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They answer: “The blood and crime

Belong to a sect and place!”

 

What are these things to Heaven-

Races or places of men?

The world through one Christ was forgiven-

Nor question of races then.

 

The wrong of to-day shall be rued

In a thousand coming years;

The debt must be paid in blood,

The interest, in tears.

 

Shall none stand up for right

Whom the evil passes by?

But God had the globe in sight,

And hearkens the weak one’s cry.

 

Whenever a principle dies-

Nay, principles never die!

But wherever a ruler lies,

And a people share the lie;

 

Where right is crushed by force,

And manhood is stricken dead-

There dwelleth the ancient curse,

And the blood on the earth is red!

 

 

    Another week, another mass-murder by Muslims. When I first heard of the blasts in Belgium I swore that I would simply ignore the coverage, because I could recite everything that was going to be said, like a prayer.

    Real-life now is indistinguishable from an example of a research paper introduction Waiting for Godot, or research paper about love Groundhog Day, or the research paper turabian style Twilight Zone episode with the dolls in the giant can, repeatedly trying to climb out before being bonged back to the floor by the bell of the Salvation Army Santa. Or, to once more employ that lovely Yogiism, it’s like research paper table of contents apa example déjà vu all over again. Nothing ever changes-the Kalashnikov fire, the shouting in Arabic, the detonations, the strewn body parts, the running and fear, the Tac teams milling around, the politicians first pretending they can’t fathom who’d do such a thing, then vowing a courageous response, then an instant later supporting the terrorists by vilifying whomever they brand “Islamaphobes” and “racists.” There’ll be vigils, piles of flowers, research paper for science project sample Je Suis this or that, and the West will go merrily on-“they won’t get us to change the way we live”-indeed not, and six months from now, or a year, or on the next blood moon, another blast, more lies from the politicians, more jihadist agitprop from the plutocrat media, and most important of all, more of the never-ending stream of Muslims into the Western victim nations.

    This time, though the attack took place in a country that few Americans can find on a map (not unlike Mexico or Canada), the great republic’s chief executive managed to disgrace himself to a new nadir. Even as the corpses were smoldering, he and his whole gang were sniggering away, doing the “wave” at a ball game in still-communist Cuba. By now, this character doesn’t even pretend to act like a grown-up man, much less head of state of a first-world nation. His photographic rap sheet tells the story- bowing to sheiks and mullahs, winking and mugging at the camera, riding a girl’s bike, kicking up his leg in witless joy over the astounding achievement of sinking a putt, playing with a selfie-stick, and the topper-modeling the latest in turban and diaper research paper on leadership and ethics haute couture. He makes Charlie Sheen seem the very model of dignity and good taste.

    But this is all that can be expected of an oligarchy masquerading as a democracy.  The great sorrow is that the nominal leaders of the true Church are no longer capable of speaking up against evil. The Belgian bishops, for example, expressed “dismay” at the carnage, and the head honcho of the Catholic Church in England, Cardinal Vincent Nichols, expressed not only “dismay” but also “shock.” Now think about this. Even if a person was thoroughly ignorant of the history of Islam from the 7th to the 20th centuries; ignorant, that is, of the murder of countless Catholics committed by Mohammed’s followers, ignorant of the torture and rape of countless Catholic boys, men, girls and women, ignorant of the countless Catholics enslaved and worked to death, even if these prelates somehow got to the age of 50 or 60 without learning one scrap of truth from history, surely they’ve seen a newspaper or gaped at the boob tube in the past twenty years or so.

     If so, they would have seen Muslims bomb the Twin Towers in ’93, US embassies in’98, the Twin Towers again in ’01, Madrid in’04, London ’05, Moscow ’10, good old Boston in’13, Paris last November and their latest production the other day. But these are only a few of the most spectacular atrocities, which garnered inescapable news coverage, not even taking into account the thousands of other bombings, shootings, stabbings, plane hijackings, ship rammings, and the employment of primitive but colorful novelties such as hatchets and cleavers.

     And yet the mitered wise men continue to be “dismayed,” not to mention “shocked.” I’ll bet my last clean shirt that the next time our brothers in Abrahamic tradition turn another batch of infidels into blood pudding the prelates will again find themselves dismayed and shocked, though perhaps Cardinal Vince, that insouciant bloke, will vary it up a bit by swearing that he’s “gobsmacked” by the unprecedented events.

    In the early 20th century, Hilaire Belloc observed that Islam was politically and militarily moribund but spiritually very much alive. The West, on the other hand, was rich and well armed, but morally rotten, and therefore would once again suffer at the hands of the Mohammedans. He lived in England, which at that time still controlled the most far-flung empire in history and most people would have believed him insane. Of course he was right about everything. The bloodshed in Brussels was just another day in the genocidal jihad against the Christian West that has gone on for more than 1,000 years. But Westerners, having rejected the true faith, destroyed themselves. The Muslims are just mopping up. The only hope for survival is to…hey! Wasn’t Doug Flutie great the other night on to kill a mockingbird research paper on racism Dancing With The Stars?

    On this St. Patrick’s Day I am prompted to think of Tommy Makem, who left us in 2007. For those who enjoy Irish music, Tommy needs no introduction, so I won’t do a lengthy biography, but for those who never heard of him, he’s a good fellow to get to know. Born in 1932, he was a Catholic born in Ulster, so he knew a bit about persecution. His mother Sarah was celebrated for collecting traditional Irish music that might have been lost. He moved to the states in the 1950s and eventually joined up with the Clancy Brothers, who were involved in acting, but switched to music and the group found an audience among American Irish in the brief “Camelot” era. By the 70s, the other Clancys had moved on but Tommy and Liam Clancy continued as a duo.

     This is when I picked them up, in junior high, and got and wore out a few of their LPs. The pattern, I might add, is familiar. Typically the children of immigrants have no interest in the Auld Sod, but grandchildren are often curious about the roots.  Certainly I could relate to the songs of drinking, blackguarding, and blowing up English soldiers. I could see myself giving those British bastards what for with a Thompson gun. In fact, I still can.

     I favored Tommy always, over Liam Clancy because I heard an interview with them in which Liam was talking in this sort of “peace, peace” vibe, and Tommy piping in “Being from the North, I have a somewhat different view.” I presumed from then on that I knew his politics, though this could be projection. They had a show on public TV that came out of the New Hampshire station. I tried valiantly to get it, I believe, on Sunday nights but never could. This was still the age of rabbit ears on top of an old wooden box (at least at my house) and Dover to Boston was too far a stretch.

     Tommy and Liam went their separate ways and I never did get to a performance. I only had one anonymous brush with Tommy. About twenty years ago I was the “guest editor” of the Irish American issue of a children’s magazine published in New Hampshire, where he lived. I had actually prompted the project by writing a letter complaining that they had had issues dedicated to every group under the sun but the Irish. The squeaky wheel method worked, and they asked me to do the “editing,” which was simply reading the submitted articles and okaying them. Someone there had gotten the bard to write a brief piece on traditional Irish music and I was delighted to be associated, professionally, with Tommy, in even a miniscule way. It’s not like we were piled into Orangeman Johnson’s motorcar together, armed for bear, but it’s still pretty cool.

    The mail usually brings bad news and often ugly images. Today arrived a flyer carrying Hillary’s grotesque visage and the message that she was “for workers.” Well, I’m certainly a worker, always have been, as was my Dad, who labored in a factory, and my immigrant grandfather, who shoveled coal. Oh course, my family is in the demographic that Hillary (not to mention that old Red, Crazy Bernie) condemns for having dermatological “privilege.” Still, with all the luxury of coal-shoveling and factory-sweating, we hardly have enough time to hold down the “underprivileged” recipients of endless taxpayer largesse. If not for the government and fiscal elites, most of us dumb suckers would never even research paper on ozone layer depletion know how privileged we are, and how shamed we should be, for the privileges of time-clock punching, bill-paying, and trying to keep the wolf from the door. Thanks, oligarchs, for making it all very clear. Your worthless pale subjects salute you!

    Now as to this flyer, it came from some union, emblazoned with the command to get out the vote for Hillary, who will “stand up for hard-working” families. Well, it’s a sure bet she’ll stand up for Planned Parenthood, she’ll stand up for urban rioters, she’ll stand up for Goldman-Sachs, Israel, and Bill’s night out, but working families? Not so much. The missive reported where the polling places are and showed how to check mark next to Clinton’s name. About the only thing missing was a dollar bill paper-clipped to the order.

    I have a representative union story. A buddy of mine, let’s call him Joe, was a good man whose daughter had been murdered. He was very much involved in pro-life activities and hid his sorrow well. He worked at a utility, let’s say the phone company, when there was only computer animation research paper topics one phone company. So Ted Kennedy was up for reelection for the umpteenth time, and, considering that Massachusetts is crawling with “Catholics,” the most notorious enabler of the abortion holocaust was, as usual, a shoe-in. Even so, the unions didn’t want to take any chances.

     One day my buddy Joe was at work and a few of “the boys” were making their rounds. They came up to him and said “Who you votin’ for? Union’s for Kennedy.” Joe said “I’m pro-life. I don’t vote for Kennedy or any other Democrat.” They didn’t like this at all, but he was a big guy, well-liked, and had been there for years, so a working-over probably would have caused trouble. Besides, Teddy the drunken rake was going to be reelected in any case, so they didn’t go any further with Joe. But figure the scenario if the worker was a young guy, new on the job, baby on the way, being menaced by a couple of union goons. Now consider Hillary and the union’s tender concern for hard-working families.