We were horrified by the way the the ISIS guys burned a man alive, and I said quite a few nasty things. Some one reminded me of my own writing, “For every Muslim ass, there is a Hindu, Buddhist, Christian and Jewish ass.”
Religions do not teach any one to kill, but every religion has a percentage of rogues who are ruthless. We cannot call Buddhism and Hinduism peaceful religions any more, they join the crowd of Judaism, Christianity and Islam.
Information pulled from different sources – there is a hell of a lot more out there, but suffice it to see that for every Muslim ass, there is a Hindu, Buddhist, Christian and Jewish ass. We the good people need to speak up or be called good for nothing.
Buddhist burning a Muslim alive and watching.
Bride Burning in India
Wiki, Time and CNN
Bride-burning occurs when a young woman is murdered by her husband or his family for her family’s refusal to pay additional dowry. The wife is typically doused with kerosene
, or other flammable liquid, and set alight, leading to death by fire. Kerosene
is most often used as the fuel.
It is most common in India and has been a major problem there since at least 1993.
This crime has been treated as culpable homicide and, if proven, is usually accordingly punished by up to lifelong imprisonment or death.
Bride burning has been recognized as an important public health problem in India,
accounting for around 2,500 deaths per year in the country.
In 1995, Time Magazine
reported that dowry deaths in India increased from around 400 a year in the early 1980s to around 5,800 a year by the middle of the 1990s.
A year later, CNN
ran a story saying that every year police receive more than 2,500 reports of bride burning.
According to Indian National Crime Record Bureau, there were 1,948 convictions and 3,876 acquittals in dowry death cases in 2008.
Dr. Graham Stuart Staines (1941 – 22 January 1999) was an Australian Christianmissionary who, along with his two sons Philip (aged 10) and Timothy (aged 6), was burnt to death by a gang while sleeping in his station wagon at Manoharpur village inKeonjhar district in Odisha, India on 22 January 1999. In 2003, a Bajrang Dal activist,Dara Singh, was convicted of leading the gang that murdered Graham Staines and his sons, and was sentenced to life in prison.
Godhra Train Burning
The Godhra train burning was an incident that occurred on the morning of 27 February 2002, in which 59 people, including 25 women and 15 children, died in a fire inside the Sabarmati Express train near the Godhra railway station in the Indian state of Gujarat. The victims were mainly Hindu pilgrims and activists who were returning from the city of Ayodhya after a religious ceremony at the disputed Babri Masjid site. The commission set up by the government of Gujarat to investigate the train burning spent 6 years going over the details of the case, and concluded that the fire was arson committed by a mob of 1000-2000 people. A commission appointed by the central government, whose appointment was later held to be unconstitutional, stated that the fire had been an accident. A court convicted 31 Muslims for the incident and the conspiracy for the crime, although the actual causes of the fire have yet to be proven conclusively.
Three Israelis confess burning Palestinian teenager a
Bill Moyers writes:The Fiery Cage and the Lynching Tree, Brutality’s Never Far
February 5, 2015
by Bill Moyers
A Palestinian hold a poster with a picture of slain
Jordanian pilot, Lt. Muath al-Kaseasbeh during a protest in front of the
Jordanian embassy, in the West Bank City of Ramallah, Wednesday, Feb. 4, 2015.
(AP Photo/Majdi Mohammed)
They burned him alive in an iron cage, and as
he screamed and writhed in the agony of hell they made a sport of his death.
After listening to one newscast after another rightly condemn the barbaric
killing of that Jordanian air force pilot at the bloody hands of ISIS, I
couldn’t sleep. My mind kept roaming the past trying to retrieve a vaguely
remembered photograph that I had seen long ago in the archives of a college
library in Texas.
Suddenly, around two in the morning, the image materialized in my head. I
made my way down the hall to my computer and typed in: “Waco, Texas.
Sure enough, there it was: the charred corpse
of a young black man, tied to a blistered tree in the heart of the Texas Bible
Sure enough, there it was: the charred corpse of a young black man,
tied to a blistered tree in the heart of the Texas Bible Belt. Next to the
burned body, young white men can be seen smiling and grinning, seemingly
jubilant at their front-row seats in a carnival of death. One of them sent a
picture postcard home: “This is the barbeque we had last night. My picture is to
the left with a cross over it. Your son, Joe.”
The victim’s name was Jesse Washington. The year was 1916. America would
soon go to war in Europe “to make the world safe for democracy.” My father was
twelve, my mother eight. I was born 18 years later, at a time, I would come to
learn, when local white folks still talked about Washington’s execution as if it
were only yesterday. This was not medieval Europe. Not the Inquisition. Not a
heretic burned at the stake by some ecclesiastical authority in the Old World.
This was Texas, and the white people in that photograph were farmers, laborers,
shopkeepers, some of them respectable congregants from local churches in and
around the growing town of Waco.
Here is the photograph. Take a good look at Jesse
Washington’s stiffened body tied to the tree. He had been sentenced to death for
the murder of a white woman. No witnesses saw the crime; he allegedly confessed
but the truth of the allegations would never be tested. The grand jury took just
four minutes to return a guilty verdict, but there was no appeal, no review, no
prison time. Instead, a courtroom mob dragged him outside, pinned him to the
ground, and cut off his testicles. A bonfire was quickly built and lit. For two
hours, Jesse Washington — alive — was raised and lowered over the flames. Again
and again and again. City officials and police stood by, approvingly. According
to some estimates, the crowd grew to as many as 15,000. There were taunts,
cheers and laughter. Reporters described hearing “shouts of delight.”
When the flames died away, Washington’s body was torn apart and the pieces
were sold as souvenirs. The party was over.
Many years later, as a young man, I visited Waco’s Baylor University, often
referred to as the Texas Baptist Vatican. I had been offered a teaching position
there. I sat for a while in the school’s Armstrong Browning Library, one of the
most beautiful in America, containing not only the works of Robert and Elizabeth
Barrett Browning, the acclaimed Victorian poets, but also stained glass windows,
marble columns, and elegant ceilings that bring to mind the gorgeous interior of
Michelangelo’s Laurentian library in Florence.
Sitting there, I found it hard to reconcile the beauty and quiet of that
sanctuary with the photograph that I had been shown earlier by a man named Harry
Provence, publisher of the local newspaper. Seeing it, I realized that as young
Jesse Washington was being tortured, students his own age, some of them studying
for the ministry, were just finishing their spring semester. In 1905, when
another black man had been lynched in Waco, Baylor’s president became a leader
of the anti-lynching movement. But ugly memories still divided the town.
Jesse Washington was just one black man to die horribly at the hands of
white death squads. Between 1882 and 1968 — 1968! — there were 4,743 recorded
lynchings in the US. About a quarter of them were white people, many of whom had
been killed for sympathizing with black folks. My father, who was born in 1904
near Paris, Texas, kept in a drawer that newspaper photograph from back when he
was a boy of thousands of people gathered as if at a picnic to feast on the
torture and hanging of a black man in the center of town. On a journey tracing
our roots many years later, my father choked and grew silent as we stood near
the spot where it had happened.
Yes, it was hard to get back to sleep the night we heard the news of the
Jordanian pilot’s horrendous end. ISIS be damned! I thought. But with the next
breath I could only think that our own barbarians did not have to wait at any
gate. They were insiders. Home grown. Godly. Our neighbors, friends, and kin.
People like us.
Bill Moyers is the managing editor of
Moyers & Company and BillMoyers.com.