After a long harsh summer, old earth has swung ’round again, moving us to towards a gentler clime. The buttermilk skies of August have deepened to September’s unfathomable and endless blue; if I didn’t know better I would swear this was paradise.
As the Baron said, we can all remember what we were doing that day. In the end tragedy is translated to the personal: we hang our memories of large events onto the skeleton of personal associations in order to be able to bring them up again, almost as fresh as they were then. Thus the blue perfection of that September 11th sky suddenly became a horror as death dropped literally out of the blue onto New York, Pennsylvania, and Washington, D.C. It is this discordant juxtaposition of beauty and horror that underlines and emphasizes our recall of 9/11.
So much has changed since then. By coincidence, two months later — ironically on December 7th — the Baron and I were at Ground Zero, attempting to take in the depth and breadth of what had literally “befallen” us. The Baron had been called to New York City on business and I went along for the ride. We’d decided ahead of time to make room for a visit to GZ, to walk the periphery of that disaster as a way of paying respect to all those who’d been made to die in so many degraded ways.
What I remember most about our walk are the dead flowers and the desperately sad messages — long, endless and withered bouquets stretched into the distance against the rough boarded fences. On those fences, on telephone poles, on any flat surface plastic-covered long out-of-date entreaties to the universe were affixed… please, please, someone, anyone, who’d seen a son or daughter or friend to contact…
[My own daughter’s death lay in the future, in May 2003, or I doubt I could’ve made that walk or read those futile messages at all.]
We passed the small church whose gravestones and wrought iron fences still wore, like patches of snow, piled drifts of annihilation. We stopped to stare at that macabre scene; it was as if Death had piled annihilation onto individual deaths, as though it weren’t enough for these graves to mark individual passages; now they carried the far more horrific burden of a sworn dedication to Death itself. I filled a small silver compact with some of that sifted Death Powder. Eventually my miniature sepulcher would become the base on which sits a Buddha on my bookshelf.
As we passed further on our tour the poisonous black wreaths still drifting up from that crater took their toll. My lungs began to react, thus ending our pilgrimage early. Even though it was unseasonably warm — as gentle and incongruously beautiful as that Other Day — and perfect for walking, we took a cab back to the hotel. It lay far enough away to allow me to catch my breath again.
That was a memorable trip. Perhaps the strangest part — aside from the pilgrimage to Ground Zero — was our return home: the vastly quiet airline terminal was as empty as a church. The plane wasn’t crowded, either.
Islam doesn’t mourn death; it celebrates… you may not see this grisly tribute as a celebration, but indeed it is:
Back in mid-August I found this hideous work at a site I visit several times a week. I knew immediately I would save this one for today, just to remind ourselves of the real face of our enemy…
Juniper Sec, the website where I found that video, is a master of understatement; he simply lets events speak for themselves while he adds a brief annotation. Many of the videos and images he puts up I’ve not seen elsewhere. A lot of them are strange beyond words.
Go there often enough and you begin to apprehend how very alien Islam is compared to the rest of the world. Very alien. It is any wonder, as Dr. Warner pointed out, that we prefer to forget? Otherwise, how could we get on with any semblance of a daily life, should we turn to face the supremely hostile and menacing force which continues to hound the West, circling like hungry wolves bent on their final meal? Like wolves, they will turn on one another if they manage to finish devouring us.
And why should we be any more courageous in that regard than the generations who went before us, kneeling in silence, faces averted, in their time?
Meanwhile, we continue to throw our young men into harm’s way, as though this ritual sacrifice might save us. It won’t.
Two thousand KIA sacrifices so far, but notice the silence of the Left as their socialist-in-charge continues to lead from behind. That silence will change to a cacophony of “disaster” and “quagmire” as soon as the Republicans take over the reins. If Obama continues in office for a second term, however, expect that silence to continue unabated, expect the letters of condolence to the families of dead soldiers to continue to be signed by auto-pen.
It is well to remember as we continue to count the dead and mourn them that during Islam’s centuries of ceaseless carnage the death toll of Muslims has always been higher than that of infidels. Now the death wish they inspire in others is seen in more occluded ways — for instance, the numbers of children in the West decline as fewer people see any reason to have children. It is this silent cohort of those who were never born who are the real collateral damage in this war of attrition via terrorism.
Overt change began immediately after September 11th. George Bush’s initial remedies — to declare Islam a Religion of Peace and to tell Americans to go shopping in order to keep the economy afloat — seemed incongruous at the time; now they appear like hopeless lullabies sung to children while the city walls are being breached by the enemy — eerily like the scene of his continuing to read a storybook to children even after he was informed of that first plane hitting the Tower. That’s an inborn impulse: don’t scare the children; don’t scare the American people.
President Bush almost went the other way. But the permanent People in Charge quickly reacted when he stated the truth, when he called our mission a “Crusade” — gasp! — against — double gasp! — an “Axis of Evil”. Those verboten words have long since been struck from the public lexicon by the ever-vigilant Muslim Brotherhood and their co-conspirators on our multi-culti suicidal Left.
The Left Machine has worked overtime to scrape enough cat litter to cover over this mess made by Muslims. Despite the LM, the enemies invaded our consciousness — all nineteen of them, all martyrs to their cause. The crater they made is now the deep hole in the American psyche: “Islam is death, and we are its servants.”
The dhimmis on the other side of the Hole began their work almost immediately: the disgusting, already-dhimmified proclamation of the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, i.e., that 9/11 had made him ashamed to be an American, was a gut punch. My response to this scurrilous stupidity was to declare myself ashamed to be an Episcopalian.
But as Green Infidel has pointed out, the Counterjihad slowly formed and has continued to grow in spite of being ostracized by all correct-thinking people, especially the Cultural Gatekeepers who see it as their duty to decide which news is “fit to print”.
Our ostracism as Islam-critics and therefore racists is a small price to pay compared to what history demands from others. For them, the cost is much higher. Is there dissent among the ranks of Counterjihadists? Sure. There always will be — if those involved in this work learn to put aside their distaste for others, then the totality of our work would be far more than the sum of its parts. But human nature will continue to be what it is. We can bemoan the differences or we can continue to face them and build work-arounds.
We’re no disciplined army (even George Washington’s army was always short on discipline); we won’t ever march to any motto akin to that of the bloody Muslim Brotherhood. Try to translate this into anything even closely resembling a Western value:
Allah is our objective.
The Prophet is our leader.
Qur’an is our law.
Jihad is our way.
Dying in the way of Allah is our highest hope.
But that’s the creature the Left lionizes even as it continues to demonize those of us who point to those marching orders as a warning. Thus beset on several sides, it’s likely that dissensions will continue to cause rifts within the Counterjihad movement. That’s okay, as long as the work continues.
Don’t forget, during Islam’s encroachment on the West at the Second Siege of Vienna the defenders were no blessedly cohesive cohort of estimable colleagues. To understand the forces at play in 1683, it is imperative to understand that history and to apply its lessons. We are only beginning to understand the extent to which those who lie to us about Islam’s ceaseless wars against the West have bent us to the wheel of the Great Lie.
The definitive exposition of that Lie is Emmet Scott’s magnum opus, Mohammed and Charlemagne Revisited.
As Bill Keezer has pointed out there isn’t much we can do. But, as he further says, one of the most useful tasks we can perform in our allotted time is to make sure that Scott’s book reaches as many people as possible. The book changes our paradigm of history, and that’s why the Gatekeepers will bury it in silence for as long as they can.
Just as science has paradigmatic changes — from Newtonian physics to quantum theory, for example — so too are there changes in the paradigms of ideologies, history, art, and literature. Bill does his part, writing to all those he can reach to urge them to look at what Emmet Scott and Dr. Warner have to say about the real history of the West.
The first task is to drop the erroneous idea that the “Barbarian” hordes destroyed Rome when in fact, they arrived in order to become like the Romans. They assimilated, vying to become more Roman than the Romans. The Mediterranean basin prospered and Egypt — now-barren Egypt! — was its granary and its means of spreading literacy through robust trade and prosperity. Sounds much like the invading “hordes” that were processed through Ellis Island, doesn’t it? They wanted to assimilate, to become Americans and to raise their children as Americans.
Not until the genuine barbarians, Islam’s raiders and slayers, arrived in the Mediterranean basin, did cultivation of the land and the spread of literacy (driven by the needs of commerce) grind to a dead halt. The black shadow of Islam rapidly destroyed all that. Instead, the West withdrew into a shell of safety inside the fortified and very limited intellectual and commercial and artless Dark Ages. As Scott notes, it wasn’t until Islam encountered the less-peaceful people in northern Spain that they were effectively repulsed.
Meanwhile, in those conquered lands in North Africa and the Middle East, even ancient inventions like the wheel began to disappear. What point in any infidel crafting a cart if a neighboring Muslim could simply take it from him? That’s the real reason the misery around Jerusalem’s environs and much of the Middle East made the real estate appear worthless. Until the Jewish exiles arrived, that is, looking for a homeland and refusing to live any longer like dhimmis. Call it Hitler’s Gift: having nothing left to lose, they fought back, reclaiming their heritage even as they reclaimed the wasted land. Advanced technologies like irrigation systems and wheeled carts began to reappear. Not to mention the internal combustion engine, though that was a first appearance rather than a renaissance.
Don’t expect the Gatekeepers of this generation to do any more than they did with the work of Scott’s predecessor, Henri Pirenne. They will bury this one again in either silence or contempt. The only hope we have of resurrecting the truth is a robust change in our national culture. This will not be the “old” golden age — one which excluded too many people to be of much use now. But the new one must thoroughly defeat the insidious socialism which crawls even now through the veins of our body politic. Until that disease is treated and eradicated, we can expect the truth to continue to be shoveled over with the manure of socialism’s lies and failures. Until that happens, consider the fall of the Wall in Berlin to be a prime example of our current pyrrhic victories.
The “end of history”, was it? What a cruel joke.
At this point, a writer may invoke Hitler or Churchill. I already mentioned the former’s unintended gift, so let’s go with latter for the job ahead of us: we haven’t even begun to fight.
Thanks to Vlad Tepes for capturing that video for me and uploading it to his channel until I could use it. He often does that, and then I become too incapacitated to go back for what I requested, so it simply stays up on his channel. I am grateful for his understanding. No doubt, by now he’s already forgotten it’s there.