Author Malcolm Gladwell has doubled down on the claim made in his new book that Bomber Harris was a psychopath , despite criticism from the war hero s grandson.
Gladwell criticised the World War Two chief of the Royal Air Force s Bomber Command, whose full name was Sir Arthur Harris, in his book The Bomber Mafia: A Story Set in War.
Sir Arthur received his popular nickname after orchestrating the RAF s hugely controversial strategic bombing of German cities, in which civilian areas were deliberately targeted.
Over the course of the war, between 300,000 and 600,000 civilians were killed by Allied bombing, which almost totally destroyed cities such as Dresden.
Bomber Harris wasn t a villainous psychopath. He won us the war
Those who served deserve to have their sacrifice honoured - not recontextualised by people seeking to sully Britain’s past
19 April 2021 • 7:00pm
Picture the scene in August 1941. Soviet forces are reeling. America is still refusing to enter the war. More than a year after Dunkirk, British land forces have not had an opportunity to regain a foothold on the Continent. A British Strategic Review published that month was clear about the best way forward: “Bombing on a vast scale is the weapon upon which we principally depend for the destruction of German economic life and morale.” At that stage, the alternative was a deal of some kind with Hitler.
Air marshal that bombed Dresden was a psychopath but we shouldn t tear down his statue, says Malcolm Gladwell
Campaigners called for removal of Sir Arthur Harris s statue, but the author said they are great opportunities to teach people history
Sir Arthur Harris statue, The Strand, London
Sir Arthur Bomber Harris was a “psychopath” but his statue should not be torn down, the author Malcolm Gladwell has said.
The air chief marshal who led the RAF Bomber Command during the Second World War was a controversial figure after leading the heavy bombing of Dresden in February 1945 which is thought to have claimed at least 25,000 civilian lives.
Several years ago, I punched a friend, Marc… I punched him, and said (something like), “don’t ever do that. Not when I’m around, and even when I am not.”
“No, no. Wait,” he said. “I am gay.” Marc had referred to someone as a “flaming faggot”. Sure, I was being a bit of a twat, but I was sincere. We were in London. It was the early 1990s, and I had over the years become (very) finely tuned to detect bigotry.
Fast forward a few months later. I am at Highbury (what was once the most sacred place in football don’t @me), we shouted abuse at Tottenham Hotspur fans. After the match, we went down the Nag’s Head for a pint. I overheard someone at a table refer to Spurs as those “@#$%&$% Yids”. I got back on my high horse, but a mate held me back: “No, that’s their nickname. Spurs call themselves ‘Yids’”. After that, I stopped hurling abuse (mainly football banter) at Spurs, because it just felt wrong to harangue a group of “Yids”.
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