It was the kind of hate people wallowed in after being beaten down again and again by someone they could only see as a foreign invader. It was the kind of hate that had seen fathers, brothers and sons suffer and die while rising up in a Quixotic effort to turn the clock back to a time over half a century past. It was the kind of hate that could never sink below a bubbling simmer and would too often boil over into new blood that fueled the eternal fire of their contempt.