President Franklin D. Roosevelt :: Franklin D. Roosevelt

Franklin D. Roosevelt is proclaimed to be the first modern president of the United States. In fact, after a closer look, one could say FDR created the modern presidency. With his establishment of rhetoric as an important tool, he learned to speak directly to the American people, who then thought of him as a trustworthy person. FDR also established the United States' military base and put into motion many of the first steps towards alliances with other nations. His time in office also saw the addition of foreign policy as the executive office's job, as well as the creation of the Executive Office of the Presidency. All these additions in FDR's terms allowed him to define the executive's job, which helped to declare him the first modern president. One of FDR's strong points was rhetoric. He used it as an effective means during his terms to communicate with the American people. Previously, rhetoric held little importance for presidents, but after FDR and the beginning of the modern presidency rhetoric was an important element of the job. As Greenstein says, 'FDR [provided] a benchmark for his successors (22). He also changed the context in which speeches were given. When past presidents, such as Lincoln, gave speeches, they were to commemorate things, such as graveyards and memorials. When FDR began his presidency, he changed that. His speeches were not just to commemorate things, they were to inform the public, as well as explain things to them. For example, when FDR took office he began the practice of giving 'Fireside Chats,' which effectively used the new technology of the time. By speaking to the public over the radio, FDR established a bond with American people. He did this because of the way he spoke. Not only was FDR ca lm when talking about serious subjects, like the banking crisis, he was never condescending to the American people either. By treating the American people as equals, and referring to them as 'my friends,' FDR made the American people want to listen to him, and furthermore, believe what he said. Through this great use of rhetoric, FDR caused the public to calm down about the banking crisis, and also to give the banks another chance. Over the course of twelve years in office, FDR gave several Fireside Chats, which helped to boost the public's opinion of him. At the same time he was giving public speeches, he was also establishing a bond with the

Hunger Games Book vs Movie Essay

The book and movie of the story The Hunger Games were great! Even though the movie wasn’t exactly alike it many similarities, but only a few differences. In my point of view the book was better. The book had more description, the story line was great, and it was just all around an awesome novel. My favorite parts were the killings in the book, which in the movie they didn’t use the same description and graphic in the movie as they did in the book. One of the kills that really stood out was one of the first when a girl lit a fire in the forest and the group that Cato led attempted to kill her but failed in a way they had sent Peeta back to finish him off in the book. In the movie they killed her right away. One of my favorite characters from district 11 was named Thresh his death was sad. But before he died Katniss the main character from district 12 took care of Thresh’s tribute partner so Thresh saved Katniss’s life. Katniss was running to get a package to save Peeta from dying cause she was really starting to care about him. This girl came up behind her took katniss to the ground and was playing with knife she was going to kill her with, when thresh came up and took her off Katniss and beat her to death, then spared her life. Later, the games were taking so long they released hungry savaged dogs to hopefully speed up the games. They got to Thresh first as soon as his death the sound of a cannon went off to signify his death in the book, but in the movie Cato killed him. Another death, in which I was excited for in the movie, was Cato’s death. Cato was the antagonist in the story, the leader of a group of people that train their whole lives to participate in the games. In the book Peeta, Katniss, and Cato are the final three tributes. Peeta and Katniss were walking and randomly a dog starts chasing them so the run to the cornucopia, a place where weapons and shelter is, Cato is waiting thee for them so he can kill them and win the games. Well Peeta and Katniss run and get the top, Cato’s just waiting there for them Peeta Runs at him to fight him. They fight and Peeta throw him over the edge to get attacked by the savage dogs. The book says that he lay there screaming and suffering for hours on end, the next morning is when he is relieved by Katniss shooting him in the head to end his life. In the movie She kills him immediately after they knock him off the edge. I was looking forward to him dying he was one of my least favorite characters. All in all the movie and book were both magnificent I would prefer reading the book first then comparing differences, the movie had many similarities, Too many to explain. Over all there weren’t very many differences, mainly it was only deaths that were different. P

Bite Me: A Love Story Chapter 3

3. The Samurai of Jackson Street TOMMY When he first arrived in San Francisco, Tommy Flood had shared a closet-size room with five Chinese men named Wong, all of whom had wanted to marry him. â€Å"It's horrible-like being packed into a take-out box of Kung Pao chicken,† Tommy had said, and although it wasn't like that at all, and Tommy was just trying to use colorful language which he felt was his duty as a writer, it was very crowded and smelled strongly of garlic and sweaty Chinese guys. â€Å"I think they want to pack my fudge,† Tommy had said. â€Å"I'm from Indiana, we don't go for that kind of stuff.† As it turned out, the Chinese guys didn't go for that kind of stuff either, but were, in fact, very much interested in getting green cards. Fortunately, only a week later, in the parking lot of the Marina Safeway where he worked nights, Tommy met a gorgeous redhead named Jody Stroud, who rescued him from his confinement with the Chinese guys, by giving him her love, a nice loft apartment, and immortality. Unfortunately, little more than a month after that, their minion, Abby, had them bronzed while they slept, and Tommy awoke one night to find that despite his great vampire strength, he couldn't move a muscle. â€Å"I'd rather be trapped in a take-out box of Kung Pao chicken,† Tommy would have said if he could have said anything, which he couldn't. Meanwhile, right next to him, sharing the same bronze shell, his beloved Jody drifted in a dream-state, a side effect of being able to turn herself to mist, a trick she had learned from Elijah Ben Sapir, her vampire sire. Between the dead sleep of daylight, and the floating in a dream-world, she could endure decades inside the statue. Tommy, however, had never learned how to turn to mist. There had never been time to teach him. So come sundown, his vampire senses came on like neon, and he experienced every second of his confinement with an electric intensity that nearly had him vibrating in his shell-an alpha predator pacing the cage of his mind and shredding his reason. Of course, he did the only thing he could do: he went barking at the moon mad. CHET He'd have to lick about a mile of kitty-butt to get the taste of meter maid out of his mouth, but Chet was up for it. He raked a couple of hind-leg kicks through the dust that was the meter maid's remains, and headed across the street and into the alley, where he curled up in the dark and set about blunting the human taste. It was only a little over a month since the old vampire had turned Chet, but already he was losing all sense of his former self. Time was, that he spent his days on Market Street, napping next to William, the homeless man who made his living with a paper cup and a sign that said, I AM HOMELESS AND MY CAT IS HUGE. Chet was indeed very large, and while much of his volume had been fur, he had achieved a weight of thirty-five pounds on a diet of semi-used hamburgers and French fries donated by passersby outside of McDonald's. Now Chet hunted the night, taking down nearly any warm-blooded creature he encountered: rats, birds, squirrels, cats, dogs, and even the occasional human. At first it had only been drunks and other homeless, and the first time he had drained one, his old friend William, who turned to dust in front of him, Chet yowled, ran, and hid under a Dumpster for the rest of the night and all of the next day. There was no regret, simply hunger and elation of the blood rush. It was beyond the satisfaction of the kill, it was positively sexual, something Chet had never known as a normal cat, as he'd been neutered by the animal shelter when still a kitten. But along with speed, strength, and senses far more sensitive than even a human-based vampire, Chet, like his human counterparts, found that he was physically restored to perfection. In other words, his junk was working. He found that soon after the kill he desperately needed to hump something, and the more squirmy and wailing, the better. Above the smells of bus fumes, cooking food, and urine-bathed curbs that pervaded the City, he caught the scent of a female in heat. She might be a mile away, but given his newly heightened senses, he'd find her. A wave of excitement undulated under the fur of his spine, fur that had mostly grown back since the humans had shaved him, mated in front of him, and drank his blood, which served to traumatize his little kitty consciousness before he was turned vampire, and motivated a whole new feeling he'd grown into as a vampire cat: vengeance. For since his metamorphosis, it wasn't just his senses that had expanded. His brain, which before had run a loop of â€Å"eat-nap-crap, repeat,† was now growing into a whole new awareness, getting bigger, even as Chet grew. He was a good sixty pounds now, and roughly as smart as a dog, where before he'd only been a little brighter than a brick. Dog. The hated. There was dog on the air. Coming closer. He could smell it-them-two of them. And now he could hear them. He arose from his butt bath and screeched like an electrified lynx. In response, the neighborhood echoed with a chorus of yowls from a dozen other vampire cats. THE EMPEROR â€Å"Steady, fellows,† said the Emperor. He laid his hand across the neck of the golden retriever and scratched under the chin of the Boston terrier, who squirmed in the great pocket of the Emperor's overcoat, looking like a frantic, black-and-white, bug-eyed kangaroo mutant. â€Å"Cat! Cat! Cat! Cat! Cat!† barked Bummer, with a spray of doggie slobber across the Emperor's palm. â€Å"Cat! Murder, pain, fire, evil, cat! Can't you smell them? Everywhere! Must chase, chase, chase, bite, bite, bite, let me go you insane, oblivious old man, I'm trying to save you, for the love of God, CAT! CAT! CAT!† Unfortunately, Bummer only spoke dog, and while the Emperor could tell that the Boston terrier was upset, he had no idea why. (Anyone who translates dog knows that only about a third of what Bummer said actually meant anything. The rest was just noise he needed to make. Human speech is about the same.) Lazarus, the golden retriever, having battled vampires on and off for the last two months, and being steady by nature, was much calmer about the whole thing, but despite Bummer's tendency to overreact, he had to admit, the smell of cat was tall in the air, and what was more disturbing, it wasn't just cat, it was dead cat. Dead cat walking. Wait, what was that? Not cat-cats. Oh, this was not good. â€Å"He's right about the cat,† Lazarus ruffed, nudging the Emperor's leg. â€Å"We should get out of this neighborhood, maybe go over to North Beach and see if anyone dropped a beef jerky or something. I could sure use a beef jerky. Or we can stay and die. Whatever. I'm good with it.† â€Å"Easy, men,† said the Emperor, alert now that something was amiss. He knelt down, his knees creaking like rusted hinges, and as he looked around, kneaded the spot between Bummer's ears as if he were readying to make doggy-brain biscuits. He was a great, woolly, thunderstorm of a man-broad shouldered and gray bearded, fine witted and fiercely loyal to the people of his city. He had lived on the streets of San Francisco as long as anyone could remember, and while tourists saw him as a raggedy, homeless wretch, the locals viewed him as a fixture, a rolling landmark, a spirit, and a conscience, and for the most part, treated him with the deference they might pay royalty, despite the fact that he was a raving loon. The street was deserted, but a half a block away the Emperor saw the three-wheeled cart of an S.F.P.D. parking enforcement officer, stopped behind an illegally parked Audi. The cart's rotating yellow caution lights chased themselves around the surrounding buildings like drunken, jaundiced Tinkerbells, but there was no officer in sight. â€Å"Strange. It's long past time when a meter maid should be working. Perhaps we should investigate, gents.† But before he could stand, Bummer leapt out of the Emperor's pocket and made a beeline for the cart, trumpeting himself into the charge with a staccato barking fit. Lazarus took off after the black-and-white fur-rocket, and the old man ambled along behind, as fast as his great, arthritic legs would carry him. They found Bummer on the far side of the Audi, snorting and snuffling inside an empty police uniform, and covered with a fine gray powder. The Emperor's eyes went wide. He backed across the sidewalk and stood against the fire door of one of the industrial lofts that lined the street. He had seen this before. He knew the signs. But when he had seen the old vampire and his companions board an enormous yacht in the Bay over a month ago, he thought his city rid of the bloodsucking fiends. What now? There was a crackling static noise from the police cart: a radio. Call it in. Alert his people to the danger. He rolled to the cart, fumbled with the door catch, and reached for the microphone. â€Å"Hello,† he said into the microphone. â€Å"This is the Emperor of San Francisco, Emperor of San Francisco, protector of Alcatraz, Sausalito, and Treasure Island, and I'd like to report a vampire.† The radio continued to crackle and distant voices ghosted through the ether, uninterrupted. Lazarus padded to the old man's side and barked furiously, â€Å"You have to push the button. You have to push the button.† Unfortunately, while the noble retriever understood English, he only spoke dog, and the Emperor did not get the instruction. â€Å"Button! Button! Button! Button!† Bummer barked, springing up and down in front of the police cart. He scurried around to the door and jumped in on the Emperor's lap to show him. â€Å"Yeah, that helps,† growled Lazarus sarcastically. Golden retrievers are not a very sarcastic breed, and he felt a little ashamed and, well, catlike, using that tone of voice. â€Å"Okay. Button! Button! Button! Uh-oh.† â€Å"Button! Button! Button! Uh-oh, what?† barked Bummer. A short ruff from the retriever: â€Å"Cat.† Lazarus boiled out a low growl and laid his ears back against his head. The Emperor saw two of them: cats, coming down the sidewalk toward them. But they didn't look quite natural. The light from the police cart was reflecting back from the cats' eyes like red coals. A screech, there were two more coming across the street. Lazarus turned to face them, snarling now. A chorus of hisses from behind. The Emperor looked in the rearview mirror to see three more cats stalking from behind. â€Å"Quick, Lazarus, in the cart. Up, boy, in the cart.† Lazarus was spinning now, trying to watch all of the cats at once, warning them off with bared teeth and bristled hair. But the cats came on, baring their own teeth. â€Å"Come now,† said the Emperor into the microphone. Something landed hard on the roof of the cart and Bummer yelped. Another thump and the Emperor looked back to see a large cat in the bed of the cart, coming up on two legs and trying to claw around the back window. The old man pulled the door shut. â€Å"Run, Lazarus, run!† Lazarus caught the first cat in his jaws and was shaking it furiously when the rest fell upon him. STEVE â€Å"There's nefarious shit afoot, Foo,† said Abby. â€Å"Bring portable sun and fry these nosferatu kitties before they nom everyone in the ‘hood.† Steven â€Å"Foo Dog† Wong had no idea what his girlfriend, Abby, was talking about, and it wasn't the first time. In fact, much of the time he had no idea what she was talking about, but he had learned if he was patient, and listened, and more important, agreed with her, she would mercilessly sex him up, which he liked quite a bit, and occasionally he got the message. He used the same strategy with his maternal grandmother (without the sexing-up part), who spoke an obscure, country dialect of Cantonese, that sounded to the uninitiated like someone beating a chicken to death with a banjo. Just wait, and all would become clear. This time, however, Abby, whose tone ran from tragically romantic to passionately dismissive, was sounding much more urgent, and the patience gambit wasn't going to work. Her voice in his Bluetooth headset was like having a malevolent fairy bite his ear. â€Å"I'm in the middle of something, Abby. I'll be home as soon as I finish up here.† â€Å"Now, Foo. There's a herd, or flock, or a-what do you call a bunch of kitties?† â€Å"A box?† Foo offered. â€Å"Fucktard!† â€Å"A fucktard of kitties? Okay, sure, that could be it. A pride of lions, a murder of crows†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"No. You fucktard! There's a bunch of vampire kitties about to eat that crazy Emperor guy and his dogs right outside on the street. You need to come save them.† â€Å"A bunch?† Steve was having a hard time getting his head around the idea. He'd only recently gotten his head around the idea of one vampire cat, but a bunch, well, that was more. He was just a couple of months away from having his master's in biochem at age twenty-one-he wasn't a fucktard. â€Å"Define a bunch,† he said. â€Å"Many. I can't count them because they're stalking the golden retriever.† â€Å"And how do you know they're vampire kitties?† â€Å"Oh, because I drew blood samples from them, ran it in that centrifuge thingy of yours, prepared some slides, and looked at the blood cell structure under a microscope, duh?† â€Å"No, really,† he said. She was flunking high school biology, there's no way she prepared blood slides. And besides- â€Å"Of course not, you douche nozzle, I know they're vampires because they're stalking a golden retriever and a homeless fuck who's hiding in the vaporized meter maid's cart. That's not standard kitty behavior.† â€Å"Vaporized meter maid?† â€Å"The one Chet ate-sucked her to dust. Come now, Foo, turn your sunbeam full-on and get your luscious ninja ass over here.† Steve had rigged the hatchback of his tricked-out Honda Civic with high intensity UV floodlights, which he'd used to flash fry a number of vampires, thus saving Abby and, for the first time in his life, having a girlfriend and someone who thought he was cool. â€Å"I can't come right away, Abby. The sun lights aren't in the car.† â€Å"Oh my fucking God, there's some little old guy with a cane coming out of the alley. Well, he's toast. Fuck!† â€Å"What?† â€Å"Fuck!† â€Å"What?† â€Å"Oh fuck!† â€Å"What? What? What?† â€Å"Oh-my-fucking-god-ponies-on-a-stick!† â€Å"Abby, you need to be more specific.† â€Å"It's not a cane, Foo, it's a sword.† â€Å"What?† â€Å"Come now, Foo. Bring the sun.† â€Å"I can't, Abby. My car is full of rats.† THE EMPEROR The Emperor watched in horror as the cats leapt onto the back of his noble captain, Lazarus. The golden retriever shook himself violently, dislodging two of the fiends, but they were replaced by two more, and three more leapt on top of them, nearly bringing Lazarus to the ground. But they weren't pack hunters, and as each maneuvered for the throat, another attacker was pushed off, his claws shredding both predator and prey as he fell. Blood splattered the windscreen of the police cart. Bummer bounced around inside the tiny cabin, barking and snorting, and throwing himself against the glass, covering everything with angry dog slobber. â€Å"Run, Lazarus, run!† The Emperor pounded on the glass, then pushed his forehead against it as he tried to squint back tears of anguish and frustration. â€Å"No!† He would not do it. He would not watch his companion slaughtered. Outrage filled the ancient, boiler-tank of a man and condensed to courage. He was fighting the door latch when half a cat hit the side window and slid down trailing gore. The door handle snapped off in his hand and he threw it to the floor of the cart. Bummer immediately attacked it and broke a tooth on the metal. Through the haze of blood spray, the Emperor could see another figure in the street. A boy-no, a man, but a small man, Asian-wearing a fluorescent orange porkpie hat and socks, tight plaid trousers that looked as if they'd been teleported out of the 1960s, and a gray cardigan sweater. The little man was brandishing a samurai sword, bringing it down again and again on Lazarus in quick snapping motions, but before he could cry out, the Emperor saw that the sword wasn't even grazing the retriever's coat. With each stroke one of the cats fell away, beheaded or cut in half, both halves squirming on the pavement. There was no spinning, no wind-up or flourish to the swordsman's movements, just grim efficiency, like a chef chopping vegetables. As his targets moved, he pivoted and stepped just enough to deliver the cut, then snapped the blade back and sent it to its next destination. The weight and fury removed from his back, Lazarus looked around and whimpered, which translated to: â€Å"Whaaa-?† The swordsman was relentless, step, cut, step, cut. Two cats came at him from under a Volvo and he quickly retreated and swung the sword in a quick, low arc that approximated a golf stroke and sent their heads back over the car to bounce off a metal garage door. â€Å"Behind!† the Emperor warned. But it was too late. The low attack had thrown the swordsman off-a heavy-bodied Siamese cat launched itself from the roof of a van across the street and landed on the little man's back. The long sword was useless at such close range. The swordsman arched in pain, even as the Siamese clawed its way up his back. He spun, then threw his feet out before him and fell hard on his back, but the Siamese took the impact and dug its fangs into the swordsman's shoulder. A half-dozen vampire cats came scurrying out from under cars toward the struggling swordsman. Lazarus, his fur matted with blood, caught one of the cats by the haunch and bit to the bone. The cat screamed and squirmed in the retriever's jaws, trying to claw his eyes. The others fell on the swordsman with fang and claw. The Emperor threw his shoulder against the Plexiglas door of the police cart, but there was no room to move, to gain momentum, and while the entire cart rocked and went up on two wheels under his weight, the door latch would not give. He watched in horror as the swordsman writhed under his attackers. The Emperor heard a steel fire door hitting brick and light spilled across the sidewalk and into the street. Out of the doorway ran a thin, impossibly pale girl with lavender pigtails wearing pink motocross boots, pink fishnet stockings, a green plastic skirt, wraparound sunglasses, and a black leather jacket that looked studded with glass. Before he could warn her, the girl ran into the street and shouted, â€Å"You motherfucking kitties need to step the fuck off!† The vampire cats attacking the swordsman looked up and hissed, which translated from vampire cat, meant: â€Å"Whaaa-?† She ran right at the swordsman, waving her arms as if shooing birds or trying to dry some particularly stubborn nail polish and screaming like a madwoman. The cats turned their attention to her, and were crouching, readying to leap, when her jacket lit up like the sun. There was a collective screech of agony from the vampire cats as all around the street, cats and cat parts smoked, then ignited. Burning cats made for the alley across the street or tried to hide under cars, but the thin girl ran after them, darting here and there, until each ignited, then burned and reduced itself first to a bubbling puddle of fur and goo, and finally, a pile of fine ash. In less than a minute, the street was quiet again. The lights on the girl's jacket went dark. The swordsman climbed to his feet and fitted his orange porkpie hat back on his head. He was bleeding from spots on his back and arms, and there was blood on his plaid pants and orange socks, but whether it was his or the cats' was impossible to tell. He stood before the thin girl and bowed deeply. â€Å"Domo arigato,† he said, keeping his eyes at her feet. â€Å"Dozo,† said the girl. â€Å"Your kitty-slaying skills are, if I may say so, the shit.† The swordsman bowed again, short and shallow, then turned and trotted across the street, down the alley, and out of sight. Lazarus was digging at the Plexiglas door of the police cart with the pads of his paws, as if he might polish his way through to release his master. Abby scratched his nose, nearly the only part of him not covered in blood, and opened the door. â€Å"Hey,† she said. â€Å"Hey,† said the Emperor. He stepped out of the cart and looked around. The street was painted with blood for half a block, punctuated by piles of ash and the occasional charred flea collar. Parked cars were sprayed in red mist, even the security lights above several fire doors were speckled with gore. Acrid smoke from burning cats hung low in the air, and on the sidewalk greasy gray ash spilled out of the sleeves and collar of the parking officer's uniform. â€Å"Well, you don't see that every day,† said the Emperor, as a police cruiser rounded the corner, the red and blue lights raking the building. The cruiser stopped and doors flew open. The driver stood behind his door, his hand on his gun. â€Å"What's going on here?† he said, trying to keep his eyes on the Emperor and not look at the carnage that surrounded them. â€Å"Nothing,† Abby said.

Natural Born Killers essays

Natural Born Killers essays How Quentin Tarantino and Oliver Stone use technical aspects of filmmaking to create and disseminate meaning in the film Natural Born Killers. Natural Born Killers is an overblown and fantastically creative commentary on violence and the complicity of the media and the public. This is how the film critic Brian Webster described one of the most contraversual films of the 1990s. In this essay I will be looking at how and why Quentin Tarantino (who wrote the film) and Oliver stone the director have used film to show that the media can promote, cause violence in the public. Id like to begin by saying that Natural Born Killers is not a film without a sense of contradiction. The director and writer both claim they have created a film that shows how badly the media can manipulate our minds into causing acts of violence. However the film itself as media is quite ironic in the fact it also creates the potential for being a cause of violence. But i suppose with this sort of film contradiction cannot be a avoided. The film is primerally seen as part of the art genre, due to the points created and the fact that its not something a that relies on a narrative to be what it is. Im also unsure if the film is even there to entertain as many asepcts of the film are very disturbing and confusing. The film is centralised around two main characters Mickey and Malary knox, outlaw lovers who kill and rob from people they feel deserve it. The media in the film glammorises the things they are doing and turns them into celebrities. Everytime they kill their actions are over dramatised and put in an entertainment perspective which the public are currupted by. However there is alot of disagreament for the point Stone and Tarantino are trying to make with this notion. For instance many people would argue that Natural Born Killers is a film that shows a reflection of our society, meaning that...

Mein Kampf the Book Written by Adolf Hitler

Mein Kampf the Book Written by Adolf Hitler By 1925, 35-year-old Adolf Hitler was already a war veteran, leader of a political party, orchestrator of a failed coup, and a prisoner in a German prison. In July 1925, he also became a published book author with the release of the first volume of his work,  Mein Kampf (My Struggle). The book, whose first volume was largely written during his eight-month imprisonment for his leadership in the failed coup, is a rambling discourse on Hitler’s ideology and goals for the future German state.  The second volume was published in December 1926 (however, the books themselves were printed with a 1927 publication date). The text initially suffered from slow sales but, like its author would soon become a fixture in German society. Hitler’s Early Years in the Nazi Party At the end of World War I, Hitler, like so many other German veterans, found himself unemployed. So when he was offered a position to work as an informant for the newly established Weimar government, he seized the opportunity. Hitlers duties were simple; he was to attend the meetings of newly formed political organizations and report upon their activities to government officials who were monitoring these parties. One of the parties, the German Workers’ Party (DAP), captivated Hitler so much during his attendance that the following spring he left his government position and decided to dedicate himself to the DAP. That same year (1920), the party changed its name to the National Socialist German Workers’ Party (NSDAP), or Nazi Party. Hitler quickly gained renown as a powerful speaker. Within the party’s early years, Hitler is credited with helping the party greatly increase membership through his powerful speeches against the government and the Treaty of Versailles.  Hitler is also credited with helping to design the main tenets of the party’s platform. In July 1921, a shake-up occurred within the party and Hitler found himself in the position to replace party co-founder Anton Drexler as the chairperson of the Nazi Party. Hitler's Failed Coup: The Beer Hall Putsch In the fall of 1923, Hitler decided it was time to seize upon the public’s discontent with the Weimar government and organize a putsch (coup) against both the Bavarian state government and the German federal government. With assistance from the SA, SA leader Ernst Roehm, Herman Gà ¶ring, and famous World War I General Erich von Ludendorff, Hitler and Nazi Party members stormed a Munich beer hall where members of the local Bavarian government were gathered for an event. Hitler and his men quickly brought the event to a standstill by setting up machine guns at the entrances and falsely announcing that the Nazis had seized both the Bavarian state government and the German federal government. After a short period of perceived success, several missteps led to the putsch quickly falling apart. After being shot at in the street by the German military, Hitler fled and hid for two days in the attic of a party supporter. He was then caught, arrested, and placed in Landsberg prison to await his trial for his role in the attempted Beer Hall Putsch. On Trial for Treason In March 1924, Hitler and the other leaders of the putsch were put on trial for high treason. Hitler, himself, faced possible deportation from Germany (due to his status as a non-citizen) or a life sentence in prison. He took advantage of the media coverage of the trial to paint himself as an ardent supporter of the German people and the German state, wearing his Iron Cross for Bravery in WWI and speaking out against the â€Å"injustices† perpetrated by the Weimar government and their collusion with the Treaty of Versailles. Instead of projecting himself as a man guilty of treason, Hitler came across during his 24-day trial as an individual who had the best interests of Germany in mind. He was sentenced to five years in Landsberg prison but would serve only eight months. The others on trial received lesser sentences and some were released without any penalty. The Writing of Mein Kampf Life in Landsberg prison was far from difficult for Hitler. He was permitted to walk freely throughout the grounds, wear his own clothing, and entertain visitors as he chose. He was also permitted to mingle with other prisoners, including his personal secretary, Rudolf Hess, who was imprisoned for his own part in the failed putsch. During their time together in Landsberg, Hess served as Hitler’s personal typist while Hitler dictated some of the work that would become known as the  first volume of Mein Kampf. Hitler decided to write Mein Kampf for a two-fold purpose: to share his ideology with his followers and also to help recoup some of the legal expenses from his trial. Interestingly, Hitler originally proposed the title, Four-and-a-Half Years of Struggle Against Lies, Stupidity, and Cowardice; it was his publisher who shortened it to My Struggle or Mein Kampf. Volume 1 The first volume of Mein Kampf, subtitled â€Å"Eine Abrechnung† or â€Å"A Reckoning,† was written mostly during Hitler’s stay in Landsberg and ultimately consisted of 12 chapters when it was published in July 1925. This first volume covered Hitler’s childhood through the initial development of the Nazi Party. Although many of the book’s readers thought it would be autobiographical in nature, the text itself only uses Hitler’s life events as a springboard for long-winded diatribes against those he viewed as inferior, particularly the Jewish people. Hitler also frequently wrote against the political scourges of Communism, which he purported was directly linked to the Jews, whom he believed were attempting to take over the world. Hitler also wrote that the present German government and its democracy was failing the German people and that his plan to remove the German parliament and instate the Nazi Party as the leadership would save Germany from future ruin. Volume 2 Volume two of Mein Kampf, subtitled â€Å"Die Nationalsozialistische Bewegung,† or â€Å"The National Socialist Movement,† consisted of 15 chapters and was published in December 1926. This volume was intended to cover how the Nazi Party was founded; however, it was more of a rambling discourse of Hitler’s political ideology. In this second volume, Hitler laid out his goals for future German success. Crucial to the success of Germany, Hitler believed, was gaining more â€Å"living space†. He wrote that this gain should be made by first spreading the German empire to the East, into the land of the inferior Slavic peoples who should be enslaved and their natural resources confiscated for the better, more racially pure, German people. Hitler also discussed the methods he would employ to gain the support of the German populace, including a massive propaganda campaign and the rebuilding of the German military. Reception for Mein Kampf The initial reception for Mein Kampf was not particularly impressive; the book sold roughly 10,000 copies in its first year. Most of the book’s initial purchasers were either Nazi Party faithful or members of the general public who were wrongly anticipating a scandalous autobiography. By the time Hitler became Chancellor in 1933, approximately 250,000 copies of the book’s two volumes had been sold. Hitler’s ascension to the chancellorship breathed new life into sales of Mein Kampf. For the first time, in 1933, sales of the full edition eclipsed the one million mark. Several special editions were also created and distributed to the German people. For instance, it became customary for every newlywed couple in Germany to receive a special newlywed’s edition of the work. By 1939, 5.2 million copies had been sold. At the outset of World War II, additional copies were distributed to each soldier. Copies of the work were also customary gifts for other life milestones such as graduations and births of children. By the war’s end in 1945, the number of copies sold rose to 10 million. However, despite its popularity on the printing presses, most Germans would later admit that they had not read the 700-page, two-volume text to any great extent. Mein Kampf Today With Hitler’s suicide and the conclusion of World War II, the property rights of Mein Kampf went to the Bavarian state government (since Munich was Hitler’s last official address before the Nazi seizure of power). Leaders in the Allied-occupied portion of Germany, which contained Bavaria, worked with Bavarian authorities to institute a ban on the publication of Mein Kampf within Germany. Upheld by the reunified German government, that ban  continued until 2015. In 2015, the copyright on Mein Kampf expired and the work became part of the public domain, thus negating the ban. In an effort to prevent the book from further becoming a tool of neo-Nazi hatred, the Bavarian state government has begun a campaign to publish annotated editions in several languages with hopes that these educational editions will become more popular than editions published for other, less noble, purposes. Mein Kampf still remains one of the most widely published and known books in the world. This work of racial hatred was a blueprint for the plans of one of the most destructive governments in world history. Once a fixture in German society, there is hope that today it can serve as a learning tool to prevent such tragedies in future generations.

Strategic Review based on Zara Case Study Essay

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Internationl student life at minnesota stat university Essay

Internationl student life at minnesota stat university - Essay Example The most common is the use of the English language. Although some may understand the language well, the problem is presented when one is required to express his/her own ideas. This is strongly defended by the first interviewee, Bdr, a friend from the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. Bdr says that coping in a new environment is made more difficult because of the language barrier that exists between him and his professors and classmates. â€Å"Some Americans speak too fast, I cannot understand all that is being said and oftentimes, they use words that are not familiar with me†, Bdr said. He adds that this is a real problem to him because in school, class discussions are required. Since grades are highly important to him, he wants to be involved in class discussions but the fear of making no sense at all prevents him from talking. He also fears that his classmates might make fun of how he talks, how limited his vocabulary is and how he constructs his sentences. Although he has been a con fident student in his own country, his confidence failed him in a new world where he needs to speak a language not his own. Nevertheless, he still has to survive so despite the difficulties, he is trying to learn the language by talking to native speakers on a daily basis. Essa, a second year Aviation Management student who is also from KSA is not a stranger to such dilemma. Even on his second year with the school, he is still finding it difficult to fully adapt to the American education. He says that, â€Å"There are so many activities that really require participation like critical class discussions. Speaking is already a problem and trying to react critically in class makes the task even harder because one has to meditate on the meanings of what is being discussed. Moreover, a lot of reading is also needed because instructors encourage students to get diverse ideas from different authors and other sources. Then there are the written requirements like take home exams, reaction pa pers and essays. However, Essa does not consider this too much of a burden but looks to the brighter side saying the requirements are all necessary because they help students improve their vocabulary and use of the English language. Personally, the challenges I am facing as an international student are not at all different from the experiences of Bdr and Essa. I have difficulty expressing myself in English, too. I am not fluent in English which is the medium of instruction. My sentence constructions are faulty and my vocabulary is limited. In United Arab Emirates, most of the talking is done by the teachers so that participating in class discussions is really a challenge for me and if there were any interaction among students, we used our native tongue. Although we learned English in our country, it is undeniable that the experience is entirely different from what we have in America. Therefore, I strive hard to improve my oral communication skills by imitating native speakers and pr acticing at home. In addition, written communication presents similar problems. The many books required of us to read are already a great task and it even demands more time from me because oftentimes, I have to read slowly in order to understand the texts. Sometimes, I also have to read three or more times before I grasp the subject matter. Written requirements add to the difficulties. Although the activity spares me from expressing my thoughts extemporaneously, writing sentences with the use of a second language is still