You're at a bar and you meet a fellow named Bill.

Bill's a nice guy, but someho

w the conversation strayed Hitler-game style to World War II. Bill thinks the w
ar was avoidable. Bill thinks the Holocaust would not have happened were it not
for the war, and that some of the Holocaust was a reaction to actual Jewish sub
terfuge and abuse. Bill thinks that the Holocaust was not an essential, early p
lan of the Nazis, because it only happened after the war began. Bill thinks tha
t the number of casualties has been overestimated. Bill claims that Allied abus
es, e.g. the bombing of Dresden, have been glossed over and ignored, while fanta
stic lies about Jews being systematically turned into soap have propagated. Bil
l thinks that the Holocaust has become a sort of national religion, abused by se
lf-interested Jews and defenders of Zionist foreign policy, and that the freedom
of those who doubt it is under serious attack. Bill starts listing other things
he's not allowed to say. Bill doesn't think that the end of slavery was all tha
t good for "the blacks," and that the negatives of busing and forced integration
have often outweighed the positives. Bill has personally been the victim of bl
ack-on-white crimes and racism. Bill is a hereditarian. Bill doesn't think tha
t dropping an n-bomb should ruin a public career.
Here's the problem: everything Bill has said is either true, a matter of seriou
s debate, or otherwise a matter of high likelihood and reasonableness. Yet you
feel nervous. Perhaps you're upset. That's the power of taboo, right? Society
is punishing truth-telling!