“A new kind of superstitious hokum has taken a viselike hold on the minds of leftists.”
There’s a short story I read in my youth, but for the life of me I can’t recall the title or the author (if any readers can place the tale, I’d be extremely grateful. As you know, doing a favor for a Jew is rather like earning the gratitude of a leprechaun, except instead of being given a pot of gold, you’re loaned one at usurious interest rates). In the story in question, an enlightened European visits a white friend who’s living in Haiti, and the friend, in an attempt to demonstrate the power that voodoo holds over the primitive locals, takes him to meet a native who has been cursed by the village voodoo priest. The Haitian is so convinced that he’s going to die—so strong is his belief in the power of curses—that he refuses to eat. He sits unmoving in his hut, slowly starving to death. So, the friend explains, the man will indeed die—not from the curse, but from his belief in it.
The visitor proposes a wager. “Give me that native for two weeks, and I’ll have him right as rain.” “Impossible,” replies the friend. “I’ve lived among these savages for years. They cannot be reasoned with when it comes to their superstitions.” Agreeing upon the wager, the men meet again two weeks later. The native is fat and healthy, eating everything in sight (if I recall the story correctly, he even downs a live bullfrog). “Amazing, old chap. How did you do it?” asks the friend. At that point, the story closes with a description of the lobotomy scar on the native’s forehead.
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