Cowards

Cowards.

We have lost the willingness to call evil by its rightful name, and the courage to stand in the face of it and say: “No. Not here. Not on my street. Not in my city.” There is no limit to the hells men devise when no one opposes them. “What’s the point?” a Rotherham victim asked investigators. “I might as well be dead.”

The men and women who failed her might ask themselves the same question. We might all ask it. What is the point, really, in preserving our comforts—our lives, even—if to do so we must become so small, so dark-hearted, that we turn our backs on the most vulnerable among us?

I suppose none of us knows whether he will be a coward until the moment demands courage. “Be prepared in season and out of season,” the apostle Paul wrote to Timothy. As far as we are concerned, perhaps this entails recognizing that the season is upon us—an evil season, a season when children worldwide are treated like so much trash, when questions once governed by common sense are now fodder for intellectual word-play, when an army gathering under a black flag is both a reality and a metaphor, for war rages in the hearts of men, and it is coming, is here already, in our neighborhoods and our homes and our own hearts, we good and decent people who are perhaps only better than these cowards because the hour has not yet come when evil stands on our doorstep and demands entrance.

Words fail me.

But a reckoning is coming.

  

1400

1400- as in 1400 molested children.

1400- the cultural timescape of the savages who did so. (Though I may be being generous.)

I like this quote from Sir Charles James Napier the British Army’s Commander-in-Chief in India in 1843, in reference to the Hindu custom of burning the widows of deceased believers-

“Be it so. This burning of widows is your custom; prepare the funeral pile. But my nation has also a custom. When men burn women alive we hang them, and confiscate all their property. My carpenters shall therefore erect gibbets on which to hang all concerned when the widow is consumed. Let us all act according to national customs.”

Call me a throwback, but my custom upon discovery of the raping of children involves a rope and a tree- at minimum. The jelly-spined Brits are so intimidated by their ‘Asian’ (I’ll say it for them- ISLAMIC) immigrants that they were arresting folk for trying to report the horror.

I wonder if we would act any differently here, in our lovely new PC world.

There is a reckoning coming.

  

Now that Ferguson has died down to a dull roar

…this is probably worth noting-

How will the world seem to you, a new cop just out of the Academy?

First, you will quickly find that the public doesn’t like you. People do not like being told what to do. They particularly do not like being punished—e.g., given a ticker—for misbehavior. Successful people of middle age do not take well to orders from a kid of twenty. They have no choice.

Next, you discover that being a cop affects your social life. People are nervous around you even when you are not in uniform. When and where does your authority stop? They aren’t sure. You probably are not either. What if someone at a party lights up a joint? Your neighbor parks in front of a fire plug? Your off-duty life comes to consist mostly of other cops. It is more comfortable that way.

Just as the public doesn’t like you, you will not much like the public. Cops do not see humanity at its best. The young woman hiking her skirt up at traffic stops.

Couples screaming obscenities at each other on domestic-violence calls. “Why don’t you catch real criminals?” The lies. The excuses. The lame attempts at manipulation. The threats (“I know the mayor.”)

As a real cop on real streets, you learn never to smile, to maintain an implied aggressiveness. When riding with a reporter, you will joke and tell stories. With the public, you will learn to be wooden-faced and authoritarian. You can’t lose your dominance or you are useless.

A few months on the streets will take the bloom off your dewy rose of morn. You will see the baby’s brains on the windshield. You will see the paramedics at the crash scene working hard on the guy who went through the windshield, pumping his chest, trying to intubate him with red gunch pouring from his mouth and no hope at all. You will find a guy lying on the sidewalk with his brains swelling like pink lips from the groove made by a nine-millimeter round, still breathing but with nowhere to go.

After a few scenes like this, you will learn to turn off. It will cease to bother you because if it didn’t, you would go crazy. And then you will wonder whether there is something wrong with you.

You will learn things that you don’t want to learn.

Full, very thoughtful article here. It doesn’t justify everything, but may cause a few to draw back and take a breath- I hope.

That said, I think we may be only months away from open warfare on our own streets.

  

“Why I’m no longer a Libertarian”

eagle in flight

Sometimes someone puts your own thoughts so clearly that it would be plagiarism to try to rephrase them. With that in mind, I stand aside for John C. Wright:

I often introduce myself as a recovering libertarian. It is not an entirely serious introduction, but it is not entirely frivolous either.

Why “recovering”? Sad experience teaches that any ideology, even a sound one, like libertarianism, is intoxicating. The appeal of ideology is the appeal of elegance. Just as Newton reduced all motions from the orbits to apples falling to three expressions, every intellectual craves a simple formula to explain the human condition. Libertarianism is based on a single principle that limits the state’s use of force to retaliation against fraud and trespass.

Nearly all the natural moral rules all men carry in their hearts are satisfied by the simple rule that you may do as you like provided you leave your neighbor free to do as he likes. No neighbor may rob, defraud nor attack another.

For me, the intoxicating spell ended in three sharp realizations, each one as forceful as a thunderbolt.

Read the whole thing, as they say. The above is just a teaser.

I’m comfortable with where I stand, for it has come to me through brutal confrontation with the truth- truth about myself and those around me. I’m comfortable with the Bible, with G. K. Chesterton, with C. S. Lewis, with Rudyard Kipling- giants whose intellect would squash the tiny whingers of today. I accept my weakness and failure, because only that acceptance leads to truth.

Truth is in short supply today. Have any?