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Defacing and fists

This is a bit old but very interesting.  My buddy Hitch went to Lebanon and got beat up by some fascist thugs.  Read his account here

Well, call me old-fashioned if you will, but I have always taken the view that swastika symbols exist for one purpose only—to be defaced. Telling my two companions to hold on for a second, I flourish my trusty felt-tip and begin to write some offensive words on the offending poster. I say “begin” because I have barely gotten to the letter k in a well-known transitive verb when I am grabbed by my shirt collar by a venomous little thug, his face glittering with hysterical malice. With his other hand, he is speed-dialing for backup on his cell phone. As always with episodes of violence, things seem to slow down and quicken up at the same time: the eruption of mayhem in broad daylight happening with the speed of lightning yet somehow held in freeze-frame. It becomes evident, as the backup arrives, that this gang wants to take me away.

Before he wrote on the incident I read about it online and sent my support to him for doing something maybe we all wish we had the bravery to do.  The next day I excitedly found this email in my inbox from Mr Hitchens: 

 Much appreciated. Thank you. I am feeling much better.

Little things make me happy.  
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