Slovakian fascists ranked by how comfortable I would be attending a summons to meet them in a dilapidated castle, based upon the first picture I could find of them
Andrej Hlinka
As I knock on the door to the old castle, Father Hlinka opens the gate to greet me with a pot of ginseng tea. “Please come in,” he urges, “and drink it while it’s still hot!” He brewed it himself and has replacements for my wet clothes. He makes an offhand comment about “The Jews,” but I dismiss it as simply old-fashioned.
Keep reading
















