The Gathering Storm

Something to think about. This was sent to me by a friend via email.  Don’t know Fred Reed but I thought this was worth sharing. The Gathering Storm, by Fred Reed The furor over  the Confederate flag, think I, has little to do with the Confederate flag,  which is a pretext, an uninvolved bystander. Rather it is … Continue reading “The Gathering Storm”

Something to think about.

This was sent to me by a friend via email.  Don’t know Fred Reed but I thought this was worth sharing.

The Gathering Storm, by Fred Reed
The furor over  the Confederate flag, think I, has little to do with the Confederate flag,  which is a pretext, an uninvolved bystander. Rather it is about a seething  anger in the United States that we must not mention. It is the anger of  people who see everything they are and believe under attack by people they  aren’t and do not want to be—their heritage, their religion, their values  and way of life all mocked and even made criminal.
  The talking heads inside  Washington’s beltway, in editorial suites in New York, do not know of this  anger. They do not talk to people in Joe’s Bar in Chicago or in barbecue  joints in Wheeling. They are cloistered, smug, sure of themselves. And  they are asking for it.
We are dealing with things visceral,  not rational. Confusing the two is dangerous. Hatreds can boil over as  syllogisms cannot. The banning of the flag infuriates, for example, me.  Why? Although a Southerner by raising, I would far prefer to live in New  York City than in Memphis.

Yet I value my boyhood in Virginia and Alabama.  My ancestors go back to the house of Burgesses, and I remember long slow  summer days on the Rappahannock and in the limestone of Athens,  Alabama.
When the federal government and the  talking heads want to ban my past—here, permit me to exit momentarily the  fraudulent objectivity of literature—I hate the sonsofbitches. A lot of people quietly hate the sonsofbitches.
To them, to us, the Confederate flag  stands for resistance to control from afar, to meddling and instruction  from people we detest. It is the flag of “Leave me the hell alone.” And  this Washington, Boston, and New York will…not…do. A surprise may be  coming.
What is the anger about? Most  visibly, but far from uniquely, race: the illegals, the Knock-Out game,  and Washington’s protection of both. The racial hostility that pervades  the country today is largely the doing of the talking heads in the media and its  perverse social policies. The rancor is unlike anything I have  seen.
Curious. When I was a lad ages ago,  I thought well of Brown vs. the School board. Southerners said that  integration would never work and they were right, but what came before was  just wrong. I thought so then, and I think so now. I favored the  civil-rights acts. I reluctantly favored affirmative action (I was very  young) thinking it meant a hand up instead of an entitlement. I wrote  hopefully of the prospect of educating blacks.
  But look what happened. We now see  forced hiring of the incompetent as a right, endless accounts of blacks  destroying shopping malls, burning cities, brutally attacking whites in  gangs, and the giving to blacks of anything they want because they are  black. You don’t like the Confederate flag, Jesse? Why then, it must go.  Whatever you say, Jesse.
It wasn’t this way, but it is now.  It is getting worse. But there is far more than race.  We now are  compelled to live in a national sexual-freak show. Day after day after day  the media are full of trans-this and trans-that, of homosexual marriages,  all thrust in our faces, a parade of prancing peculiarities demanding and  demanding and demanding. People who dare not say so are sick of  it.
It isn’t viciousness. I don’t know  anyone who wants to persecute the erotically baroque. Poofters in  particular are usually bright, productive, decent people, and do not  attack whites in wheel chairs with hammers. Yet I weary of their endless  tedious concerns. I say, go. Go with God, but for God’s sake go. Or just  shut up. That would do as well.
I, we, will be told, “But Fred,  homosexuality is natural.” So is hemorrhagic tuberculosis. So is sadism.  So is genocide.
Any sexual predilection can be  called natural, and arguments can be made for all of them: Polygamy, or  marriage with a sheep, or copulating on a public bus, or sex with girls of  nine years. (How about, “Sex is natural. Children are erotic: Don’t they  play doctor? Little girls are only afraid of it because of puritanical  conditioning by society. Oral sex feels good, and adults do it, so why  not…? Why shouldn’t her father gently teach her….” And so on.)
And crime is out of control,  protected by a President and Attorney General with whom we, so many  Americans,  have nothing in common, who dislike us,  and who  want to disarm us and flood our country with illegal and incompatible  aliens.
Do  you think that wanting a  gun is silly? Last week I started getting emails: “Chuck got shot.” Chuck De Caro, a journalist and friend for so long that I  forget how I met him, had checked into a motel in Albuquerque with his  wife, whereupon an armed dirtbag tried to rob them and perhaps worse. I  suppose that a white couple in their sixties must have seemed a soft  target.

Oops. It wasn’t a swell career move. Chuck is ex-Special Forces  and a longtime war correspondent. Threatening his wife doesn’t fly well  with him.
Anyway, Chuck apparently had other  ideas about being robbed and perhaps killed.  He also had a handgun.  In the ensuing gunfight, he was hit several times and rushed to the  hospital. Chuck will be okay, the dirtbag less so. He escaped to the  parking lot, where he decided to lie down and bleed to death. A good  choice. The news stories didn’t describe the perp.
This gem, Tomorio Walton, is, or was, a  career criminal and was, of course, on parole. Can you guess why so many  of us want guns and carry permits?
 Then there is the de-Christianizing  of the country. Religion, both historically and currently, is a potent  thing. Play with it at your risk.  We must not have nativity scenes  or sing Christmas carols on public streets. Easter-egg hunts are  unconstitutional. Mommy Washington doesn’t like them, and we have to do  what Washington says. Unless, of course, one day we  don’t. We are winding a spring.

  Stoking the flames under the  pressure cooker is the unending, ever-tightening control of every aspect  of life by Washington. People inside the city’s beltway, a venue I know  well, do not understand what they are playing with. They are sure that  they know best, and they are going to make us toe the line.
Federal bureaucrats  tell  people in Casper, Laredo, and Knoxville what they can and cannot teach  their children in the schools, what religious practices they may have and  what their children may eat. They set curricula, determine to whom  bakeries must sell cakes, decide who can marry what, and with whom we must  associate.
I could go on. There is quiet fury  about open borders, the forced acceptance of criminal aliens, of 100,000  Somalis by Minnesota, the endless wars, the declining standard of living,  the insane censorship (say “nigger” and your career of thirty years ends)  and the ungodly surveillance. Washington pushes, pushes, and pushes,  thinking that with just enough pressure, we will all come to  kowtow. What if one day we  don’t?
  And there is governmental  corruption, the sense—“realization,” I would say—that Washington is  entirely in the hands of the arms manufacturers, of the Israeli lobby, of  big pharma and ethnic lobbies and, well, anyone who bribes Congress.  Elections are a sham, serving only to decide the division of the spoils  for eight years. All decisions of importance are carefully kept out of the  public’s hands.
Maybe Washington will always get  away with it. Maybe it won’t. White Americans are an obedient and passive  people, easily cowed, but maybe enough will prove enough. Maybe things  will blow. Maybe jurisdictions will just ignore the feds, as begins to  happen.
But it is dangerous. The economy  declines, people out of college can’t get jobs, the ghettos simmer,  automation surges across the board, and one day soon we will have cutbacks  in the entitlements. When groups begin competing for dwindling resources,  things will get ugly.

It could explode. It really could. You might be  surprised how many people out there think, “Bring it on.” Not a good idea,  but we go that way.

Tick Tick. Tick.

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