reformers of that age who were agitating for new laws and therefore dwelled on the bad out of proportion to reality. In the following passage, Yankee college student Richard Henry Dana, writing in 1830 of his experiences as a common sailor during a two-year leave-of-absence from college, describes the “English sailor” type of that era, an image which can’t have been very different from Captain Bligh’s era, as it was recorded only a decade or so after Bligh’s death. Right before Dana’s description of the typical English sailor of that era he describes the typical Polynesian sailor as represented by a crew of Hawaiian sailors (“Sandwich Islanders”) manning a little Scottish-owned-and-captained, English-officered ship anchored in the same port along the California coast (this was when California belonged to Mexico). I include the description of the Polynesians to give a sense of the author’s general objectivity: The only vessel in port with us was the little Loriotte. I frequently went on board her, and became very well acquainted with her Sandwich Island crew. One of them could speak a little English, and from him I learned a good deal about them. They were well formed and active, with black eyes, intelligent countenances, dark-olive, or, I should rather say, copper complexions and coarse black hair, but not woolly like the negroes. They appeared to be talking continually. In the forecastle there was a complete Babel. Their language is extremely guttural, and not pleasant at first, but improves as you hear it more, and is said to have great capacity. They use a good deal of gesticulation, and are exceedingly animated, saying with their might what their tongues find to say. They are complete water-dogs, therefore very good in boating. It is for this reason that there are so many of them on the coast of California; they being very good hands in the surf. They are also quick and active in the rigging, and good hands in warm weather; but those who have been with them round Cape Horn, and in high latitudes, say that they are useless in cold weather. In their dress they are precisely like our sailors. Now comes Dana’s description of the “thoroughbred English sailor” of the epoch, and, I dunno, maybe I missed it but somehow the image Dana presents doesn’t appear to correspond to the bandy-legged, rickets-deformed, small-pox-defaced, toothless, scrawny, bent, syphilitic, wheezing, pale, pathetic-looking scarecrow who compares so unfavorably to the bronzed, strong, ideal specimens of Polynesian manhood in Roger Gray’s description: In addition to these [Sandwich] Islanders, the vessel had two English sailors, who acted as boatswains over the Islanders, and took care of the rigging. One of them I shall always remember as the best specimen of the thoroughbred English sailor that I ever saw. He had been to sea from a boy, having served a regular apprenticeship of seven years, as all English sailors are obliged to do, and was then about four or five and twenty. He was tall; but you only perceived it when he was standing by the side of others, for the great breadth of his shoulders and chest made him appear but little above the middle height. His chest was as deep as it was wide; his arm like that of Hercules; and his hand “the fist of a tar — every hair a rope-yarn.” With all this he had one of the pleasantest smiles I ever saw. His cheeks were of a handsome [suntanned] brown; his teeth brilliantly white [what happened to “toothless”???]; and his hair, of a raven black, waved in loose curls all over his head, and fine, open forehead; and his eyes he might have sold to a duchess at the price of diamonds, for their brilliancy. As for their color, they were like the Irishman’s pig, which would not stay to be counted, every change of position and light seemed to give them a new hue; but their prevailing color was black, or nearly so. Take him with his well-varnished black tarpaulin [canvas sailor’s hat of the era, varnished to make it waterproof, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jack_Tar ] stuck upon the back of his head; his long locks coming down almost into his eyes; his white duck trowsers and shirt; blue jacket; and black kerchief, tied loosely round his neck; and he was a fine specimen of manly beauty [gee what happened to toothless, scurvy, rickets-deformed, bandy-legged, and scrawny in comparison to the tall strapping bronze picture-perfect Polynesians?]. On his broad chest [“broad”? do human scarecrows bent by rickets have broad chests?] he had stamped with India ink [tattooed] “Parting moments;” — a ship ready to sail; a boat on the beach; and a girl and her sailor lover taking their farewell. Underneath were printed the initials of his own name, and two other letters, standing for some name which he knew better than I did. This was very well done, having been executed by a man who made it his business to print with India ink, for sailors, at Le Havre. On one of his broad arms [“broad” here must be a typo for “scrawny”] he had the crucifixion, and on the other the sign of the “foul anchor.” He was very fond of reading [“very fond of reading”?? But weren’t these scurvy scarecrows all illiterate?], and we lent him most of the books which we had in the forecastle, which he read and returned to us the next time we fell in with him. He had a good deal of information, and his captain said he was a perfect seaman, and worth his weight in gold on board a vessel, in fair weather and in foul. His strength must have been great, and he had the sight of a vulture [somehow the scurvy and rickets didn’t affect his eyesight]. It is strange that one should be so minute in the description of an unknown, outcast sailor, whom one may never see again, and whom no one may care to hear about; but so it is. Some people we see under no remarkable circumstances, but whom, for some reason or other, we never forget. He called himself Bill Jackson; and I know no one of all my accidental acquaintances to whom I would more gladly give a shake of the hand than to him. Whoever falls in with him will find a handsome, hearty fellow, and a good shipmate. Wow, lotta typos in that! Bartleby’s will have to get to work proof-reading that mass of errors!! ( http://www.bartleby.com/23/13.html ) Posted by danielj on June 20, 2009, 09:35 PM | # ship anchored in the same port along the California coast (this was when California belonged to Mexico) History really does repeat itself. Posted by Fred Scrooby on June 20, 2009, 10:07 PM | # For A Finn: a passage from the Dana book: Our cook, a simple-hearted old African, who had been through a good deal in his day, and was rather seriously inclined, always going to church twice a day when on shore, and reading his Bible on a Sunday in the galley, talked to the crew about spending their Sabbaths badly, and told them that they might go as suddenly as George had [a crew member who’d just fallen overboard and drowned], and be as little prepared. […] The night after this event, when I went to the galley to get a light, I found the cook inclined to be talkative, so I sat down on the spars, and gave him an opportunity to hold a yarn. I was the more inclined to do so, as I found that he was full of the superstitions once more common among seamen, and which the recent death had waked up in his mind. He talked about George’s having spoken of his friends, and said he believed few men died without having a warning of it, which he supported by a great many stories of dreams, and the unusual behavior of men before death. From this he went on to other superstitions, the Flying Dutchman, etc., and talked rather mysteriously, having something evidently on his mind. At length he put his head out of the galley and looked carefully about to see if any one was within hearing, and being satisfied on that point, asked me in a low tone — “I say! you know what countryman ’e carpenter be?” “Yes,” said I, “he’s a German.” “What kind of a German?” said the cook. “He belongs to Bremen,” said I. “Are you sure o’ dat?” said he. I satisfied him on that point by saying that he could speak no language but the German and English. “I’m plaguy glad o’ dat,” said the cook. “I was mighty ’fraid he was a Fin. I tell you what, I been plaguy civil to that man all the voyage.” I asked him the reason of this, and found that he was fully possessed with the notion that Fins are wizards, and especially have power over winds and storms. I tried to reason with him about it, but he had the best of all arguments, that from experience, at hand, and was not to be moved. He had been in a vessel to the Sandwich Islands, in which the sail-maker was a Fin, and could do anything he was of a mind to. This sail-maker kept a junk bottle in his berth, which was always just half full of rum, though he got drunk upon it nearly every day. He had seen him sit for hours together, talking to this bottle, which he stood up before him on the table. The same man cut his throat in his berth, and everybody said he was possessed. He had heard of ships, too, beating up the gulf of Finland against a head wind and having a ship heave in sight astern, overhaul and pass them, with as fair a wind as could blow, and all studding-sails out, and find she was from Finland. “Oh, no!” said he; “I’ve seen too much of them men to want to see ’board a ship. If they can’t have their own way, they’ll play the devil with you.” As I still doubted, he said he would leave it to John, who was the oldest seaman aboard, and would know, if anybody did. John, to be sure, was the oldest, and at the same time the most ignorant, man in the ship; but I consented to have him called. The cook stated the matter to him, and John, as I anticipated, sided with the cook, and said that he himself had been in a ship where they had a head wind for a fortnight, and the captain found out at last that one of the men, whom he had had some hard words with a short time before, was a Fin, and immediately told him if he didn’t stop the head wind he would shut him down in the fore peak. The Fin would not give in, and the captain shut him down in the fore peak, and would not give him anything to eat. The Fin held out for a day and a half, when he could not stand it any longer, and did something or other which brought the wind round again, and they let him up. “There,” said the cook, “what you think o’ dat?” I told him I had no doubt it was true, and that it would have been odd if the wind had not changed in fifteen days, Fin or no Fin. “Oh,” says he, “go ’way! You think, ’cause you been to college, you know better than anybody. You know better than them as has seen it with their own eyes. You wait till you’ve been to sea as long as I have, and you’ll know.” ( http://www.bartleby.com/23/6.html ) Posted by Guessedworker on June 20, 2009, 10:20 PM | # Wonderful, Fred. The things those fellows did with good timber and sail-cloth! Posted by Lurker on June 21, 2009, 12:00 AM | # I believe that many more of the Bounty’s crew wanted to stay with Bligh but space was limited on the boat the mutineers placed him in. These non-mutineers were let off somewhere else before the Bounty went to Pitcairn. I think Robert is using the film(s) as his only reference point. Posted by Roger Gray on June 21, 2009, 01:44 AM | # “Wait!” cried a deep, ringing voice. All stood still. Mr. Baker, who had turned away yawning, spun round open-mouthed. At last, furious, he blurted out:--"What’s this? Who said ‘Wait’? What....” But he saw a tall figure standing on the rail. It came down and pushed through the crowd, marching with a heavy tread towards the light on the quarterdeck. Then again the sonorous voice said with insistence:--"Wait!" The lamplight lit up the man’s body. He was tall. His head was away up in the shadows of lifeboats that stood on skids above the deck. The whites of his eyes and his teeth gleamed distinctly, but the face was indistinguishable. His hands were big and seemed gloved. Mr. Baker advanced intrepidly. “Who are you? How dare you...” he began. The boy, amazed like the rest, raised the light to the man’s face. It was black. A surprised hum--a faint hum that sounded like the suppressed mutter of the word “Nigger"--ran along the deck and escaped out into the night. The nigger seemed not to hear. He balanced himself where he stood in a swagger that marked time. After a moment he said calmly:--"My name is Wait--James Wait.” “Oh!” said Mr. Baker. Then, after a few seconds of smouldering silence, his temper blazed out. “Ah! Your name is Wait. What of that? What do you want? What do you mean, coming shouting here?” The nigger was calm, cool, towering, superb. The men had approached and stood behind him in a body. He overtopped the tallest by half a head. He said: “I belong to the ship.” He enunciated distinctly, with soft precision. The deep, rolling tones of his voice filled the deck without effort. He was naturally scornful, unaffectedly condescending, as if from his height of six foot three he had surveyed all the vastness of human folly and had made up his mind not to be too hard on it. He went on:--"The captain shipped me this morning. I couldn’t get aboard sooner. I saw you all aft as I came up the ladder, and could see directly you were mustering the crew. Naturally I called out my name. I thought you had it on your list, and would understand. You misapprehended.” He stopped short. The folly around him was confounded. He was right as ever, and as ever ready to forgive. The disdainful tones had ceased, and, breathing heavily, he stood still, surrounded by all these white men. He held his head up in the glare of the lamp--a head vigorously modelled into deep shadows and shining lights--a head powerful and misshapen with a tormented and flattened face--a face pathetic and brutal: the tragic, the mysterious, the repulsive mask of a nigger’s soul. – The Nigger of the Narcissus No typos in here, but a lot of ambiguity. How strange to modern eyes to read of unaffected condescension, or the word pathetic used here in its original sense, before it was cheapened. Posted by the Narrator... on June 21, 2009, 04:49 AM | # and I must say it never once occurred to me that its contributors want to preserve the dominator system that Fletcher Christian and his men were trying to escape from. Posted by Roger Gray on June 20, 2009, 06:28 PM They weren’t Christian’s men, they were under the command of Bligh. And by comparisons to his contemporaries, Bligh was rather lenient in the discipline department. He once had a few deserters flogged whereas hanging was the standard punishment of the day for such behavior. And Fletcher Christian was no novice and new what to expect. He had connections to the family of Bligh’s wife and had twice sailed to Jamaica with Bligh before the voyage of the Bounty. In fact if I’m not mistaken it was Christian who approached Bligh for a position on the Bounty. All this talk about morality? Grounded in what? Posted by danielj on June 20, 2009, 06:30 PM A -specific-morality. Western morality. Grounded in our genes. People learn from their mistakes unless they are taught otherwise. Posted by James Bowery on June 20, 2009, 06:49 PM Some do, but plenty do not. Again it is a matter of character as to whether they are willing to learn or not. And as I’m not a big believer in Road to Damascus type of turn-arounds I tend to think it’s best to view people for what they are and not what they might, possibly, could be at some future turn in the road. We have to accept that many will simply choose to mutiny and no amount of wise council will bring them to their senses. We just have to let them go on down the destructive path they’ve chosen and worry about keeping the right path for ourselves and our fellow travelers who kept to the good way. Thanks Fred.
Poster Comment: I find the comments on the article to be more enlightening than the article. I don't know much about the Mutiny on the Bounty, but this article makes me wathc to watch the movie with Mel Gibson. History repeats itslef. The priveleged end up with all the money and power, and crush those beneath them. I do know the lives of the English could be horrendous. So when the chance came to escape to an island paradise, they took it. I don't know what went wrong on Pitcairn Island, but I doubt it was "multiculturalism." It goes to show that when people are crushed and repressed, they'll do whatever they can to get away. If they had killed Bligh and his followers, they probably would have gotten clean away.
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#1. To: Turtle (#0)
Always, always.
Most interesting article and commentary - thanks.
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