Part 47 (2/2)

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF EVIL XXII.

Here, the previous articles in Genocide News are followed up with an account of processes, uncovered by social psychologists, that allow perpetrators to reach the stage at which they are capable of carrying out one murder after another.

By Iben Hjgaard The social psychologist Albert Bandura recruited a group of students to help him with an experimental study of learning that also involved a group of students from another university She thinks about Omoro in that hut in Kenya.

Ill never have a chance to ask him to forgive me. He died because I hesitated. And I hesitated because I saw an advantage for myself in holding back. He is dead now.

She tries once more: THE PSYCHOLOGY OF EVIL XXII.

Here, the previous articles in Genocide News are followed up with an account of processes, uncovered by social psychologists Two young women step out from a clothes boutique. Their aura of evil smells like pickled gherkins and rotten fish.

Ibens concentration is going. She leans against a wall and tries to take up the thread.

The social psychologist Albert Bandura recruited His helpers were to a.s.sist him in an experiment by administering electric shocks to members of the other group when they didnt do well enough in tests. Just as they were ready to start, the helper group accidentally overheard a senior a.s.sistant speak about the pupils.

I know why everybody praised me, she thinks: because I ran back to the policemen from Nairobi and tried to make them help the hostages. The press, as well as my friends, kept going on about how I put my life on the line to save the others. Its because they need to hear such things to be rea.s.sured that goodness exists. They dream of it. They watch it on television. But its all a lie! Those few seconds only proved that I couldnt conceive of the possibility that the police would beat up or kill a white woman. I believed I was in no danger. My whiteness made me invulnerable, or so I thought.

She recognizes the front door to Malenes stairs. She must ask her forgiveness. Forgiveness would be such a relief. Or maybe it wouldnt?

Malene doesnt reply to the intercom, so Iben uses her key to get in and goes upstairs to knock on Malenes door.

n.o.body answers. She could let herself in, but she doesnt. She knocks again.

On her way downstairs she cant see the large stained-gla.s.s patterns, because its too dark outside. A pane of clear gla.s.s has been fitted in Rasmuss window.

She must pull herself together. Think of nothing but her article.

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF EVIL XXII.

Here, the previous articles in Genocide News are followed up The social psychologist Albert Bandura recruited a group of students to help him with an experimental study of learning We are rats, all of us. Regardless of what has been written in the magazine previously. Were simply Regardless of what has been written in the magazine previously, we may Regardless, it must be admitted that Im sick now. So dreadfully sick I cannot think anymore.

Iben, concentrate!

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF EVIL XXII.

Here, the previous articles The many lies presented in our magazine are The truth is We are also in each others heads. Murder each other when no one is looking. The self-righteous theories previously described in Genocide News are Iben cannot walk now. She sits down on a trash bin at a bus stop. Sh.e.l.l have to throw up again soon. Its all these people that do it their smells: fried food, p.i.s.s, chlorine decay. Shes disappearing. Its so hard to stay in control. Only work to hold on to, and logical thought.

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF EVIL XXII.

Here, the previous articles in Genocide News will carry on, sickly as ever, and unable to think anymore. The reason is that were all rats and ready to bite each others heads off.

I will stay sitting here despite the human rats that smell on top of a trash bin at a bus stop and on behalf of the Danish Center for Information on Genocide evil under my nails, making them smell bad, and inside the early wrinkles in my face. In my cells, in my DNA. In me.

I give up.

Two people in love are waiting for the bus. They dont look my way. They wear the same kind of long coat in a color like b.u.t.terscotch and arent interested in the slightest in a confused woman sitting on a trash bin.

Now a teenage girl comes along to wait. She has painted names of bands and singers all over her rucksack, just as I did in my teens. She is about the same age as a lot of Cambodias Khmer Rouge soldiers. I know what she could do to that couple.

What about the lovers? They look so innocent. Waiting for the bus, thats all.

But close up you see the fat oozing out of their pores long whitish yellow worms. Those two their bad smell wont go away, even though they probably wash every day. It shouldnt have been like this. Ever.

I shouldnt have fallen ill again. I shouldve been with Gunnar, in his kitchen, pottering about with the bread and little dishes for a delicious Sunday lunch. He would come and stand close behind me and hold me tight while he kisses my neck. And his two daughters, who are mine too, would be running about, in and out of the kitchen.

I know this scene so well. Thats how it should have been. And we would have been so happy. We wouldnt have killed anyone then, neither he nor I. Neither of us would have suffered from paranoia or been sick in the head.

Now I know it will never happen. Ive become too weird for him. It shouldntshould not have been like this.

A tall man with long blond hair is approaching me. He speaks to me. Does he say that he wants to drop something into the bin? I get up, but he keeps saying things.

I have to speak to him. Are you trying to use the trash bin? Is that it, the bin? Ive moved off it now. Then it dawns on me that the man is speaking English, with a drawling accent. Whats that hes saying?

Now tell me. Whats your plan?

I dont understand what he wants but decide Id better change to English too and repeat the bit about the bin.

He looks annoyed. Whats wrong with you, Malene? I dont care about that bin. Whats your plan?

What? My name isnt Malene.

I look properly at him. He could have been an aging rock star, once cool but now on his way out. His skin is in poor shape and he has gone flabby, like men do when theyre past their prime. I want him to go away and leave me in peace.

My name isnt Malene.

He stares straight into my eyes.

I know who you are, Malene. Ive waited for you when you come out of the Center. And when you leave your house.

I shake my head. Youve got it all wrong, Im not It is only then that Iben realizes who the man is.

chapter 49.

like when youre off, flying across the handlebars on your bike. Then, in the fraction of a second before you crash to the ground, all your muscles go tense and your mind suddenly focuses one hundred percent.

How can she escape? She glances about her. Some fifteen feet away from Iben and Mirko Zigic, a strong-looking man stands with his hands in the pockets of his pilots jacket. When his eyes catch Ibens and he realizes she has seen him, the corners of his mouth twitch slightly something that is not quite a smile.

And opposite him, fifty feet or so away, another man is standing. He too observes her. His hair is cut very short, and theres something very Eastern European about his matching jeans and denim jacket.

Now she looks at Zigic again, sensing the weight of her knife against her leg. Her heart is pounding. Could she win a fight against him? Of course she couldnt. Are these men armed with weapons other than knives? Of course they are.

Zigic interrogates her. Who do you work for?

The Danish Center for Information on Genocide.

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