Might “Corona” Be Latin for “Slapped Upside the Head”?

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Thanks to two acute conditions (neither of which is CV-19) concurrently afflicting me at the moment, my keyboard time must be limited… so what I have in mind for today is a kind of annotated list.  It’s a bundle of Post-Corona awakenings that may or may not shock us from our collective stupor in time to save Western culture. Personally, I hope they slap us hard upside the head.

Our mass media are a vast propaganda machine.  We should have known this long ago: many of us did… but not enough of us.  Now, however, the volume has been turned up.  Chris Cuomo’s faux confinement to sick bay, Brian Stelter’s narcissistic tear-letting, Anand Giridharadas’ denouncing the “freedom-obsessed” hypocrisy of our having built the nation on slavery and genocide… this is what we hear on CNN and MSMBC.  Our local channels open their nightly blather with death tolls unindexed to numbers of infected, to preexisting conditions, to post mortem testing actually verifying cause of death.  Their roving reporters compete to see who can wear the jauntiest mask in the most deserted locales as they chirp into a microphone half of whose layered microbes will easily penetrate the mask’s weave.  Social media: Facebook accepts the W.H.O. as supreme arbiter of medical fact, glibly vaporizing any post that strays from the party line (the Chinese Communist Party line)… both FB and Twitter join in trying to airbrush Judy Mikovits from human history; and Wikipedia, in handling Mikovits’s career, explodes the rules of style to lard single sentences with the word “discredited” (like the “het hey, ho ho” refrain of a wind-up-and-go protest).

You can only serve up buffalo chips so many times to the customers before they begin to complain that they’re not getting pancakes.  At least, this is a hope that I cherish.

The university system has burned down its own propaganda mill in a rabid zeal to be politically correct.  I heard Dr. Mark Siegel declare to Tucker Carlson the other night that this hasn’t happened and will not happen—that universities are too conscious of their role in conditioning statist automatons to keep their gates shut.  I disagree.  I think the Ivory Elite may be hoist on its own petard here.  After all, adherence of the masses to the will of Experts—surrender to the point of seeking permission to cross one’s threshold, of avoiding friends and family, of renouncing one’s livelihood, of depending exclusively on Big Brother for a monthly check—is game, set, and match for the progressive phalanx.  This is everything the leftist professoriate has ever dreamed of.  That the dream’s fulfillment also just happens to leave professors massively unemployed is… well, one of the innumerable contradictions besetting the utopian vision from every angle.  The totalitarian utopia is mass suicide.  We know that, we who have ears to hear.

On a purely practical level, Dr. Siegel, where will universities get the funding to remain open with the student body so depleted?  Even if certain “scab” campuses cross the “virtue” line and resume business in August, many students and their parents will have used spring and summer to rethink their insane investment in such an undependable and very dispensable program of conditioning.  People move on.  Whatever endures in the Halls of Ivy, at any rate, will probably not feature the words “studies in” beside its catalogue description.  The more objective disciplines will likely make a comeback: the squishy-mushy cults of victimhood will dry up and blow away.

So, too (may one hope?), will the top-heavy administrative bureaucracies that police pronouns and hound boys from campus after pushing “free sex” upon them.

The home-school movement will achieve escape velocity.  I’m not an inveterate enemy of public education; but, in a matter obviously related to the one I’ve just mentioned, K-12 education has degenerated into Western-hostile, race-baiting, grievance-coddling claptrap.  Bill Gates, who has become highly recognizable as one of the more twisted, wicked human beings on earth during these months (I won’t bother to devote a separate item to him), apparently sees a chance to cash in here, as he does in just about every incidence of calamity.  His offer to educate New York State’s youth remotely by selling his software to every household appeals to fellow totalitarian travelers Cuomo and De Blasio… and that, of course, is no hope at all for the friends of freedom.  On the other hand, when we consider that Germany is already introducing toddlers to sex games in the public curriculum (straight from the pages of Brave New World), we have to understand that the progressive objective for tomorrow’s little red schoolhouse in this nation is, likewise, nothing less than the dissolution of the nuclear family.  Pulverizing public schools as they currently exist wouldn’t be a bad thing.  What we rebuild from the fragments of rubble is another question… but I’m not convinced that megalomaniac psychos like Gates will have an easy time gluing kids to screens and weaning them from their natural craving for social contact.  Teaching children isn’t equivalent to coaxing “Polly wants a cracker” from a large bird.  Progressives wish it were so, and their vision requires that it be so—but here’s another point where fiction collides hard with reality.

The importance of the Second Amendment has suddenly become very apparent, even to slow learners.  I confess that I myself used to be a little skeptical of the proposition that our neighbors who wear the blue would turn their guns on us if ordered by some tinpot dictator.  Cops are human beings; and more than that, they’re good citizens who serve the community.  They risk their lives to help innocent people survive and prosper.  They also swear the same oath to the Constitution as do state and federal legislators, and most of them understand the words to which they’re pledging allegiance.  How likely is it that such people, upon some maniac’s vaulting into the saddle of power after a mayoral or gubernatorial election, would suddenly turn about and draw their weapons on one of us for using the wrong gender pronoun or for flying an American flag on Cinco de Mayo?

How likely?  Somewhere between “not unlikely” and “very likely”, it now appears.  For every story about an Officer Greg Anderson (the Seattle patrolman suspended for posting a video confirming his fidelity to the Constitution), there seem to be four or five about cops cuffing mothers for taking their kids to the park or not wearing their masks properly.  A SWAT team was unleashed upon a bar in West Texas last week where “social distancing” was not being practiced adequately.  Is it so difficult to imagine a Governor Northam or a Governor Whitmer in the future sending in an armed shock-team of “child care services” Gestapo to steal children and cuff parents because Daddy refused to let Emily attend Trans Storytelling Day at the library?

This is precisely why we have a Second Amendment: i.e., so that the mindless henchmen and ambitious lackeys who surround tyrants will hesitate to invade a quiet neighborhood.  If Daddy has a gun, and Daddy’s neighbors have guns, and their neighbors have guns—and if there’s a good chance that the whole block will pour into the streets locked and loaded if squad cars come to spirit Emily away—then our basic freedoms have a chance of surviving in the all-but-lawless future that awaits us.  Otherwise, we might as well start packing for the gulag (and, as Solzhenitsyn has told us, there’s really not much need to pack).

Leftist mayors and governors have so eagerly slapped all their megalomaniac cards on the table that they may well be turned out massively in November.  Even if Donald Trump fritters away the presidency and its coattail opportunities in House and Senate by refusing to admit that the Gates/Fauci Big Pharma/Wall Street complex duped him, how does totalitarianism survive at the state level?  Northam, Whitmer, Cuomo—Newsom, Beshear, Mills, Hogan, Murphy, Wolf, Evers, Scott… what electorate would choose to have more lockdown, surveillance, moralistic harangue, frisking, home invasion, and arrest without warrant under these petty fools, lunatic harpies, and jackbooted utopians?  Maybe some of them endure after those who would have resisted have fled to other states.  Otherwise… well, I mustn’t risk my credentials as a pessimist by projecting that the masses may have struck a rock-bottom of self-debasement and are now poised to rebound.  But one can hope, I suppose.

Finally—at long last—the rank and file may be primed to understand the extreme peril in which our unsecured power grid sets us.  President Trump deserves much credit for his executive order in spring of last year and a second this year, both targeting the Sword of Damocles that has swayed over our heads for decades.  Trump has fought this good fight virtually alone, among elected officials.  Bush did nothing, Obama did nothing, Democrat super-majorities did nothing in past years, the recent Republican super-majority did nothing—only Trump has stood up to stingy, stupid power companies, on the one side (the conventionally Republican, big-business side), and to Russia-and-China-placating, New World Order ideologues, on the other (the conventionally Democrat—but ever more “Swampublican”—side).  The President desperately needs to trumpet his virtuous defense of the nation instead of satirizing his opponents in the media and defending his role in locking down a once-healthy economy.  He needs to swallow his ego and think of the millions—the 300 million, approximately—who would lose their lives within a year if we went dark all across the continent.  He needs to emphasize what his obtuse predecessor failed to remark: that no hostile attack is required to fry the grid—that an especially powerful solar flare (overdue by some estimates) would suffice.  He needs to tap into the hysteria created by a hyped-up round of particularly nasty flu and redirect this paranoia to a sensible apprehension.

People are afraid for no reason at the moment.  Presumably, as the Black Plague dissolves into fifty shades of gray, they’ll go back to worrying about fish on their front lawns by the year 2030.  Now is the time to give them something rational and substantial to worry about.  It’s also a great time to brand naysayers (since Trump so likes the game of branding) as Chinese Communist Party collaborators, or just plain useful idiots.  It’s time for a touch of Joe McCarthy; because McCarthy—oh, by the way—was dead right about our system’s being infused with those who would destroy it.  Today he would be more right than ever.

If Donald Trump, instead, continues to kidney-punch Brian Kemp and to mince words about Anthony Fauci’s disastrous leadership, then we quite probably get no securing of the grid in 2021, or 2022… and, maybe the following year, politics simply ceases to matter to the nine in ten of us who will painfully have checked out of this world.

Mayberry’s Meltdown: Whiny Males and Shrill Harridans

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The year 2020 doesn’t seem particularly apocalyptic on its surface, but I doubt that many of us who survive it will remember it as one of our best.  I was already having first-in-my-lifetime health problems when “the lockdown” slammed certain medical doors in my face… so that hasn’t gone well; and none of us who has children can be very happy about trillions of bucks more being added to the debt which they will all inherit from us.  Yet somehow we must blunder on.

One of my preferred escapes is baseball—which isn’t being played this year, thanks to the Wuhan Black Death; but then, I’m less a spectator than an excavator.  I research long-lost ways of hitting and throwing a ball, and I try to distill something that may help boys of smaller stature find a means of winning a place on the team.  I’m convinced that boys, especially, need a sense of physical achievement to develop a healthy outlook.  Call it “toxic masculinity”, if you wish; but far more toxic, to my mind, is self-defeating surrender to unopposed obstacles.  Which of us wants our son to grow into a living exemplar of that feminist construct: the unmotivated, irresponsible, adolescent, forever excuse-tendering couch-vegetable?

I’m in the process of trying to upload a second edition of a hitting manual based upon “Deadball days “ (c. 1900-1920), although the designers of Amazon’s software apparently do not conceive of anyone’s ever producing a second edition and are scarcely easing my task’s fulfillment.  I won’t even name the book here: publicity is not my aim.  I will, however, reproduce the final paragraph, unique to this latest edition:

The best of luck to you! Play hard, play smart… and play fair. No one who cheats will ever pile up enough lucre to buy self-respect, nor will he ever be able to counterfeit it from all the cheers he’s suckered from his adoring fan club. Playing this game, ultimately, is about winning respect for yourself as someone who did all he could with what he was given. Believe me, not many people ever get that trophy!

I’ll return to the sentiments contained in those few words.  Bear with me now as I shift to a different scene.  Most of us have wiled away a few minutes in lockdown by sitting through some fare on the idiot box that we ordinarily wouldn’t tolerate.  My wife and I tentatively explored Roku (never a very inviting experience before, since HughesNet can’t vanquish the tendency of shows to “buffer” for minutes at a time)… and we eventually settled on a British comedy (as it was teased) titled Doc Martin.  The serial seems to have run a full decade across the pond.  How bad could it be?

The narrative pretext is that a brilliant London surgeon, having discovered that he can no longer stare into people’s bleeding viscera without panic attacks, retreats to a vacation spot called Portwen off the Cornish coast.  Absurdly overqualified to treat runny noses and soothe upset tummies, he nonetheless longs to settle his nerves in peace and poverty.  Surprises await him, though… and this story, you know, has been told a thousand times, so my wife and I presumed that we knew what was in store for us as viewers.  The old Andy Griffith Show that our parents watched must have devoted dozens of episodes to “flatland touristers” who go half-crazy when they discover the hidden complexities of small-town life in Mayberry.  Portwen would surely be something in the same genre, with Doc Martin (who hates both ends of his popular rechristening) forced to abandon his big-city assumptions and navigate the quirks of colorful local characters.

Well… yes and no.  We laughed through three and a half episodes—kind of—until we agreed that our laughs were uncomfortable and wrongly timed.  The trouble, as we saw it, was that Doc Martin wasn’t the bookish, introverted, urbanized boy-wonder having to make adjustments to the human race, such as was clearly intended of his character.  No: the problem was that, for all his abrupt and stodgy ways, the doc was actually more sensible, civil, and mature than the nasty little islanders into whose midst he had plunged himself.  Locals ran him off the narrow, winding roads with a shrug, as if he didn’t know how to drive, and never reduced speed, moved over, or peered back to see what wreckage they had caused.  Lazy, incompetent workmen destroyed his property yet received his frowns with indignation.  Gossips and malingerers flooded his waiting room to gorge on tea and “biscuits” (cookies, we call them), then bristled when he shooed them out.  A need-burdened, impertinent teenaged receptionist (she certainly acted teenaged, anyway) virtually hired herself and wouldn’t do any part of her job efficiently; yet when her runaway sloppiness almost cost a life and stirred the Doc to dismiss her (for a day or two), the incensed townspeople immediately boycotted their one medical professional as if he’d been caught setting cats on fire.

These pastoral Arcadians, in a few words, were arrogant, self-important, indolent, “entitled” (in their minds), undependable, unaccomplished, unconscientious, intrusive, cliquish, clannish, and often downright boorish.  None of the Old School mannerliness that one expects to find out in the boondocks was detectable in them; no Old School reluctance to embrace city life in the moral fast lane restrained them.  In fact, the snapping point for me (when buffering just wouldn’t come often enough) was midway through Episode Four, when it became apparent that everybody on the island would potentially copulate with anybody else and that the good doctor, thanks to all his hang-ups, was some kind of “nun” (pronounced to rhyme with “noon”).  His wizened—but less than wise—auntie, intended to be a kind of Sibyl on his Other World Journey, iced a sleazy country cake by offering a few details of her extra-marital affair and sneering at her nephew’s prissy Puritanism.  I was reminded of many a grad-school confrontation in Austin during my own youthful transit through the corridors of Hell.

And that’s the point, really, I guess: Austin or Berkeley of the Eighties is now picturesque rural Europe of the twenty-first century.  The God-is-dead, guaranteed-minimum-income dystopia of simmering socialism has now softened the spines and brains of every yokel in the pot.  Everyone has rights, rights upon rights.  Everyone is constantly offended if he or she isn’t accorded special favors while doing nothing that might appear energetic or exceptional.  “Everyone belongs to everyone,” in the phrase piped through the cradles of Huxley’s Brave New World.  With what dismay would that extraordinarily clairvoyant prophet have viewed an “entertainment” in which his countrymen can’t perceive the grim irony of “everyone being everyone’s”, but instead milk idiot laughter from the isolation of a single resisting individualist!

I need hardly observe to anyone who labors through my paragraphs that this reformed ethos now belongs to our shores, as well.  What was His Excellency Judge Eric Moye telling Shelley Luther in a Dallas courtroom other than that “everyone belongs to everyone” and that her individual concern for feeding her children was obscene?

The irony here—one fully worthy of Huxley’s pen—is that Ms. Luther showed us a rare display of “manly fortitude” as a tinpot dictator nanny-wagged his finger at her and sent her into time-out.  It’s no accident, I think, that the fictional Portwen abounds in outspoken, aggressive, sarcastic female characters and invertebrate, whiny, directionless males.  The Brave New World we have fashioned for ourselves is an effeminate one—a place where competency is insensitive, where honesty is rude, where independence is anti-social, and where objective logic is “mansplaining”.  Doc Martin embodies all of these despicable male attributes… and, of course, he must be brought to his knees to beg forgiveness of the communal idol, the mute stone Moloch of conformity.  Just like Shelley Luther, who apparently possesses more courage than the typical American man within the age of discretion, he must confess publicly that he has been “selfish”.

Meanwhile, the rest of us shoot and post selfies of our now de-individualized faces wearing their communally supportive masks (the best of which are seldom more than half effective against microbes, by the way—and then only if they are discarded and replaced after each outing).  We are somehow saving lives… my life, your life, our own lives and other lives… if we do so, while we are no better than perpetrators of manslaughter if we refuse.  And we know this because… because it is repeated endlessly around us, in Huxleyan fashion.  We know that when medical opinion argues otherwise, it isn’t real science, because it’s rude: it doesn’t put the collective front and center.  All science must begin in the promotion of the collective, because… because people like Judge Moye (and Xi Jinping, and Mao Tse-tung, and Joseph Stalin) tell us so.

God help our boys!  Was there ever a time when a fella needed more courage of conviction, more dedication to objectives outside himself but not defined by the herd?  In a small but not insignificant way, a boy might learn such courage by turning his natural liabilities into assets—his short stature into productivity, for instance.  That’s why, in my leisure, I love to imagine some passed-over kid at batting practice elbowing the big guys aside and saying, “Watch me shoot line drives through infield!  You’ll strike out twice a game and homer once, maybe.  I’ll be on base for you all afternoon!”

Was there ever a moment when the block cast aside by the builder was more essential as a cornerstone?  God created every little thing and every person to reach up to Him in some special way—to flower in that manner darkly caricatured by Darwinian evolution, but much more accurately portrayed as resistance against the Domination of the Bully.  There is no greater bully than the herd, nor any more loathsome crystallization of herd will than those individual bullies who appoint themselves herd-interpreters.  Our mission in this world is to prevail over the great Downward Pull, a vector that perversely becomes “progress” in the grubby, squalid scramble to survive.  The florition of the unique, the surpassment of mere physical parameters through a burst of inspired intelligence—of spirit: this is why we are alive.

And this is what the dark force among us has always sought to throttle.  This is why he or she who will not bend a knee to the collectivist’s design has always become a scapegoat.  It’s why Mayberry and Portwen become Deadworld without new generations of boys who play hard, and play fair.  May God have mercy on the throngs of us who allow ourselves to be led like sheep!  We may be assured of this: He will have no mercy at all on those who lead the children to destruction.

“Expertise”: Ideology’s Contemporary Battering Ram

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As I recall now with an effort, my very first attempt at submitting a scholarly article involved an interpretation of a few words in Book 2 of Virgil’s Aeneid (line 749).  The hero is narrating his frantic return to the flaming ruins of Troy in search of his wife Creusa.  He uses the phrase, cingor fulgentibus armis, to describe… what, exactly?  A scholarly tradition has evolved which holds that the poet simply whiffed on this one.  Aeneas, so runs the wisdom, has already “girded myself with bright arms” several verses earlier.  My objections to the collective wisdom were multiple.  I argued that a) it’s too late in the narration for Aeneas to arm himself—he has left the rendezvous of refugees well behind, as the verse’s first half declares in the present-tense words, “I return to the city”; b) the style of the full verse (ipse urbem repeto et cingor fulgentibus armis) would be perfectly Virgilian if the latter half were reiterating the former (i.e., “I myself return to the city and am hemmed about by glistening arms”); c) Aeneas is indeed being figuratively “girded” by arms as he creeps among the pillaging Greeks—the scoffers are missing the drama; and d) the verb cingere is used both of girding oneself, as when buckling a belt, and of encircling a city with defensive walls.  There’s a bit of a connotative strain created, perhaps, by having a human figure girded with the contents of a city.  But we’re talking about poetry, right?  About a poetic genius, in fact… right?

Wrong.  We’re talking about “scholarly consensus”.  It’s more acceptable to condemn Rome’s Shakespeare of not describing his scenes with pettifogging precision or of not purging his scribbles of daringly figurative language than it is to call into question the collaborative nods of a hundred academic jackdaws on a clothes-line.  If the poet (as I was informed by the rejection letter) had employed the verb cingere in this novel fashion, it would be the only instance of its being used with such intent in the entire epic (what classicists call a hapax legomenon—a “once read”).  Actually, that’s not true.  “Gird or surround” remains the verb’s meaning, here as elsewhere.  The collective result is called a figure—as in poetry!

But since something done once is a suspicious oddity to the pettifogger (even if a glorious discovery to the poet), any unique instance is likely a mistake.  Therefore… therefore, nothing unique is ever plausibly said or written, and consigning the “apparently unique” to the much larger body of things already said and written is the “sensible” course.  Naturally, that bit of high-handedness makes the body things already said and written grow yet larger, and… and tendency becomes inflexible rule.  Creativity becomes impossible.

That was my professional introduction to “expert opinion”.

Now, it also happened that I came of age in a time when all conventional wisdom was being trashed as irrelevant or hopelessly corrupted by special interest; and there’s no question in my mind that literary studies proceeded to collapse during the Seventies and Eighties under the toxic influence of various slovenly, self-serving “reader response” approaches.  My own loyalties, then, were torn between my almost religious regard for artistic inspiration (a truly religious regard: read my Literary Decline and the Death of the Soul) and a profound disgust with the politicization of art to serve trendy crusades.  I say “between”, yet what I’ve just written doesn’t support those polarities.  The Old Guard was not my ally at the spiritual end of the tug-of-war.  The ”scholarly consensus” had rigidified our literary heritage to “gird in shining armor” its patented theories and its long, long baggage train of publications; the New Guard had dumped that heritage (along with the baggage parasitically attached to it) in the nearest bin and was now celebrating Simone de Beauvoir and Rigoberta Menchu as the superiors of Sappho and Marie de France—just to keep it female.  Different politics… same politicized motivation.  Careers, egos, authority: the Tower of Babel.

And so it is, alas, in the sciences—or so it has become.  I and the very few of my colleagues who somehow smuggled an appreciation for the spiritual into closely guarded ivory corridors would occasionally look with longing across the quadrant at Chemistry or Engineering and dream about what it must be like to work in an objective discipline.  Pipe-dreams… mere pipe-dreams.  For as scientific research became funded more and more by grant money, the assumptions of that research acquired more and more of a parti pris.  Why would a pharmaceutical company underwrite a study of a new cure for insomnia if a dozen harmful side-effects were to be unearthed and published?  Oh, but surely government grants wouldn’t import such sordid pressures into the lab… surely not!  No one in government has an agenda that requires a particular worldview to be validated!

I’m trying to tread warily and tastefully into a subject that bears an incalculable amount of significance for our future as a society: the reliability of “expert opinion” in the medical field.  In all of the sciences, as life grows ever more riddled with high-tech, strict integrity becomes more important; for we laymen must be able to rely on recognized experts as critical facts drift farther and farther from the reach of our intellectual competency.  How do we know, drawing purely from our own resources, whether a huge solar flare will toast the continental power grid or not?  How do we know whether GMO’s are safe, or whether a light coating of Roundup threatens the health of Third World nations more than an unimpeded swarm of locusts?  How do we know whether Extremely Low-Frequency Waves are still being directed into the stratosphere, whether their activity might cause the Earth’s magnetosphere to reverse its polarities, or whether the effects of such reversal might settle down harmlessly in an instant or end all terrestrial life over a period of months?

In the particular case of medicine, the stakes rise (or appear to).  Somehow, solar flares and locust swarms and the magnetosphere seem awfully distant to us.  They’re not distant at all, and maybe, indeed, they’re seeming less so every day.  The susceptibility of many average Americans to outright panic about the weather should prove that the paranoia stirred in us by our own cluelessness sits very near the surface, ready to erupt (like the supervolcano under Yellowstone that may or may not kill us all) at the slightest provocation.  Still, when you can’t even breathe the air with confidence… when you dare not even leave the house without a mask, and when you’re reluctant even to leave the house… then a face perching on a white coat and stethoscope becomes the Voice of God.  That’s understandable.

But it’s also understandable—only too much so—that those who want minute control over our behavior would enlist (or dragoon) the support of the medical community in their authoritarian project.  And, as with all other academic disciplines, the more government has become involved in medicine, the better it’s been able to enlist (or dragoon) support.  Grant money, yes; also board reviews and licensures, federal mandates, control over the means of payment, awards of access to resources funded by the “inexhaustible” flow of tax revenue… policy-makers can finesse intimate decisions reached between doctor and patient in dozens of ways.  You may remember the controversy Obamacare kindled about a medical exam’s resulting, perhaps, in the confiscation of the patient’s personal firearms.

Such concerns have diminished only to the degree that we’ve now surrendered the principles underlying them.  Peter Helmes published a piece at his Die Deutschen Konservativen site a few weeks ago about an interview between Gert Scobel and psychologist Thomas Metzinger.  Primarily, the exchange concerned the future use of hallucinogens like LSD to treat depression.  The “medical man” expressed eagerness and optimism about the potential of mind-altering drugs to promote a “universal consciousness” highly amenable to the Green Movement’s radical political objectives.  The scenario is more Orwellian than Orwell: a populace fed delusion-inducing substances to sway it toward the vision of a world that doesn’t exist and can’t exist.

Okay, yes: that’s Europe, this is America.  But our supreme medical expert, Dr. Anthony Fauci, publicly foresees the day—without the least indication of personal alarm—when citizens will be required to have a battery of injections and to produce on demand documented proof of compliance.  On the bankrolling side of this “expertise”, Bill Gates proposes further that the “document” might take the form of a microchip injected (with or without the citizen’s knowledge) during the mandatory inoculation.  That an astroturf initiative to “debunk” Gates’s connection to such authoritarian fantasies is raging on Twitter and Facebook should not soothe inquiring minds.  (Diana West informed Frank Gaffney on Secure Freedom Radio [4/15/20] that explicitly incriminating comments had been scrubbed from a Gates TED Talk.)

I don’t like Anthony Fauci.  I don’t like Bill Gates, either.  I don’t like either one of them at all, at all.  I wouldn’t break bread with them; and, were hand-shaking still permitted by the Faucian hygienic protocol, I wouldn’t shake his hand or his one-time patron’s.  Not either hand of either one of them.  I intensely dislike them, as American citizens and as human beings.

Their level of expertise has nothing to do with my dislike.  It is the traitorous American and the corrupt human in them that I loathe.  Anyone who would seriously consider, even for a moment, tagging you and me the way Marlon Perkins used to tag zebra from a Jeep has renounced his membership in the family of decent, responsible adults.  No one gets to tag me.  No one gets to stamp your profile on (or in) your forehead.  People who have notions like this are monsters.  I don’t care how well they understand viruses—and Mr. Gates, for that matter, understands them no better than I do.  I personally am not a virus in a vial, or a white rat in a cage.  I’m a man.  I am your equal under God, Dr. Fauci; and if you were my age (I’d even give you ten years), I think I might bust you in the chops—after which I would carefully sterilize my knuckles.

Let us please clarify the nature of expertise.  The expert on Virgil is restrained by a humble veneration for poetic genius and artistic mystery: he isn’t a mandarin on a throne who gets to gird up a classic text tightly within verbal statistical analysis and historical minutiae.  The expert on human health respects the spiritual mystery of the human being: he isn’t a master technician for whom the behavior of viruses in a sack of guts is no different from their behavior in a Petri Dish.  To hear such a supposed expert descanting about how future societies should be organized is equivalent to hearing the New Age scholar interpret the Aeneid as a mere work of militaristic propaganda.  That is, a “literary scholar” who can do no better than say, “The people’s Will was held in check by these creaky old epics that exhorted them to die for the patriarchy”… that person is no better than a “medical expert” who says, “We could avoid pandemics in the future if people would just move in designated zones, eat designated foods, and touch each other in designated ways at designated times.”  Damn.

Yes, the scholar who knows the history of the Augustan age inside-out is certainly superior in some manner to the quasi-literate Ph.D. who rates every art work ever created by how well women and minorities make out in it.  The researcher who has actually logged decades of experience before a microscope is also superior to a Bill Gates who fantasizes about vaccinating all humanity with whatever he deems good for the race.  But a genuine expert is neither of these.  A genuine expert would say, “This is odd with respect to available linguistic data… but it’s also poetry”; or, “This risk could be reduced if people would do less of thus-and-so… but life is complex, and the choice among possible behaviors isn’t mine to make except for me personally.”

One could say that playing God is above the expert’s pay grade; but when New Jersey Governor Phil Murphy volunteered this flippant excuse for ignoring the Constitution, he was de facto putting himself in the position of God Almighty.  Part of being an expert is understanding the limitations of your expertise.  To claim authority over the destiny of humanity because you have a rare knowledge of human diseases is like labeling a hundred deaths a calamity without identifying the number of lives that survived the specific threat.  Knowledge without context is magnified ignorance.

“The Federated States of America”: Looking for Words in the Constitution’s Ashes (Part III)

[The following post should have appeared three weeks ago. We’ve just become aware that it was published to the wrong page and was probably not accessible to the public.]

I promise to go no farther (for a few weeks, anyway) than today’s remarks in my series of speculations about how we might reassemble some of our Humpty Dumpty republic’s pieces.  It’s a depressing subject.  I have not engaged it with the excitement of a utopian brat entering grad school who is pleased to treat people’s lives—and entire institutions of multi-generational pedigree—as chess pieces.  I do not believe in man’s “perfectability”: on the contrary, I am convinced (like our nation’s founders) of the ineradicable corruption hiding within all things human.

It’s precisely for that reason that I have so far advanced the following ideas:

1)      A defensive federation is essential.  Individuals or individual states must not have the right to undermine the security of the whole.  Undermining shared defenses in a persistent, deliberate manner and/or with obviously homicidal ends should be judged treasonous and punished with severity.  (Hence my proposals are not secessionist, despite my frequent sympathy with secessionism in the recent past: quite the opposite.)

2)      Within our restructured federation, states may do what they wish about marriage, consumption of mood-altering substances, possession of firearms, restriction of foods, provision of health care, and so forth.  Their freedom to regulate the quotidian lives of their citizens will be almost unbounded, inasmuch as the federal authority’s interest is exclusively in defending the union rather than micro-managing lifestyles.  Yet I write “almost unbounded” of state authority because (among other reasons) education and the news media, in their debased contemporary form, inevitably plunge us into issues of malevolent propaganda that must at last subvert the federation.  I think objective boundaries are easy enough to draw.  It really isn’t difficult to present both sides of a controversial issue in a classroom or newsroom setting: not doing so takes determination and requires design.  Professors who preach embrace of Red China’s mass mind-control practices in the morning, therefore, should be dismissed that afternoon under federal law.  Nobody’s telling them how to think—but the Federation must keep thought-hostile thinkers off of government payrolls. Institutional suicide should not be permitted. (Perhaps incurable malcontents could be resettled in other parts of the world that they suppose more amenable and that, for some reason, would consent to have them.)

3)      Thanks to the liberality implicit in Item 2, many citizens will no doubt want to emigrate from State A and take up residency in State B.  In the twenty-first century, this should pose few problems.  There are no mountains or deserts to cross in Conestoga wagons.  Yet new immigrants may have to abide in their adoptive states for a decade before being allowed a vote in local elections (with the terms of registration to be determined by each state).  One of the most effective fulcrums employed in toppling our late great United States was the abuse of enfranchisement—abuse both unintended and designed: new residents flooding healthy states but voting in the manner that polluted their forsaken states, residents from far-flung societies with no republican tradition who embraced paternalistic government on reflex, illegal aliens who were allowed to vote in the certain knowledge that they would support the party providing them with cost-free benefits… this must not stand as universal practice.  If certain states allow it to do so, then they must be permitted to crash, burn, and learn without dragging down their neighbors.

4)      No Supreme Court will sit to adjudicate the essential, God-given rights of citizens; the federal bench’s role, rather, will be to determine when individuals or states have acted seditiously or traitorously against the interests of the federation, as a necessary measure of self-defense.  Even in this function, one can readily imagine instances of excess and abuse, so the high court’s mandate would certainly have to be pondered much more deeply.  Yet the clarity of risk in the single area of determining treason only underscores the folly—so visible in our routine affairs as I write—of allowing unelected arbiters to have thumbs-up-or-down power over how citizens worship, how they converse, how they hire and fire, and so forth.  Our founders were uncharacteristically naive in supposing that an elite of robed Olympians would resist natural egotism and remain humble before the august authority of legal precedent (or dare I say “before God’s law”?).  No such luck.

5)      A corrupt executive appointing a supreme body of corrupt judges could conceivably do much damage, even in a looser federation; but it is to be stressed that the executive officer would himself be elected by a one-state, one-vote mechanism.  No popular vote… and no electoral college, either.  Since each individual state in this system potentially represents an experimental alternative (the phrase “crucible of democracy” has been used), one might view the fifty experiments as casting a collective vote.  Item 3 ensures that no experiment may be manipulated—legalistically and against the will of long-abiding residents—by the sort of population games that the Left ruinously practiced upon the decayed United States.

6)      Individual states would be free to form cooperatives within the federation for specific purposes dictated by clearly shared interests.  Certain states might wish to address a regional water shortage or flooding problem together, for instance, since the root causes of such concerns seldom respect boundaries drawn on a map.

Among the few final recommendations I would make is an insistent one about tax structure.  In the current (i.e., collapsing) system, we pay local sales tax and also locally varying property taxes (not to mention innumerable “stealth” taxes on licensures, franchises, and so forth).  Everyone pays the sales tax: it’s the most equitable levy in the world.  If you don’t want to pay so much of it, you learn to consume less.  One might say, indeed, that it is a morally instructive tax, in that it teaches frugality and suppression of frivolous whimsy.  In contrast, the property tax is a yearly fine upon citizens for the crime of daring to marry, save money, and purchase a residence as the foundation of family life.  There’s no counter-balancing tax, of course, upon those who prefer to spend their wages on parties and vacations as they maximize their personal pleasures.  The assumptions underlying the property tax, if they can be excavated from a century of mind-numbing habit, are morally outrageous.

Then we have the graduated income tax, exacted by the federal government and by most states.  No secret here about its moralistic underpinnings: soak the rich.  From those to whom much is given, much is required (even our secularist utopians can quote scripture when a context-less snippet props up their predation).  The truth is that extremely wealthy citizens know all too well how to skirt the tax man: hence Warren Buffett’s notorious claim during the Obama years that he paid less tax than his secretary.

The real opprobrium of the graduated income tax, however, lurks in the presumption that resources not taxed are resources removed from any benefit to the commonwealth.  This is absurd.  The only reason any millionaire would transform his portfolio into gold and silver that he hides under a mattress is that his government’s catastrophic mismanagement of the economy terrifies him.  Normally, this same Ebenezer Scrooge would seek out profitable investments so that his substantial capital continues to grow; and these investments, in turn, would finance new business start-ups and other opportunities for small players to prosper.

Money siphoned away from such activity by a greedy Nanny State, on the other hand, passes through dozens or hundreds of public-bureaucrat fingers before reaching its “charitable” destination: a paternalistic bribe, essentially, to secure struggling people in whatever trough life has set before them and, thus, to solidify them into a permanent constituency.  In the process of handing off revenues down the line, unholy alliances between public and private sectors also build up like an economic arterial sclerosis.  Industries selected by “corruptocrats” (after bribes, kick-backs, and campaign contributions) to supply the forever-needy grow fat and squeeze out legitimate competition.  This is the squalid underbelly of capitalism which so justly outrages our know-nothing youth poised to vote for Bernie.  The correct word for it is corporatism.

Here’s my recommendation.  End all income tax and property tax (or allow states to mix whatever “tax cocktail” they wish… and then stand back to let citizens vote on the brew with their feet).  Revenues spent in provision of the national defense would all be raised from sales tax.  The ordinary Joe and Josephine would thus be able to understand with visceral reality just how much an effective national defense costs; and furthermore, no resident within the nation’s borders—legal or otherwise—would be able to skate on making a fair contribution.

To be sure, the outcry of protest would be deafening in any given fiscal year.  It probably ought to be: that’s probably healthy.  Government contracts allowing Lockheed to put champagne upholstery in a transport plane (or to charge champagne prices for wormwood product) would evaporate.  Pressure would also be placed on state and local government to carve out a smaller piece of flesh.  And… need I add that our immigration debacle would somewhat self-correct if “guest workers” absorbed a proportionate cost for the society from whose security they profit?

The lynch pin of the whole thing is a relative independence of states within a rigorously maintained defensive unit.  We see the disastrous results of a system featuring the reverse emphasis when we look across the Atlantic (if, that is, we insist on being blinded to our own disaster).  The member nations of the EU have only obligations to Brussels: the oligarchic elite, in return, recognizes no duty to defend any national border.  If our entire planet is not to decay into an Orwellian dystopia, then we must allow our “visionaries” as free a hand as possible in designing their terrestrial paradises… and also insist—absolutely insist—that they face any consequences of engineering malfeasance that don’t involve mass die-off.  People who want to live the lives of spoiled children or gibbering idiots should be free to do so unless they are, in fact, children or idiots.  Otherwise, as adults, they have a solemn right to the harsh consequences of their folly.

In postscript, I will briefly acknowledge that I have written nothing directly this month about the two most subversive elements, perhaps, gnawing the marrow of our moribund republic: our broadcast media and our university system (whose tentacles reach ever deeper toward the toddler).  The truth is that I don’t exactly know how we might chastise the worker-bees of “hive ideology” eagerly staffing these cultural hornet’s nests without echoing their mindless buzz.  In the dark, prickly Garden of Manmade Eden where Sanders supporters are fist-pumping over the prospects of American gulags and Elizabeth Warren has magnified Obama-era “Net neutrality” into prison terms for those who speak against her royal will, one wants to reach for a pitchfork instead of wag a finger.  Knocking heads in defensive reaction is hard to resist (and is also, let us never forget, the very response to which the propaganda machine would goad “deplorables”).  For that reason, I am more than half inclined to rescind my suggestion above that college profs who dish out totalitarian indoctrination from the rostrum be cashiered: it may be a bit too Warrenesque.

Yet how exactly do we defend ourselves, and especially our youth, from these Satanic evangelists—these “murder is love” Mansonists?  I don’t entirely know.  I can only repeat, in parting, that allowing citizens who leap into that pot to simmer away without interference strikes me as the best recipe for stimulating a postponed adulthood.

The risk is that the witches tending the brew may call for adding, say, a Chinese or Iranian seasoning whose resulting stench threatens surrounding states.  Somehow, the union’s safety must be thrust to the fore in daily practice.

How We Elect: A Decaying Republic’s Broken System (Part One)

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On Friday, February 14, I received the following email message from Dr. Lerah Lee’s campaign to seek a House seat in D.C:

When I started this campaign for Georgia’s 7th Congressional District, I was determined to follow through, win or lose—but sometimes things don’t work out the way we plan.
Unfortunately, I have had to suspend my campaign to focus on my health, but I want to assure everyone that has supported me with volunteer work, prayers, and financial generosity that I am still committed to the conservative values we share and Republican victory in 2020.

There was more, but none of it relevant to the reasons for Dr. Lee’s withdrawal.  Having promoted her candidacy in this space and others, I felt that more was needed.  I had been persuaded—and I remain persuaded—that the Republican Party should pay more attention to wooing black voters away from the Democrat puppeteers ruining their lives.  I was reproached by some for playing “identity politics”… but I’m of Anglo-Welsh origin myself, and even I often look at Republican candidates with the thought, “One of those again—one of the doctor/lawyer class whose kids never went to jail for drunk driving, always found their way to a college degree after four or five years of partying, always graduated to find jobs falling into their laps.”  Yeah, I knew a lot of them.  And I’m white.  So you needn’t tell me that the “privileged class” perception is imaginary, especially when white “conservatives” like Doug Collins, Tom Tillis, and Lindsey Graham 2.0 continue to promote the presence of unvetted aliens among us while emptying out our prisons.  There’s something to the “country club/gated community” stereotype, my dears.  It happens not to be a racial “something”, primarily—though it is perhaps so secondarily; and the untrained eye often sees the second layer as the surface one.

Unfortunately, there’s also something to the Raisin in the Sun stereotype.  When I coached baseball for a predominantly black Little League in Tyler, Texas, many years ago, our pleasant experiences came to a skidding halt during a season when three or four of the league’s “organizers” decided to start pocketing cash from the concession stand.  One of them very nearly took a swing at me after I protested how he had scheduled road trips all over East Texas on school nights.  He said (or yelled) a little too much: it became clear to me just then that the whole arrangement was a “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” concoction to isolate the boys and their families from any food right at supper time… except, of course, for the concession stand.  None of these men was driving a humble Chevy S-10 and living in a fifty-year-old house, as I was.  All of them also seemed to be far deeper in debt than I’ve ever been.

So… did I just get played in a similar way by Dr. Lerah?  The whole thing has that old savor.  I certainly wouldn’t want to pry… but something a little beyond “focus on my health” (bolded dramatically) would help.  Why not just mention nervous exhaustion, or a newly diagnosed heart condition?  We don’t need to see the file and the X-rays, but… but some of us stuck our neck out for you, Dr. L!  One would also have liked to read something on the order of this: “I have now spent all of the funds raised and am consuming my personal savings on the campaign, which will destroy my family if I do not change course.”  But no.  Nothing in that genre.

The next time a bright young constitutionalist seeking office makes an appeal to me on the basis of African DNA, I’m afraid I won’t be very receptive.  Already, I’ve begun reflexively deleting emails from some new Candace Owens PAC requesting funds for just that objective.  You might think about that part of your legacy, Dr. Lee, if you’re at all inclined to ponder the wake left by your public actions.

And tossing about in the wreckage of that very wake, I started looking at Senator Kelly Loeffler from a new angle.  Appointed to replace the ailing Johnny Isakson by Georgia Governor Brian Kemp, Loeffler is required by state law to run for formal election next November rather than serve out the entire Isakson term uncontested.  The battle between her and the forementioned Doug Collins has drawn national attention.  As a girl, Kelly would probably not have fit the “one of those again” profile that I memorized so thoroughly in high school.  Her ads, now saturating local TV, represent a Midwestern farm lass who waited tables to put herself through college: someone much more like me than like my quondam classmates in an elite Fort Worth private school.  But that endearing snapshot edits out the critical years of her more recent life when she met and married an Atlanta billionaire.  Wikipedia estimates Kelly’s current net worth at 500 million.  The figure is likely not far off target, and the claim it fuels that Loeffler is among the wealthiest people in Washington seems justified.  Besides raw wealth, other peculiarities make this case a standout.  Here’s how one source represents the rather complicated picture taking shape around the freshman senator:

Kelly Loeffler, former CEO of bitcoin derivatives exchange Bakkt and a newly-appointed U.S. Senator, has joined the committee that oversees the Commodity Futures Trading Commission (CFTC).

Loeffler has joined the Senate Agricultural Committee, which has jurisdiction over the CFTC. Loeffler’s appointment to the committee raises concerns about a possible conflict of interest. Her husband, Jeffrey Sprecher, is the founder, chairman, and CEO of Intercontinental Exchange (ICE), which is regulated by the CFTC.

“I have worked hard to comply with both the letter and the spirit of the Senate’s ethics rules and will continue to do so every day,” Loeffler told the Wall Street Journal, adding: “I will recuse myself if needed on a case by case basis.”

Loeffler’s appointment reportedly comes at a time when the agriculture committee is working on legislation to reauthorize the CFTC. The committee also oversees approving nominations for CFTC commissioners and chairmen.

Oh, boy.  You know, one of the reasons I took my son to the north side of Tyler to play baseball was that the south side was overrun by the “one of those again” types: the pushy white males with their lucrative insurance gigs and car dealerships.  They would cut shady deals, those “coaches”, before draft night to have the two or three most grotesquely overgrown lads on their team, blow away the competition for the next two months, advance to regional play-offs, and (I’ve no doubt) assume that college or professional scouts would spot their son on the SuperTeam and immediately get on the phone about a scholarship or signing bonus.  They weren’t snitching Jacksons out of the cash drawer: they were fishing for Moby Dick.

And now Kelly Loeffler… is going to self-police on a committee that will determine the future of her husband’s vastly lucrative enterprise.  Well, maybe.  I guess it all depends on whether she has so much already that she doesn’t feel tempted to mark the deck during future shuffles.

Here is my collective response to our train wreck of a political system.  There are perhaps four types of politician.  One is a pitiful, negligible scavenger: the camp-following opportunist poised to snatch up whatever morsels slip off the table.  This person, being poor and void of powerful backing, raises a ruckus among the poor about the Class of the Powerfully Backed.  He or she may gain a bit of local traction but really never intends to go very far.  Going far, after all, isn’t necessary.  There are so many crumbs and morsels—enough to make even the also-rans fat and happy!  Why not just fill your pockets during the election season’s general chaos?  Dr. Lee, I’m not really looking at you… am I?  I wish I knew.  Or maybe I’m glad I don’t.

It is difficult to believe that the Clintons—our nation’s political Bonnie and Clyde—began as anything much other than petty scavengers.  Having watched their ascent over my own lifetime, I can discern no persistent motive in their behavior other than self-enrichment—no clear indication that they sought to subordinate this motive to ideology at any point.  To the extent that Hillary, in particular, grew to be a leftist ideologue, it is likely because she recognized in the sweeping vistas of power suddenly open before her a breathtaking opportunity to amass fortunes upon fortunes.  Sometimes the pet fed on table scraps becomes the Dog Who Has His Day.

Next we have the relatively impoverished but better connected, genuinely ideological populist who manages to get himself (or herself) catapulted into the Big Show.  This person truly intends to fight for the little guy in the beginning… and then sees what limitless fields of abundance have opened before him.  One imagines that European sailors who discovered flightless, succulent Dodo birds waiting to be slaughtered on South Sea islands must have known the temptation.  If one can ascribe any degree of sincerity to AOC in her first hours of fame, she may fit the profile; but then, she let suspiciously few of those hours pass before starting to live high and wide on her electoral success.  Perhaps she simply doesn’t understand money.  The once lovable Joe Lieberman, on the other hand, has come to understand money all too well.  He’s currently an effective lobbyist for a Communist China openly in pursuit of world domination: a nice guy no more, alas.

Now we do a kind of class/racial/economic pivot.  The third and fourth types enter politics already rich by ordinary standards.  Number Three is conservative in that he (or she) just wants to keep the gravy train rolling: form special ties with legislators, pass special laws to secure his venture’s favored position, perhaps open new markets or create new bureaucratic obstacles that will allow the venture to slip even farther ahead.  The “conservation” apparently enters the equation through the idea of providing jobs, jobs, jobs.  The crushing of potentially competitive start-ups through intrusive legislation and imperial bureaucracy… nah, who needs those jobs?  Nothing much is said by these “conservators”, either, about freedom of speech and assembly, or the right to bear arms, or due process, or abortion… nothing except on such public occasions as require checking the proper box.  Hello, Doug Collins, Lindsey Graham, Tom Tillis, John Cornyn, Mitt Romney, Mitch McConnell, Lamar Alexander… and will you join this rogue’s gallery, Kelly Loeffler?

Finally, and most ominously, we have the once-capitalist Croesus who has made so much loot in his day that he can never possibly spend a tenth of it, and who has hence lost interest in growing or even preserving it.  He is jaded with pedestrian luxuries like palatial mansions and armies of servants: he craves some new land to conquer.  The free market now bores him: freedoms of all varieties bore him, inasmuch as they encourage others to hamper his whimsical daydreams.  Perhaps if he could assume utter control over a nation and refashion it in a way that strikes his fancy… perhaps that would be amusing.  Perhaps he could become the God that children and fools used to believe in.  Becoming God… that should be amusing, shouldn’t it?

The paradox that someone so fabulously wealthy should seek political power by populist avenues appears to shock most people—yet such is the well-established pattern.  Donald Trump would probably leap to the popular imagination, with a little nudge from CNN (whose nudges are never little); yet Trump is a weak example, in that his program—to the extent that he has one—emphasizes removing centralized authority from the lives of ordinary citizens.  It’s true that his views have not always shown this inclination, do not always show it now, and indeed show a particularly annoying pliancy toward his daughter and her husband’s games of social engineering.  Still, the superior instances of this type may be found in Michael Bloomberg and Tom Steyer, both of whom have far more wealth than Trump and also far more intrusive designs for reassembling the republic as a well-oiled machine of tiny, obedient cogs.

Is there a fifth species of politico—a “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington” type who doesn’t sell out his principles within mere weeks or months?  We all dream of that legendary savior… but he truly appears to be no more than a dream.  Even at his best (i.e., as his staunchest supporters imagine him), Donald Trump cannot audition for the role, simply because he lacks the “barefoot and backwoods” origins.  Admit it: the Donald was never really an outsider in the sense of our fathers when they screamed about a hike in property tax.  Democrats no doubt thought that they had found the genuiiiiine proletarian redeemer in Jimmy Carter, and then in Bill Clinton; but the former was a local patrician with a drawl, and the latter closer to what his minions would call “trailer trash” than to anyone who ever paid property tax.

Frankly, Ross Perot would probably have played the desired part better than any of the characters named above—but Perot’s only lasting contribution to the political scene was to clear the way for Clinton’s election.  Still more frankly—brace for devastating frankness!—Richard Nixon rose from humbler roots than any president of the past century, and enriched himself in the office, as well, less than perhaps any of his peers.

Nixon’s example only serves to show how straitjacketed our collective thought has become in such matters by the manipulative media/entertainment/education complex.  Tinkering endlessly with our perception and our memory, it prevents us from staring a stark reality in the face: the fact that we have no good options, now that fear of the Hereafter and a sense of common decency have gone the way of the watch fob.  I think Perot was probably torpedoed by whispered threats that the Public will never be allowed to learn.  (A few of you may recall that he issued cloudy statements about the sabotage of his daughter’s wedding.)  These threats would likely have emanated as much from the Republican establishment (the sanctuary of Number Three politicians) as from Democrats (a rag-tag collection of Numbers One and Two, before our decay birthed Number Four in abundance).  Nixon, too, had a good man in him somewhere… but constant hounding by the media and academe for his role in ferreting out communists during the Fifties grossly warped the man’s moral skeleton.  Good people, in short, don’t survive protracted exposure to our system: they either abandon the ship before she clears the harbor or turn pirate with the rest of the crew.

I don’t know what we do.  There’s almost a kind of tragic inevitability to the downward spiral.  People cannot be happy in this life unless they realize that this life doesn’t—cannot—contain what they need to be fully happy.  As our nation has prospered, its citizens have grown more secular; and as they discover ever more sullenly the absence of real happiness in their abundance, politicians advance ever farther by offering them yet more playthings of this world.  I don’t know what the corrective is for that, other than a plunge off the cliff which doesn’t quite crush everyone at the bottom.  The survivors limp away wiser, and start a new settlement in the chasm… what a hope, as Sir Kenneth Clark would say!

Is it a bad thing for a politician to be wealthy?  Why?  Might not wealth, rather, insulate an office-holder from being corrupted?  Yet how do we ensure that the grandee who can’t even recall the number of zeroes rounding out his net worth will not be corrupted by the far more lethal toxicity of megalomania?

The imposition of term limits wouldn’t hurt.  The one credible path to that end is a Convention of States (and there I find an organization that continues to be worthy of generous donations).  Might we not also be able to require, as part of their licensure, that outlets of news media, both national and local, contribute free time to political candidates?  That, too, is something of a pipe dream, I realize.  In an age when nonstop political advocacy is already masquerading as “straight news”, equality of time would be impossible to determine or enforce.  We’ve already had a glimpse of how that game might be rigged with the Obama era’s “Net neutrality” canard.  And, in any case, how would a candidate reach the stage of qualifying for free time, if not by having previous high visibility in the community?  That means money, unless you’re a high-profile entertainer or athlete.

Which, believe it or not, raises a serious point—and it must be my point of departure for next week, since I’ve run rather long today.

Why We Must Push Back Against “Climate Change” Hysteria

The other day I filmed a short video catalogued in my website archive (semperluxmundi.org) under “A Culture of Slanders and Slurs”.  The library of about two dozen videos now addresses topics related to religious faith in a straightforward manner: no virtue-signaling allowed.  I thought it was time in this particular series to call out the unscrupulous among us who abuse language in such a way as to sequester defenders of certain views from consideration as human beings.  Of course, “racist” is now such a slur, and I am about to dedicate another video to the word “Nazi”.  “Climate-change denier” has never really caught on, thanks to being quite unwieldy—but the notion behind the phrase is the same: those who “deny” climate change deserve whatever mistreatment comes their way.  Not only must we not give them a hearing; we should entertain giving them jail time, or maybe shooting them like dogs.

I placed the word “deny” in quotations above because denial isn’t even what’s properly at issue (any more than is “climate change” per se; the mandatory article of faith is really that global climate is rapidly, radically changing due to manmade influences).  My talk—and you can do just so much in fifteen minutes, alas—began by stressing that, as a lifelong enemy of the automobile and of our congested urban environments, I have left considerably lighter carbon footprints behind me than most people.  I then spent several minutes emphasizing that mere measurement of relevant climatic data is an enormously complex task.  Readings must be obtained at uniform geographical and chronological intervals from around the world, a requirement which undermines confident conclusions at our point in history right out of the gate.  Perceived changes in weather during one human lifetime qualify as evidence neither by the spatial nor the temporal standard; for none of us spends an hour per month at a hundred locations equally spaced around Earth’s sphere, and none of us lives the many centuries necessary to uncover a meaningful pattern.

This doesn’t make me a “denier”; it makes me a voice of restraint before those who insist upon rushing to unjustified conclusions.  I wish I’d had time to handle more adequately the dubious motives of many at the “movement’s” fore who busy themselves stirring the rush into a stampede.  Peter Helmes has often offered analyses of that caliber through his site, Die Deutsche Konservativen. One of his posts a couple of weeks ago noted that Greta Thunberg’s father has grown rather wealthy off of two concerns dedicated to marketing his eerily wooden and humorless “Green Joan of Arc” daughter; and the post concludes, all in boldface, Um es nochmals klar zu sagen: Dahinter stehen keine Idealisten, sondern knallharte Großkapitalisten. Wo deren Interesse liegt, dürfte jedem normal denkenden Menschen klar sein. Translation: “To say it plainly, there are no idealists standing behind [climate change hysteria], but hard-boiled capitalist tycoons.  Every competently thoughtful person should be clear about where the interests of such types lie.”

When I still possessed a small soapbox in academe from which to prod freshmen, I tended to proceed very cautiously into the realms of chemistry and atmospheric science.  Those weren’t my field.  Some of my students could have diagrammed complex molecules while I was still trying to figure out how carbon dioxide can poison plants.  (Can it?  An intrepid investigator probing a volcanic lake on the History Channel made that claim within my hearing… but the minute rise in global CO2 seems to be feeding plants handsomely in locations that aren’t fuming with sulfur.)  Behind my rostrum, then, I always contented myself with making a few very basic, even “dummy” observations.  1) Carbon dioxide is less than one half of one hundredth of one percent of the earth’s atmosphere; it’s hard to see how fluctuations in thousandths of a percentage point spell Armageddon.  2) Of that tiny amount, only about two percent arises from manmade sources.  3) Of those manmade sources, India and China are by far the most prolific contributors—and neither of those nations is in the least interested in curbing its industrial growth.

If the West, and the U.S. in particular, were to fragment its industrial/technological foundation for the very doubtful purpose of reducing CO2 emissions by .00003%, the following disastrous environmental consequence would therefore follow.  The “People’s Republic” of China would have a path free and clear to dominate utterly the world’s economy, and hence to determine in large measure the social and political organization of every individual society. In other words, the single greatest environmental poisoner in our planet’s history (with the possible exception of the post-Chernobyl Soviet Union) would be calling all the tunes globally.

Is this what we want?  Is this what any person sincerely concerned about life on Earth would want?  For several decades, we have seen (if we have eyes to see) how much the Chinese oligarchy cares about its own citizens.  I’ve noticed in reading the testimonies of Chinese citizens who speak out too daringly and are “invited for a cup of tea” at police headquarters that practically all detainees, when they know they’re not going home for several weeks, worry about not having their meds.  Everyone in urban China is on meds!  That’s because the air is poison to breathe.  (Remember a few years back when a massive effort was made to cleanse to skies temporarily over Beijing for the opening Olympic ceremony?)  We’re getting a refresher course right now, if we need one, on just how highly the PRC elite value the lives of ordinary people.  To the Party’s chosen few, handling the Coronavirus is primarily an exercise in public-relations damage control.  If the disease isn’t diagnosed, then ensuing death cannot be attributed to it… and only about one patient in ten was being tested for infection even in the early days of the outbreak, before resources gave out.

These are the people to whom we will surrender the planet’s health, should we throttle all fossil-fuel consumption, refuse to build nuclear power plants, and wait for the wind to turn blades on the high plains.  This is the “green” plan to save us all!

I also used to stress to my students, as I stress in the video and continue to underscore, that pointing all solutions in the direction of a more intrusive government smells very, very fishy.  It is especially so inasmuch as big government created most of the problem, to begin with.  After World War II, our federal government, favoring certain players in the transportation sector over others, pumped millions into producing a national car- and airline-dependency among us while leaving our substantial railways to languish.  (Trains move loads about fifteen times more cost-effectively, by the way, than trucks… but the Teamsters’ Union had a louder voice.)  On a local level, municipalities of the Fifties rigorously began to zone out your corner drugstore, your handy barber shop, your neighborhood school and pediatrician—which, of course, created real estate and building booms as well as forcing Middle America to invest heavily in cars, in gas and oil, in insurance, and so forth.  Meanwhile, lawyers, lawsuits, regulations, and inspectors converged upon Plainville, USA, the way vultures compete for a carcass.  Federal bureaucracies like OSHA hounded small-business owners even after they had duly shifted their shingle from Laurel Lane to Main Street.  Many of these hard-working people surrendered, dissolving their business and entering the daily rush-hour file of traffic to get to a corporation’s megalopolitan plant or office tower.

If we simply eradicated these zoning restrictions and micro-managing bureaucracies, we would preserve immense amounts of oil, reduce incalculable volumes of traffic-related stress and injury, almost nullify the crime endemic to periodically emptied neighborhoods, foster an environment where citizens were much happier thanks to a much more human level of contact with each other… but no.  No.  More government, more regimentation—that’s worked so well for us in the past! Let’s just amp it up.

Meanwhile, merely for raising your hand and daring to ask a question about any aspect of the “climate change agenda”, you make yourself a target for doxing, canceling, incarcerating… you’re a public spittoon.  This is your reward for suggesting that, if the emperor’s new clothes are invisible, maybe it’s because they don’t exist rather than because you’re blind.  This is our current level of insanity.  This is how well we’ve been groomed for rule by the idiot-producing ideologues controlling our classrooms, and by marketplace and political despots ranging from George Soros to Xi Jinping (who both turn out to be financing much of what happens in our classrooms).

Indeed, my ultimate question of our “social conscience” warriors—far down the list, and not an item that I would ask in a townhall meeting—nags at me more than any uncertainty I have about science.  How many of these self-declared moral beacons, I should like to know, who lead the chanting chorus of, “Climate-change denier!” as the mob gathers, are being remunerated rather directly by Soros, Xi, Robert Fink, or the Rothschilds’ Bank of England?  Conspiracy theory?  Why, hell yes, it’s conspiracy theory!  Have you not yet awakened to the fact that all truth in these “post-fact” times is suffocating under the bedsheets of conspiracy-theory quarantine?

Pessimist’s Progress: Congressional Incompetence Lets a Ray of Hope Slip Through

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On the one hand, a pessimist is constantly beset by the feeling that apologies are in order, as if he had pulled everyone into the ditch during a serene walk in the countryside.  On the other hand, I can’t pretend that a train hasn’t jumped the track and that I don’t see it barreling straight toward our scenic lane.  A couple of weeks ago, an Iowa judge sentenced a Hispanic youth to 16 years of jail for burning an LGBTQ flag… and this atrocity from the bench was reported almost nowhere.  I heard of it through Michael Savage: the one print source I’ve tracked down suppresses the offender’s age and ethnicity.  I’m not entirely sure which is worse, according my pessimist’s handbook: the insane verdict and penalty (for even the verdict was insane) or our news media’s conspiratorial silence on all such stories, and especially on “perpetrator details” that conflict with other narratives.  If a gun-loving white male Southerner had drawn the sentence….

And, yes, the outrageous serial-suffocation of the truth practiced by our mainstream news media is a conspiracy—and, yes, that word still has both a meaning distinct from “lunatic fantasy” and a presence in everyday events.  Yet the operatives of George Soros can dictate vocabulary to the Fourth Estate with such effect that, in the EU, the non-compliant are deprived of their livelihood (cf. Michelle Malkin’s comments about the Rome Charter Association and Hope Not Hate, both Soros-hatchlings, in Open Borders Inc).   Over here, merely dropping the name “Soros” draws charges of “anti-Semitism” after a psychedelic demolition-derby of unconnected dots.

Meanwhile, one-time conservative superstar Mike Lee is joining the congressional chorus of baboons who smell leopard because the president used his powers as commander-in-chief after a fashion just approved by both houses; and the real danger faced by us all—attack from terrorists or cartel-hirelings that nestle abundantly in all our major cities, is ignored by virtually every member of Congress while we debate whether Iranian rockets might start a war if they actually hit a target.  As if we didn’t have a war on low-but-rising simmer right here on our front door….

Ironically, I registered my first burst of optimism since well before Christmas when I heard Dr. Peter Pry reveal (on Frank Gaffney’s Secure Freedom Radio broadcast of 1/8) that our congressmen had accidentally done something useful while rubber-stamping the 3000+ page National Defense Authorization Act read by none of them (and authorizing, by the way, the President’s power to wage war).  Secreted in the NDAA were three provisions that greatly advance the hardening of our frightfully vulnerable power grid.  Indeed, if there’s one reason to dread the aftermath of Qassem Soleimani’s elimination that has more nightmare-potential than a Hezbollah/MS-13 alliance, it’s our susceptibility to blackouts lasting for months.  Of course, said alliance could exploit our insecure grid rather easily… but it’s already a ticking time-bomb without the ingredient of human evil.  Just add a major solar flare pointed in Earth’s direction.  A potentially catastrophic flood of ionized particles narrowly missed us in March of 2014.

I call the Congress’s final green-lighting of energy protection—after about two decades of criminal negligence—ironic (in addition to moronic) because it’s probably a result of… well, of nobody’s having bothered to read the damn bill.  Any damn bill.  Are you getting that?  The single greatest cause for rejoicing we’ve had so far this year has been Congress’s runaway incompetence.  Sometimes you can get to the watering hole unmolested while the baboons are slinging excrement at a rug with spots that fell out of a garbage truck.

Now, exactly why Congress has shown such contempt for, if not hostility to, the concern over EMP raised by figures like Dr. Pry is a mystery that must draw more speculation than clear fact.  Republicans, at least, seem to have been sufficiently bribed by power companies to keep the shadow of a virtual extinction-event stubbornly to their blind-eye side.  (Every Republican has at least one blind eye: Dan Crenshaw just happens to wear a patch.)  But Democrats?  Can you imagine an issue better tailored to their conventional narrative?  “Evil private-sector monopolies bet the deaths of nine in ten Americans against the opportunity to make a marginal profit in a game of existential blackjack!”  What’s up with Democrats?  They’re alarmed that plants enjoy carbon dioxide, apparently—which composes less than a half of a hundredth of one percent of the atmosphere (and of that, less than two percent is manmade).  Their hair is on fire because California and Australia are burning… but the cause is always too much CO2, never idiotic environmental regulations prohibiting the culling of deadwood, never careless human populations wandering hither and yon nomadically.

Well, what about a genuine threat to human survival supported by hard science (as opposed to Michael Mann’s hockey-stick graph compiled from medieval measurements that he retrieved via Ouija board)?  If our civilization is to be hanged for a lamb, how about hanging it for a sheep?  You can hang us for both, you know, guys—the mother of all necktie parties.

But no: Democrats and their shills in propaganda-outposts like The Weather Channel are as insistent that the EMP threat is pure hoax (that’s right: conspiracy theory) as they are dead-red certain that fish will swim down the streets of Nashville and Kansas City by 2030.  Why is the former anathema while the latter is rigid orthodoxy?  Why?

I would observe that both positions have a critical element in common: the promotion of a Soros-like one-world government (euphemistically called “the open society” in a phrase hijacked from libertarian Karl Popper).  What’s the solution to climate change/global warming/global climate irregularity?  Massive doses of atmospheric Ex-Lax?  How about we just drive less by disposing of over-aggressive zoning laws and combining residential and commercial functions within neighborhoods, as was done for 99.9% of human history (or so say 99.9% of “scientists”)?  No, no—none of that.  The only possible answer is to create massive national-tending-toward-global bureaucracies that minutely decree what you eat, where you vacation, how you travel, how many cows you can raise, where your thermostat must sit… and this while banishing your source of employment from the face of the earth and confiscating any loot you may have saved to bequeath to your children.  Period.

And how does hostility to securing the power grid dovetail into this maniacally statist program?  President Obama told Dr. Pry explicitly upon shelving the report of the latter’s EMP Commission—well, almost explicitly.  Read between the lines.  The explanation offered for inaction was that, in paying attention to our exposed grid, we would make the Russians and the Chinese suppose that we considered them enemies.  This would turn down the thermostat of international diplomacy and send a chill through the room.  Ergo… no defenses.

Now, such numbskull sensitivity makes sense if your ultimate objective is, in fact, to fuse the United States government with those of other nations that might wish to destroy us.  As Diana West has lately chronicled (with painfully irrefutable accuracy), our elite has been kissing up to communist totalitarians since FDR used Lend-Lease to shuffle Stalin the tools needed to murder about forty million Russians and East Europeans (oh, yeah… and defeat Hitler).  The difference then was that we actually had the nuclear materials that we were passing under the table to Uncle Joe.  Now we do not have a secure grid, unlike Russia and the PRC.  We’re not sharing our trump cards with them, because we have none; we’re discarding everything in our hand higher than a five.

That, at least, is the game we were playing until Congress—Democrats and Republicans—entertained visions of dancing sugar plums in their heads as the NDAA was ramrodded through.  Now we’re in the survival game again… just barely.  Securing the grid may take years, even without the Soros/utopian Deep State seeking to ambush the initiative at every turn.  Our government, let us never forget, continues to be composed approximately half of ideological traitors: fools, that is, who aren’t necessarily on the take, but who really believe that the world will be a much better place when just a chosen few such as they are allowed to micro-manage everyone else’s life.  And of the remaining half, at least half are on the take.

Our judiciary is utterly out of control; our cities and towns are deeply infused with terrorist cells allowed through our porous border that merely await a signal; our news media tell lies with pride and conviction in the virtue of their project; our “science” establishment is largely and increasingly funded by advocates of the socialist agenda; our universities promote handling opposition to “science” with prison time; our “representatives” hawk their race and sexual preference when they should be explaining how they plan to protect us; our young children are taught that all was sweet on earth until white Europeans appeared… the little Dutch boy hasn’t enough fingers on his two hands to stanch the leaks in this dike.  When something good happens, the happy event is owed to the rampant incompetence, laziness, and cocksure stupidity of those who wield power.  Mr. Hannity has rapid-fire exchanges with Mr. Jarrett and Mr. Gowdy about what the Constitution permits and what “history” will say; but, alas, we have no Constitution.  The Constitution is dead, murdered by five hundred knives in the back and several hundred feet trampling from comfy benches.  History?  There is no history!  History is the product of thoughtful, informed, fair-minded people casting a careful eye back over the past.  We have no such people in a position to have their labors published.

After about two months of traveling a dark tunnel during the so-called holidays, I begin to see a small prick of light… or else the neurons are firing randomly as carbon dioxide suffocates them!  But, since ‘tis the season to wax prophetic, I will dare to share a few “grimly optimistic” thoughts next time.  Don’t say you haven’t been warned.

“Most Scientists” Are “Laughing” at Our Unsecured Power Grid—But Our Climate Panics Them

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The photo above represents your alternative source of light at night after an Electro-Magnetic Pulse takes down the power grid.  The same source will also provide all of your evening’s externally generated heat, unless you have a fireplace and a cord of wood.  And if you need to contact someone long-distance… well, why not try shouting at the Moon?  The chances of getting an answer back from her are about equal to those of reaching your loved ones across the continent.

But wait, I forgot: we don’t need to worry!  The mainstream media, having heard from someone or other (I can’t imagine whom: their sources are usually named “Anonymous”) that President Trump issued an executive order to secure the power grid in March of this year, have devoted themselves to deriding the threat’s reality.  If Trump wants it… he ain’t gonna get it; if he says it’s deadly… let’s invite it to a party!

Hence the article, “Is It Lights Out for Trump’s EMP Push?” in Politico by one Sarah Cammarata.   Tommy Waller urged the audience of Frank Gaffney’s Secure Freedom Radio podcast (Nov. 22) to track down this piece and read it.  We should alert ourselves, he advised, to the degree of arrogance and contempt with which a genuinely terrifying and imminent threat to our survival—as opposed, say, to rising sea levels—is greeted by Democrat representatives and their media lackeys (what one might call the Traitor/Useful Idiot Complex).

To arrogance and contempt, Mr. Waller might have added “early adolescent command of the language and pre-adolescent analytical abilities”.  Those are further qualities, at any rate, which Ms. Cammarata brings to the discussion.  The notion of an “EMP push” in the title is already a head-scratcher.  Donald Trump hasn’t been “pushing” for an EMP: he has been trying to secure our national grid against a major EMP’s apocalyptic effects.  Cammarata, however, appears to have her attention focused on something more like high-fiving: and hence she communicates in a kind of kid’s shorthand (as when a child says “beeper” for “smoke-detector”).  One of her opening sentences reads, “On Sept. 13, controversial physicist, self-declared climate skeptic and backer of the fight against EMPs William Happer left the White House.”  I suspect that neither Happer nor anyone else with a degree in the sciences would describe himself as a “climate skeptic”… or are we to suppose that he doubts the existence of climate?  Controversial physicist?  Is that a new variety of physics—or does Ms. Cammarata’s set simply disagree (having mustered the entirety of their gray matter to produce a thumbs-down) with his belief that plants actually like carbon dioxide?  The fight against EMP’s?  Again, one doesn’t fight an EMP: that’s rather the whole point, Ms. Cammarata.  You can’t fight them.  They occur naturally, and a major solar-pulse event appears to be overdue by about half a century.  You and your chattering legions may conclude over cocktails that you can fight “climate”—but a massive ion storm, at least, is irresistible.  What you do, or what one does (or what a functional adult would do), is protect the electric grid from utter incineration.

But, no, let’s denominate all the significant factors with the same precision as is used in labeling Bill Nye “the science guy”… and then let’s whoop and holler because “we won” and “they lost”.

I know that Thursday is Thanksgiving.  I know that I, for one, will find great joy and gratitude in my heart late Wednesday night if my son’s plane lands safely, despite the machinations of certain unscreened intruders for whose ease Ms. Cammarata’s clique has already dissolved our border security.  The truth is that featherbrains and subversives have transformed our national celebrations of solidarity, thanksgiving, and respite from routine anxiety into the most fearful times on our calendar; for it is precisely at these times, when parents, siblings, and children are en route to annual reunions, that diabolical minds would most like to spring a calamitous trap upon us…..

As I sat pecking those last words on my iPad, a “news flash”—courtesy of our Big Brotherly link to reality, Twitter (that is, our link to Big Brotherly reality)—informed me that two people had been shot in an incident at a North Carolina medical center.  Stop the presses!  The propaganda machine never misses a chance to inform us of more gun violence, as if this were almost as great a menace to our safety as… climate change!

Yet in the matter of a legitimate threat whose eventual realization is as sure as sunrise, we are to smirk and cherry-pick stray facts as springboards for jokes.  “Warnings about electromagnetic pulse attacks have long inspired eye-rolls or outright guffaws among national security experts, but advocates of the issue briefly found a home on Trump’s National Security Council….”  The joke’s the news, you see, in the Cammarata school of journalism.  No names, just “eye-rolls” and “experts”.  And yes, on any given Thanksgiving or Christmas, your son or daughter’s plane is more likely to plunge to earth because of a terrorist bomb than because of an epochal solar flare… so let’s all have a good holiday laugh as we roll the dice along with our eyes.  If we lose, just about everybody dies… but the odds of winning seem really good.  Today.

Just about everybody, yes.  Peter Pry’s commission (described by Cammarata as “now-disbanded”, as if its members had been sent packing in disgrace) reproduced a projection of federal agencies that ninety percent of the continental US’s population would die within a year if the national grid went down.  About all we ever needed to do (and this has been known for years) in order to insulate ourselves from major consequences is enclose our generators in Faraday cages, an incredibly cheap and quick fix to neutralize such a devastating blow.  (“Some experts predict [the hardening measures] could cost billions of dollars,” notes Cammarata, eyes rolling, with her typical accuracy and precision—and displaying the concern for frugality that she brings, I’m sure, to her assessment of the Green New Deal).  Instead, we shall stay just as we are until a major storm of solar flares produces something like the 1859 Carrington Event (a recurrence of which, as I’ve indicated, is overdue).  Then our lights will go out, our heating and cooling systems will be kaput, aircraft will fall from the sky, cars with computerized systems will refuse to run, gas will not pump, refrigerated food will thaw, credit cards won’t work, any water not cranked up from a well (i.e., all water that once flowed from urban and suburban faucets) will dry up, hospitals will offer no assistance, emergency responders will be stalled and overwhelmed, rioting and panic will erupt… but no, it hasn’t happened yet, so why should it happen tomorrow?

Pardon me if I now reproduce a full paragraph from Politico which captures like no other the utter frivolity of the discussion:

A consensus among most in the scientific community is that EMP attacks are nothing to worry about and even a laughable subject. But a smaller group of scientists has argued that the federal budget should make a priority of spending for preparing for EMPs — as do some political figures, such as Cruz, who reject the much greater scientific consensus about the perils of human-driven climate change.

Sigh.  For once and for all, scientific truth is not determined by majority vote—not even a majority formed of scientists.  On issues as complex as the behavior of Earth’s magnetosphere—or of its climate, by the way—an endocrinologist’s or entomologist’s verdict carries no more weight than a trucker’s or shoemaker’s.  Indeed, even within relevant fields, experts in one area must cross-reference their understanding with that of experts in other areas.  “Science” does not qualify as a specialization of any sort.  “Most scientists” laughed at Watson and Crick when they first presented research that would lead them to discover the double helix of DNA.  In general, laughing is not a scientific response.  Yet here we find the jolly “most scientists” trope so favored by exponents of manmade climate change trotted out to dispose of EMP concerns; and, indeed, Cammarata explicitly nudges in the idiotic “climate-change denier” slur (nobody denies that climates change, by the way) to tar the Cassandras of the insecure grid.  She well knows, too, that names like “Cruz” (“Carson” and “Gingrich” were introduced earlier into the rogues’ gallery) will further prejudice Politico’s readership against viewing the crisis as serious.  So the argument amounts to this: “We know that the Trump phalanx is always wrong about everything; we see them here clamoring for billions of our money; most scientists disagree with them, and they fail to show similar anxiety over Global Warming, regarding which most scientists are again on the other side; ergo, laugh away at them—and let’s have some contempt in that laughter!”

The single advocate of the “most scientists” position named by Cammarata is “Arthur House, the former chairman of Connecticut’s Public Utilities Regulatory Authority”—and House, indeed, doesn’t criticize the science behind EMP anxiety; he only emphasizes that utility companies are unlikely to foot the bill for securing the grid if left to make their own decision.  This is precisely the self-interested motive for reprehensible inaction which Peter Pry repeatedly underscores, and which is documented exhaustively at SecureTheGrid.com.  Need I add that many of our “most scientists” have been employed at one time or another by these highly compromised private-sector quasi-monopolies?  In other words, in the process of ridiculing the threat, Ms. Cammarata has exposed to us the primary reason for why we should mistrust the scoffers.

The article’s most appalling moment comes about halfway through.  Having been assured for several hundred words that “most scientists” consider the probable effect of an EMP on our grid no worse than the aftermath of a hurricane (I actually added that tidbit to Cammarata’s detail-starved ramble from other sources), we’re now in for a final, clinching argument.  Our friend Mr. House, who appears to wear a second hat as a security expert, delivers the following insight: “The problem is it’s such a blunt instrument.  An EMP just wreaks havoc without much precision.  In that way, it’s like an unsmart bomb.”  Umm… did you get that?  We have nothing to fear because… because an EMP attack would kill virtually all of us.   It thus “invites massive retaliation” on the part of the Dr. Strangelove crew surviving in bunkers, concludes our “expert”… as if any of our land-based nukes would remain capable of launch, or as if Kim Jong Un or his handler, Xi Jinping, would give a damn if a few millions of rabble were smoked.  Sleep tight!

If House’s confidence that an adversary would decline to murder three hundred million of us is the article’s most appalling moment, its most puzzling feature to me is the final several paragraphs that seem to ramrod in the names and protests of numerous EMP-worriers.  I confess that on my first perusal of the piece, my iPhone buried its concluding words under such a mountain of advertisements that I failed to notice them.  The discussion appeared to have ended.  Later I found that, incoherently, the advocates for the contrary position came trickling in, their voices already drowned under a steady din of laughter from the scientific (but unnamed) multitude.  Puzzling, yes: what does Sarah Cammarata make of the overwhelming authority (if underwhelming numbers) behind her opposition?  Why smuggle this section in almost as a postscript?  Is she in fact somewhat persuaded of the risible view, but anxious about becoming a laughing-stock herself?  Is it so very painful to admit that perhaps Donald Trump did one thing right?

I wish I were making up all the incoherence and puerility that besets the Cammarata piece at every turn.  Alternatively, I most sincerely wish that I took more comfort in the assurances of unnamed “experts”.  I wish I could understand why the high-balled estimate of cost for neutralizing this low-balled menace to humanity is just too much, yet the sacrifice of our First World economy to ensure that time-shares in Florida don’t go under the waves is a good swap.  I wish I hadn’t just finished reading Diana West’s American Betrayal—that I wasn’t so convinced, both through reading and through personal experience, that our government, our education system, our news media, and even our clergy were riddled with people devoted to our nation’s collapse, if not actively in the pay of its mortal enemies.  I almost wish that I could coast insouciantly through my evenings awash in Daiquiris and through my days surrounded by other texting-and-chirping idiots like me. As Sophocles’ Teiresias laments, “What a fearful thing is thought when thinking brings no advantage!”

On my own (that is, without the aid of giggly “informants” like Cammarata), I’ve tried to understand the other side of the issue. I keep dredging up versions of House’s insane cocksureness just above: assessments that an atmospheric detonation adequate to take down the national power grid would imply the ongoing presence of full-blown thermonuclear warfare, and would further imply… what? That “their” destruction would be mutually assured in ours? That the consequences of “their” aggression would almost certainly carry over into “their” terrain? Again, if “they” are Xi Jinping and his genocidal Caligulas—or, for that matter, if “they” are merely the Iranian mullahs eager to be transported to the Gardens of Paradise—how is such chessboard strategizing a comfort? And how do we actually know who “they” are before the lights go out… and why does all such reassurance, without any exception that I have so far found, ignore the eventual certainly of a purely natural EMP of major proportions?

Because it’s well worth adding that at no point does Cammarata register the possibility of a catastrophic EMP’s occurring quite naturally: she wears the tribal feathers quite prominently in that regard.  Yet such stupefying negligence should make our lack of preparation exponentially more alarming (assuming that our “beloved enemies” would commit only tactical slaughter, not genocide).  We have no viable plan on the drawing board, either, for averting a large asteroid on a collision course with Earth… and I don’t think I’m far wrong in supposing that a meteoric event could produce an EMP event—that a Tunguska-level vaporization of a massive rock in the upper atmosphere could black out an entire continent today.

But “most scientists” are unconcerned, because no catastrophe happened yesterday and, probably, none will happen tomorrow.  Now, death by… whatever… from “climate change” in a dozen years (by drowning? by overheating? by rioting? I never understood exactly what—and it changes) … yeah, we hear that “most scientists” are down for the Race to Save the Climate.  Of course, “most scientists” need grant money from our highly politicized federal agencies.

Meanwhile, the Russians and the Chinese have long since secured their grids, though money is much tighter in both economies than in ours—and they don’t seem to be spending a penny on keeping sea water off the beaches. Why is that, do you suppose? Guess they just don’t have any “scientists”.

Let Each Day’s Worries Suffice Unto Itself

Before you know it, everyone will be casting a nostalgic eye back over 2019.  Thanksgiving, incredibly, looms less than three weeks away.  Then Christmas.  Then… well, you know.

I began my year trying to do some tiny little bit of good for a fellow named Buddy Woodall, whose case was profiled in a Netflix series (The Confession Tapes, Episode 6) and who’s going to spend the rest of his life paying for two murders he didn’t commit because you can’t get a retrial for having a stupid jury.  Sorry, Buddy.

My first spring attempting to nurse along a couple of orchards (mostly pecans and apples at this point) was beset by several problems, such as voracious deer that chewed right through the protective netting I laid out… but that kind of discouragement is Life 101.  To see the republic dissolving around our ears was rather harder to take, especially since I had begun reading Solzhenitsyn’s Gulag Archipelago for the first time, as I must guiltily confess; but then, how many “newly minted” Ph.D.s in History do you suppose have ever been exposed to a line of it?  Learning about the bureaucratic inferno that follows when God’s most arrogant creatures try to correct all of the “design mistakes” in human society, and—at the same time—watching new waves of college graduates give the thumbs-up to suppressing speech, ruining small businesses, terrorizing families in suburbia, decriminalizing crime, energizing a magnet for chronic human slavery, producing a wildlife holocaust in the quest for “clean” energy… yeah, I’ll take the sharp-toothed deer, please.

At about this time, my son had introduced me to Jordan Peterson on YouTube… and I discovered, as well, that I could only watch Jordan via streaming on clear days, since Internet out here in the boondocks has its drawbacks.  Welcome to the edge of the grid!  That’s where I said I wanted to be in retirement, so… así es.  It was Peterson who nagged me into reading Solzhenitsyn.  Somewhere along the way, I also blundered into Diana West.

Diana West… American Betrayal.  All I learned from this book was that FDR’s insuperably pompous idiocy was undergirded by a thick layer of Soviet operatives (over 500 strong), that Japan would never have bombed Pearl Harbor without the sabotage of skillful diplomacy from D.C. (but I already knew this from Herbert Hoover’s Freedom Betrayed), that Harry Hopkins engineered the passage of heavy water and uranium by the ton to the Soviet Union via Lend-Lease, that our beachhead in Italy established after tremendous loss of life was abandoned because Stalin didn’t want us straying through Eastern Europe, that the carnage of D-Day was indeed owed entirely to FDR’s servile submission to Uncle Joe’s will, that most of the Jews exterminated under Hitler could have been saved had Moscow not dictated our foreign policy, that Hopkins and his fellow Roosevelt-puppeteers ignored the pleas of Admiral Canaris and other high-ranking Germans to assist their overthrow of Hitler, that our government actually left upward of 20,000 American boys (mostly freed from German and Japanese prisons) to rot in Stalin’s gulags without a peep… all of the foregoing—all of it—to court some kind of “convergent” ideological marriage with Stalin’s totalitarian insectification of humanity.  Also know as progressivism.  And West scarcely hints at the Russian role in garbling our Japanese negotiations as the war wound down, such that the dropping of the Bombs was deemed necessary by Truman when it could easily have been averted.  The construction of the Soviet Empire demanded that competitors for territory in the Far East be cleared off the board.

How much truth can one man take at the age of sixty-five?

Meanwhile, as summer morphed into fall (a summer that was supposed to have warned us of “climate change” with its record number of dry days and high temperatures—followed by a fall that has come crashing through with unusually cold, wet vigor), I watched my one-time heroes in Congress leave a slimy collaborative trail straight to the sidelines as the jackals gathered around the President.  Andrew Napolitano, Ben Shapiro, Jonathan Goldberg… Ben Sasse, Mike Lee, Ted Cruz… we’re not talking Mitt Romney here: these are (were) persons of premier intellect and character.  Where are the snows of yesteryear?

In my bid to live within the limitations of HughesNet, I discovered the Podcast; and there, much to my delight, I further discovered Frank Gaffney’s Secure Freedom Radio, along with Tom Fitton’s Freedom Watch and Sarah Carter’s mostly fluff-free broadcast (that’s a compliment: I hate fluff, Mssrs. Crowder and Hunter).  Trouble is, I was once again plumbing the depths of “truth overload”.  How many days in a row can you hear that Communist China is well on its way to preparing an insect farm for us idiot Americans as we supply all the raw material (à la FDR Administration)?  Personally, I am thankful to the Democrat Party for helping me to view my exit from this world with equanimity, and even great joy, as I enter my final laps… but I have a son.  The rest of you have children and grandchildren.  Is Hell big enough, deep enough, to contain as many Judases as busily engineer our ruin?

Sarah Carter opined yesterday (in a days-old broadcast that I played during my workout) that we have lost the ability to make up our differences and be civil to each other.  Bless your gentle heart, Sarah… but the party who always had to clam up at faculty gatherings or family reunions was yours truly, not the legions of virtue-signaling exhibitionists around him.  The incivility sits almost entirely on one side of the table.  It’s the same side that wants to leave unwanted babies to die after a failed abortion, to lavish taxpayer dollars on criminal vagrants, to reward child-molesters and slavers with free entry into the country, to let small entrepreneurs starve if they won’t kneel at the altar of “LGBTQ Pride”.  There’s no middle ground where one can pitch a tent and meet with purveyors of such moral atrocity, whether their service to chaos is deliberate (Harry Hopkins) or arrogantly unwitting (FDR).  We have no coherent society left.  We have California, expelling its toxic influence into neighboring states the way wildfires are eating their way across its own townships.  We’re in nuclear meltdown.

I need to get up now and go unwrap my brave little orange tree: I need to find out if she survived last night’s onslaught of “global warming”.  And then I need to haul my potted bell peppers back out on the porch—for today is clear and sunny.  These howling apes in clothes can go about their business of destroying everything their ancestors created in population centers all over the world.  If HughesNet permits, I’ll publish my not-so-uplifting ramble for a few eyes in a few parts of the world where Internet isn’t yet severely filtered.  Tend to your gardens, brothers and sisters.  They won’t betray you—even the deer won’t undermine you—if you bend your stiff neck and study how they grow.

“Corrupted Mind/World Interface”: The Black Plague of Our Time (Part II)

Let me cut to the chase. The following observations appear to me to indicate the presence of “Corrupted Mind/Body Interface” in our midst, and especially among our young people. I submit (and you can scroll back to my post for October 26 if you want to review the numerous symptoms in our recent history) that some of us Americans have lately approached critical moral issues around the globe with a suicidal irresponsibility, and that we have done so thanks to having lost our sense of how physical reality connects with the “noosphere” (the world of mind and ideas). You could say that all societies have always possessed a few members, at least, who struggled with bridging the subject/object gap. All of us as individuals face that struggle daily, in fact… but no more dramatically than we face—and meet—the challenge to get out of bed. Sane, mature people understand that they can’t fly from a ten-story window just because, minutes earlier, they were Superman in a dream. The number and extremity of cases in our ailing culture where people actually seem to be sleepwalking through some such fantasy suggests to me that a very distinctive epidemic has broken out.

Here are further symptoms, far more specific to our time and to our immediate neighbors than those I discussed before.

Mood-Altering Drugs: We have them in disturbing abundance. Yes, the New World natives were smoking nicotine of hallucinatory potency and drinking mescal that made them think they were walking upside-down… but the consumption was reserved for ritual occasions, and then mostly for shamans. Yes, we’ve know the God of the Vine for time immemorial; but there, too, drunkenness was usually considered a social faux pas when it surpassed certain limits on festive occasions. People seldom got pasted in a lonely room. Today we witness alarming spikes in the use of numerous substances whose effects drive the world far back from the individual’s awareness, and such use often knows no ritual kind of boundary. Indeed, it’s probably more characteristic of completely isolated settings today than social or celebratory ones. As a society, we’re escapist. I am tempted even to cite the proliferation of “dragon-master”, “time-traveler”, “shape-shifter”, and “witch” or “vampire” romances that are advertised on my Kindle every time I power it up—but I didn’t wish to appear facetious. As a public health crisis, drug and alcohol abuse scarcely belongs in the same category as adult comic books. Nevertheless, the difference is one of intensity. Both habits can be addictive, both develop a tendency to retreat from the world when it offers challenges, and both eventually allow unaddressed realities to metastasize into major problems.

Eating Disorders: In my youth, anorexia and bulimia were constantly in the news (e.g., when Karen Carpenter essentially starved herself to death). Now we seldom hear about them: our new crisis carries us in the other direction—yet in the same direction, ultimately. We eat too much, and we eat foods that immerse us in endorphins, presumably because we’re not very happy most of the time. Happiness is generally (if superficially) connected to social life. Girls of forty years ago were starving themselves to be sexually attractive (though I know that their self-torment rooted much more deeply than that); girls and boys of today are stuffing themselves because they have virtually no significant connections with the outside world at all, and they seek relief from the pain of “non-existence”.

Self-Neutering Sexual Habits: If a blank is inserted into the phrase, “drugs and _____”, the word “sex” is probably more likely to be supplied than “alcohol”. Certainly when casting back in our memory to the Seventies, those of us able to recall that shallowest of decades will dredge up the rapid decline of sexual morals at least as readily as the growing dependency on recreational drugs. I confess that at no time did I foresee the vector taken by the era’s libertinage; I figured that new couplings of increasingly bizarre kinds would degenerate into complex varieties of promiscuity ending in something like Huxley’s Brave New World. Instead… instead, the destination seems to be a kind of abstinence that would shock a monk. Wildly permissive and abusive opposite-sex arrangements apparently inspired a retreat into same-sex alternatives, which themselves are now morphing into sexual self-mutilation as confused young people seesaw between genders (or among them: we’re no longer allowed even to speak of a mere two). Sex with robots is offered as an option in some parts of the world. The most credible endpoint, though, seems to me to be that we ourselves will emulate the robot in having no sexual appetite whatever; and the sexual drive, however numerous and frightful the varieties of antisocial behavior it can fuel, has nevertheless always been a motive to learn socialization skills. Now our society is well along the way toward discarding it, utterly and for good.

Ineptitude With Oral Communication: Surely few indicators of “disconnect” with the external world could be more obvious than the inability simply to speak at an audible pitch and with basic eloquence. Believe me when I say that classroom teachers of a certain age all have a stock of favorite student gaffes (e.g., “for granite” instead of “for granted” and, of course, the dreaded “cereal killer”). These have grown more abundant and laughable in recent years… but the underlying truth isn’t really very funny. Our children are forgetting, not just how to spell, but how to talk. The lapse in skills includes even (I am convinced) merely producing an oral volume sufficient to reach beyond one’s elbow. Toward the end of my own career, I occasionally wondered if my hearing were going bad, given that I had to ask students to repeat themselves so often. Yet I noticed no signs of deterioration outside the classroom. I concluded that, over a span of three decades, young adults had largely lost the register needed to make their voices audible across an occupied space of twenty-by-thirty feet. Such encounters were as alien to their regular existence as parachuting or scuba-diving.

Neurotic Sensitivity to Insult: As the Word becomes a stranger to us, the few words remaining in our vocabulary must take on meanings they were never intended to bear. A monosyllable as neutral as “rope” can suddenly start an associative chain of dominoes falling… and at the end of that chain is “hanging”, as in “lynching”, as in “racism” and “KKK”. (We could get to about the same stopping point, by the way, with the word “chain”.) Now, to suppose that everyone who ever says “rope” is guilty of “hate speech” in “code” is to be suspicious to the verge of paranoid insanity… and yet, hundreds of college campuses and workplaces appear to have bestowed a kind of fearful veneration upon this folly. We are not even allowed the defense of insisting that we had in mind the word “rope’s” conventional meaning. The paranoids among us insist, in return, that we don’t know what we intended, because we have been subliminally programmed by our racist environment. We are held captive, in short, by the nightmarish fantasies in those who hear us but refuse to listen to us. We end up playing a part scripted in their impenetrably insulated heads which we can’t read, but which is nonetheless a particular crime of ours. The disruption of interface here, interestingly, doesn’t just put the “offended” completely at odds with the world: it justifies his or her extreme discomfort with the situation—it objectifies being at odds. “What do you mean, we’re not communicating? I heard what you said! Now I’m removing your right to say anything more! Don’t you dare say another word!”

Projection of Social Failures: I believe the more accepted word among psychologists is “transfer”—we have an increasing tendency now to thrust our social ineptitude upon others as the cause of our misery rather than to recognize its origin in ourselves. (I ended the previous item by noting that the “I know what you meant!” insistence on registering insult does precisely this.) If people of other races make us nervous, then the cause of our trembling is the presence of racists all around us. If we have unusual or ungovernable sexual appetites, then the cause of our extreme restlessness is the presence of predators or “gay-bashers” all around us. If an inclination to open hostility poisons many of our encounters with other people, then the cause of our elevated blood pressure is the presence of gun-toting rednecks all around us. Women demand that men not so much as “touch” them with a lingering gaze… and also that access to instant abortion under any circumstances be legally provided. Protesters scream that they want peace and safety… and welcome the support of masked thugs armed with bats and bottles. We seem to acquire our awareness of the horrors haunting the outside world by looking in the mirror… without, of course, having the least idea that it’s not a window.

Preference for Non-Human Friends: The growth in attachment to dogs and cats in Western society is really quite remarkable. I loved my Welsh terrier when I was a boy (though I never felt much attraction to felines, perhaps because of my allergies). Pets are fine. Who doesn’t like Lassie? But the prospect of young people, especially, devoting massive amounts of time and money to a pet or pets in progressive cities like Denver leaves me stunned. For the most part, these are persons of an age when they would have been married and tending to children in previous generations. Now they deeply mistrust “long-term relationships” and are so adverse to child-rearing that disposing of an unwanted baby after birth doesn’t strike them as murder (or so they claim)… yet their hearts melt at the thought of the fur ball that will greet them with a tail wag or a purr whenever they walk through the door. No degree of emotional negotiation or interpretation is needed to cuddle Mr. Mittens.

Dangerous Naïveté About Human Nature: It shouldn’t come as a surprise, when everything above is weighed, that we (or many among us) have only a pre-adolescent’s grasp of likely human motivations. Again, young men especially seem surprised that (for instance) a girl used for sex during a semester should think herself in a purposive, soulful relationship—or young women seem surprised, in the same scenario, that men have no manners and no nobility. College grads of both genders (let’s pretend there are only two) assume that police are Gestapo thugs, that soldiers are butchering mercenaries, and that business management always wants to push employees to the brink of starvation for sake of a wider profit margin; yet the same downy-cheeked cynics have no imaginative difficulty in picturing a world where only uniformed figures carry guns, which are only ever used to protect the helpless innocent—and where government bureaucrats daily spring to the defense of the oppressed without the least thought of power, promotion, or pay raise. The degree of emotional incoherence and retardation involved in trusting socialism—the practice of confiscating property by force and redistributing it as willed by an elite few (known in other ages as piracy)—to bring happiness to the world is mind-numbing.

Ignorance of How Things Are Produced: This category is probably best appreciated by viewing the next two… but it’s important to realize that our alienated, unsocialized citizenry doesn’t simply lack connection to other human beings. Its ignorance of the material universe is an integral part of the paranoid isolation we have been describing. How many of us believe that putting a plastic outlet cover on sheetrock somehow draws clean, inexhaustible energy from the Spirit World? How many have any inkling that solar panels are produced with Rare Earth Elements mined in miserable locales of the Third World commonly called “cancer villages”? Apparently some do not understand where babies come from, despite having been saturated in “sex education” since Kindergarten.

Qualitative Imbecility: Of course, babies are not “made” in the fashion of solar panels. My final example above leaks from a vast ignorance about how economies function into how natural cause-and-effect works. I’m sure that high school students today are much better equipped with hardware in chemistry or biology class than my generation was; and, we must hasten to add, they have the Internet. There is scarcely any plausible way to explain their degree of ignorance about the basics rhythms and connections of the natural world, then, if we do not posit that their daily, practical experience of that world is alarmingly deprived. How many understand that a year of unusual weather patterns offers up virtually no relevant data to the study of climate? How many grasp that deadwood left untrimmed in a grassland or forest becomes tinder for major fires? Why do so many not comprehend that human cultures (which are natural phenomena in many ways) annihilate each other unless allowed some degree of isolation? This stuff isn’t “rocket science”.

Quantitative Imbecility: Plenty of young people are more proficient at math already than I ever was on my best day… but plenty more can’t seem to reach an elementary proficiency. Related to our nation’s special instance of cultural collision… why is it hard to grasp that resources of all kinds are limited for handling Mexico’s itinerant laborers? Does the fact that so many of our citizens cannot correctly write out “twenty-three trillion” in numeral form mean that our debt problem is solved? Is there something about the volume of illegal immigrants pouring into our sanctuary cities that college students cannot connect with congested traffic, deteriorating infrastructure, increases in infectious disease, rises in pollution of all kinds, and escalating crime rates? Or why do these students and their parents believe—why did they ever believe—that the Big Brotherly FAFSA applications they were required to fill out upon completion of high school would lead to “free money”? Why, as a society, can’t we count? We’re no more obtuse, one must assume, than our forefathers. Could it be that we have lost touch with the world’s “thingness”—that we no longer have direct experience of plants receiving too much water, of fireplaces lacking sufficient chopped wood, of gutters too high for a certain ladder?

I have perhaps already been prolix, so I will end my list here rather arbitrarily. I’ve written enough, surely, to promote the point that our awareness of the world is being challenged today in ways unknown to other times. We lack common sense to a degree that, as far as I know, has no parallel in any society’s general population.

Last week I happened to read two explanations of why more than fifty percent of millennials appear to view socialism favorably. David Limbaugh blames academic propagandists; Tucker Carlson blames the student debt crisis. I myself have to believe that much, much more is going wrong. The “millennial mind” (if I may be pardoned the phrase) is being won over to suicidal folly neither by professorial harangues nor by economic self-interest. Its collective attitudes and outlook are far more deeply embedded than such causality can explain. The disease eating away at us has gnawed all the way to the bone.