Saturday, November 26, 2005

Public Opinion and Tabu

Public Opinion and Tabu

Native Indians in Northern Canada provide a good example of what life in Europe will be like in 20 years if Europeans allow the further Eurabainization to continue apace. Laurie Gough wrote of a village in northern Ontario, Canada that is a vision of our future in our cities, not in some remote village in the Arctic Circle but in Paris, in Rome, in London. We saw a world of feral children in feral communities, and the picture is one of culture in psychosis. And people are afraid to say anything about it. There is a tabu against speaking truth to poverty pimps and UN workers and the media. Worse, one dare not speak in universities of poverty and ferality resulting from socialist government. This ain't no stinking university. We blog!

Below is the work of a woman who is afraid to let her name be known in public for fear of reprisals. She too taught school in a land of psychotic and feral people. Because one woman wrote, this woman writes. Because these two women write we hope others will find the courage to write and to speak and to act. There is fear, and real fear of violence, of violent death at the hands of feral savages out of control and fueled by exultation and exhortation. Those people will die like dogs if we allow our systems of government to continue on this path of throwing money and sentimentality and exclusionary privilege at them. "You are Others," the p.c. nannies chant, "and we are not worthy!"

Well, take a look at what we get when the Left dhimmi fascists control the world. And then think about Theo van Gogh. And think of Hirsi Ali and Geert Wilders and so many others who live under constant threat of death by our feral Muslim populations pandered to and primed with cash and permission from our leaders to rant and scream and carry on like monsters unrestrained by any civilizing forces at all, only further inflamed by our appeasement, our encouragement that they act out their savageries and punish us for whatever imagined harm we might have done when we were children or whatever our parents did, or our grandparents or our ancestors of a 1000 years ago. this is the future of our world if we do nothing more than what we do now. this is Canada today. It is Europe tomorrow:

Third World, Sask.
National Post
Wed 23 Nov 2005
Lynne Foster*
National Post

There are native reserves where educated people live happy,
productive lives. I have visited some of them. In general, they are
communities that are close to major population centres, where
residents can access services, gain an education and learn how to
run a business.

But as Laurie Gough showed in her Saturday National Post article
about teaching a Grade Three class in the northern Ontario reserve
of Kashechewan, there are other more remote reserves where residents
are demoralized and impoverished. These reserves are out of sight,
out of mind, with minimal access to the outside world -- ignored by
everyone, money thrown at them without any accountability.

I have worked as a teacher on just such a reserve. Ms. Gough left
her job after three months. For reasons I still can't understand, I
managed to stay for an entire school year.

It was a reserve in northern Saskatchewan. (I won't identify it.
Its people suffer enough as it is. And in any case, there are many
others like it.) I'd made the trip full of high hopes, but doubts
emerged as soon as I arrived with the other teachers.

"You are no longer in Canada," we were told. "This is our land, our
country and you will obey our laws." (This proved true: When I
started, I was offered a set figure as pay. A year later, I received
less than half of this amount. I discovered one cannot litigate
against anyone on a reserve.) In retrospect, I don't know why I
didn't just rev up the pickup and head home right there and then.

The reserve's population was divided into two groups. First, there
was the privileged set, a small group of related people who were on
the band council, worked for the council offices or worked at
band-financed jobs, like driving the snowplough truck.

This group lived at one end of the reserve, where the land was dry,
in attractive houses complete with with Western-style amenities.
They had new cars and trucks, and dressed well.

All the rest, some 95% of the native people on this reserve, lived
in the bush, where the ground was a sea of mud most of the time,
where the elementary school was full of mould, its basement gym
covered with fetid water. Drinking water came from a single tank,
which was accessed by hand. Sewage treatment was non-existent.
Household garbage simply was thrown out people's back doors, to be
feasted on by wild dogs and bears. All the garbage and sewage
leached into the ground -- and then into the river.

There was no regular medical care. Doctors in town had offered to
set up a program of weekly visits. But the Band Council refused.

It was said that most females had been raped at least once. I
remember learning that a six-year-old girl in my class had been
raped just before school began. The episode was seen as
unexceptional, and the rapist suffered no punishment.

I went to many of the houses in which my students lived. It was
common to find an empty house, with nothing but a table, filthy
mattresses on the floor, and a wood stove. Most of the food on hand
was canned or packaged, if there was any at all.

Dogs ran wild, often half-starved. They were beaten and kicked by
the men on the reserve. One large dog -- some said he was actually a
wolf -- claimed me as his food source, slept on my porch, and
followed me everywhere. I fed him as well as I could. He had a wound
on his neck, where one of the other dogs had gashed him.

In the pitch-black nights, the only sounds one heard were the dogs
barking -- and gunshots. The housing provided for teachers was
flimsy. I always feared a stray bullet would come through the wall.

The teachers lived in row houses, apart from the rest of the
reserve. One evening, about a dozen enraged adults burst into the
dwelling of one of my male colleagues and beat him severely over
some disagreement.

I, too, sometimes heard fists banging on my door occasionally. On
such occasions, I took a used a large heavy chair to barricade the

Children came to my unit all the time begging for food, telling me
their parents had been drunk for days, that there was nothing left
in their house to eat. I cooked and served eggs and toast and
whatever I could to as many as I could.

Unlike the children Ms. Gough had in her Grade Three Kashechewan
class, my students were generally well-behaved -- except for one,
who suffered severely from fetal alcohol syndrome and burst into
tantrums several times a day. Still, the children had little idea
what it meant to sit in school and learn in a structured
environment. So I had to keep their attention with a great deal of
art and music, singing and poetry, and physical activity. Most
barely spoke English. All of the children had head lice, and I had
to take them to shower weekly, and carry out de-lousing.

Sprinkled in among such bad memories were a few good ones. There
was the one wintry day when I was walking along a road and came upon
a group of men and women butchering a moose. They were drunk on
homemade vodka, and offered me some. All were laughing, giddy over
their high-protein windfall.

Many of the parents I met were loving, kind people who were
genuinely upset that they could not provide their children with a
better life. But I also met angry, drunken parents who had given up
on themselves and their families. It was distressing to see their
dilapidated homes just a short distance from those lovely houses at
the other end of the reserve, with their television aerials and
cars. It was equally distressing that the government allowed the
money that was meant for all the residents to be kept and used by
the few who controlled the reserve.

Welfare Friday was a day the teachers all headed into town, over an
hour's hard drive away. We fled because we knew the weekend would be
full of alcohol, gunshots, fights, beatings and worse.

Every year, there were several deaths when people fell off the back
of pick-up trucks that roared around the reserve. Those in control
of the reserve cared not one bit.

One cold night in winter, there was a loud, urgent banging on the
door of my unit. It was 4 a.m., but for some reason, I opened the
door anyway. It was a father with a young child. There had been an
"incident," he told me. He said he wanted me to protect the child,
and then left. He came back the next day for the boy, and that was
the last I heard of it.

And where does the blame lie for all this? It lies with our
governments. Billions are dished out and that is that. It appears
they do nothing to ensure band councils spend it fairly.

You can provide people with housing, furniture, and all the other
physical amenities. But it is all for nothing if the people have no
purpose in life -- no future, no goals, no dignity. You can take any
hardworking, educated , motivated person and stick him on that
reserve, to live the life of the people. Come back in a year and you
will have an alcoholic, depressed, hopeless person.

Our governments spend so much on programs for the relocation,
education, orientation and counselling for people who come to Canada
as refugees and immigrants. Yet our native people live in conditions
that in many cases are worse than the places asylum-seekers come

Many believe the day is long past when any aboriginal people should
be living in the bush or the remote frozen north. Somehow, they must
be brought closer to the modern world, and given the opportunity to
enjoy all the amenities of Canadian life.

I will never forget my year on this reserve. It has seared my soul.
I remember the beautiful children with their huge brown eyes, and
hope those times when they could smile and laugh and play in my
classroom was of help to them.

We find the greedy and uncaring at all levels. It was not just that
small group on that one reserve who kept most of the funds for
themselves; it's the attitude of government officials at all levels
that lead to the neglect of native peoples. We show concern for the
foreign victims of earthquakes, tsunamis, floods, hurricanes and
illnesses. And yet, somehow, no one thinks of the remote, neglected,
shattered communities right here in Canada. It's time that changed.

We see above the result of the madness of not demanding obedience to the universal social contract. The above is the result of exceptionalism, of multi-culturalism, of allowing one group of people to live by laws the rest of us have no part of. This is identity facism. This is the fascist dictatorship of culture over person. And this is the story of one woman who found at least enough disgust to write under a false name from fear of perhaps being murdered. Is the public outraged by the horrors she writes about? Well, not hardly. Please read the "Letter of the Day" as posted in the same newspaper that ran both stories above, those by Foster and Gough:

Re: Lesson From Kashechewan, Nov 21, 2005

I recently stayed for a short time in a native reserve four hours north of Montreal. Shortly after my arrival the community [sic] gathered by the lake, around the carcass of a dead [sic] moose to share the meat amongst themselves. I was privileged enough to be invited to participate in the festive event. No one knew I was a photojournalist.

Allow me to interpose here to complain about this "Letter of the Day." Who is this idiot who spent a short time in a village and knows enough to comment on native culture? Why, that would be a semi-literate photo-journalist who reduces people to the lump sum of "community," not a single individual in the letter at all but the writer. Yes, the carcass was dead. As we read above about moose-sharing, it comes with the home-made vodka-sharing as well, but here nevermind the news. This letter writer was "privileged" to be invited. Privileged? Take a whiff of a dead rat wrapped in a dirty sock and you'll have some idea of the privilege this dhimmi idiot says she had. Game. It's an acquired taste, and that's not anyone's business but the eater's. But it ain't no privilege to eat that kind of thing if one is used to farm animal food. We're being lied to here. If the author is implying that the natives shared from a scarce resource, then why is it scarce? Why isn't there a steady source of pure and healthy food for all? But we're being lied to here in this Letter of the Day. And as bad as anything in the paragraph above, look at the verbs: "to be invited to participate." Not one single person graces that phrase. The dhimmi idiot who wrote that crap and the rest that follows it has no idea what life is like among feral people and is happy to let us know that we know nothing and that we are guilty of the sins of racism and arrogance and what have you according to the display of our ability to mouth cliches. I blog on that dhimmi idiot!

We have there the "Letter of the Day" in a major national newspaper in Canada. What we don't have is public opinion demanding the military take control of the people. What the hell is wrong with that picture? Fear. Cringing dhimmi idiots who are afraid to speak out in public to demand the end of outrageous savageries and crime. And we are seeing the future of Eurabia as we sit in our rooms and type in fear. Says who? Says Dag Walker in Vancouver, Canada. I am outraged.

Neil Bissoondath writes on multiculturalism in Canada below in a book that just arrived at my desk an hour ago; and in anticipation of it I include a few excerpts from the preface. When I finish the book I hope to present more details and some of my own pithy comments, and you, dear reader, are invited to comment well.

The publication of Selling Illusions in the fall of 1994 threw me into an experience that was dispiriting and exhilarating in equal measure, that seemed at times schizophrenic. If the adjective seems overheated, consider that on October 8, The Globe and Mail ran a long, prominent, totally negative review, the kind of review that left the writer no room for solace. One week later, on October 15, the book made its debut on the same newspaper's bestseller list at number one. This was my first indication that while much of the intelligentsia, particularly on the political left, would view the book with distaste, many Canadians in the public at large would react more favourably—and these were the people I wanted to reach: not those who made it their business to ponder and defend the ideology of multiculturalism but those who lived it day by day....

Through the long weeks of travel and talk and exchanges both public and private, I came to understand that if Selling Illusions struck some critics as having little new to say, that was because I had simply put on paper what many people—perhaps, if the polls are accurate, the majority—had long been thinking but,intimidated by the atmosphere of reverence that surrounded the policy, had kept mostly to themselves. Many people read the book and found themselves staring into a mirror of their own feelings.


Selling Illusions did no more than point out what all could see but few dared declare: the multicultural emperor had no clothes.

The multicultural emperor, however, had bite—or at least a loud growl. Then Minister of State for Multiculturalism, Sheila Finestone, came to the defence of her department by declaring in a speech to the Canadian Ethnocultural Council, "I don't enjoy Neil Bissoondath. I don't enjoy his lack of understanding of choice." I had failed to understand, she said, that all Canadians had the freedom to choose what they wanted to be and what they wanted to do—which only proved that she had utterly failed to understand the book, which was precisely a plea for the government to stop limiting those most personal of choices through its interpretation and promotion of multiculturalism. Lumping me with critics from the Reform Party, she stated her belief that such attacks on multiculturalism were threatening the very fabric of Canadian society. In other words, she echoed in more elegant form the advice I'd once received from two of her minions at a conference in Ottawa—that I shut up. That was as close as she got to engaging the substance of the arguments.

Undeterred by stinging media reaction to her speech, Ms. Finestone, whose penetrating intellect today enlivens the Senate of Canada as much as that august body can be enlivened, then told Susan Ormiston, an interviewer for CTV's W5, that "There isn't any one Canadian identity. Canada has no national culture." Failing to see that in voicing multiculturalism's unstated mantra she had just made a stunning claim, Ms. Finestone reacted to Ms. Ormiston's expression of surprise with a dismissive, "Well, where's your national culture?" In the coming days, letters to the newspapers provided her with the answers her bureaucrats could apparently not supply.

[.... more],,0_0141006765,00.html?sym=EXC

Friday, November 25, 2005

Public Opinion and Democracy

There are a thousand rules for every one rule people actually need to live successfully in civil society. We are over-governed. The state of the West is one of living in a state of permanent infantalization. We have written here that society is a large kindergarten ruled by p.c. nannies who do little more than mind the charges. And we have also written that such is good to a large extent, using the example of our friend Ali Sina, an apostate from Islam: that if people generally were to change their minds about fundamental beliefs, such as their religious beliefs, then social life would be of the most extreme and dangerous kind of anarchy. There must be a solid core of unchanging or glacially-paced social change in individuals as well as in societies at large to forestall chaos and violent revolution. Social change is a dangerous thing, being better to evolve than to turn topsy-turvy in all but the most extreme conditions. And there is an innate and powerful sense of that in the mind of the body politic: most people are content to live in a state in loco parentis, even as adults, as below:

Schools continue to be institutions to which parents look for help in their efforts to best serve their children. Schools are doing more because other elements of society (home, church, community) seem to be unable or unwilling to continue their historic roles. Teachers, parents, and community members need to recognize certain domains belong to parents and others to educators. With in loco parentis, both students and teachers benefit.

In his 1770 compilation of English law, William Blackstone applied the phrase in loco parentis to educators. By definition, teachers were given the right to act as parents would when responding to disciplinary problems.

Law is mostly a matter of contracts in the modern world. We make contracts as citizens with our societies, that we will obey the laws of society, and that society will not harm us. When we find ourselves in contractual disagreement with others or society itself we surrender ourselves to the judgement of our fellows to decide according to the contracts of law the outcomes of our disputes. The people themselves, delegated responsibility by the people, decide what is lawful and legal, and society, all of us together, act in loco parentis vis each other. Our contracts are popular, universal, and rational, positive laws created by man through rational debate and passed by consensus of the majorities with protection of minority rights. The majority rules, but not without restraint. And this lawful and democratic rule of rational law is guaranteed to all equally regardless of any station or privilege. All men are created equal, and they are equal before the law. That, in (extremely) brief, is democracy.

It's important to discover the difference between public opinion and democracy, if there is a difference. We, being democrats, are also revolutionaries, and our task is to change public opinion while at the same time preserving our democracy and spreading it further without destroying ourselves and our social and civil societies in the process. We need structural change in public opinion but not structural change in democracy. Is it possible to have one without the other? Can we redraw our social contracts to bring our democracies into line with a new set of social circumstances and also protect the rights of the individuals who make up our democracies? It will be a change in public opinion regarding the nature of democracy that will change, and we must be careful that we do not rip the fabric of our lives to shreds of our previous civility.

We live in a time of a bifurcation of Humanity between the worthless and parasitic surplus of subsistence-level peasant farmers relocated most often to urban centres where they have no identity and no reason for being as a class of Humanity on the one side, and the other part of Humanity that is inheritor of the Revolutions of Modernity, the possible way of the future of progress. However, within our Modernity we are split between the opium eaters of reaction and the vanguard of Progressive Modernity. We are in a state verging on civil war. Something must change within Modernity's bounds or we will surely tear ourselves to pieces, and our social contracts will be bits of stuff floating on wisps of wind and drafts of smoke. We must change public opinion regarding our Modernity or we must unite with our Left dhimmi fascist fellows and put paid to the Revolutions of Modernity to sink back into the feudal ages and to live like farm animals once again, no democracy, no universality, no
equalities in law. What are we going to do?

We cannot have a democracy and a tyranny of the majority at the same time. We cannot disallow Islam and Left dhimmi fascism simply because both ideologies are evil. Nor are we in any position to do so. Public opinion is not on our side at this time. That appears to be slowly changing as people are gradually determining that the mainstream media lie to the general public, that our political representatives are filthy scum, and that our university professors and public intellectuals are garbage liars, and that the so-called religion of peace, Islam, is a fascist totalitarianism. Our democracy is threatened by fascists of all sorts, particularly by Left dhimmi collaborators in the Islamic drive to destroy the West's modernity. And yet, still we are not ready as a general society to shift from our positions of self-imposed dhimmitude. That is in its own way a natural and healthy position for a society to take insofar as we cannot change too rapidly our ideas without collapsing into anarchy. Our change of mentality must be gradual rather than revolutionary. And once the change occurs we must not allow too much change or we'll face a furious public opinion that will demand the utter destruction of not only Islam and Left dhimmi fascism but the hanging of our own and the nuking of the Muslim populations of the world. We as the vanguard of social change from the Left fascism of our general will must tend our democracy as citizens acting in loco parentis. When we act to effect social change in our democracies we must do so with genuine care for the future of our democracies. We must work to change the public opinion of the majority but we must do so carefully and so that the majority do not become an anti-democratic mob.

We face an interesting problem in that the majority opinion today is that of opium-eaters intoxicated by the poison of Left dhimmi fascism. They are roughly the majority of the West's populations, and if and when they become a threat to the minority, meaning those who do not welcome Islam and dhimmitude, we have a legitimate right to defend ourselves from that majoritarian tyranny. It's our feeling that the tide is changing, and rrightly that it is slowly changing, in favor of liberal democracy as opposed to Left dhimmi fascism. We should work as hard as we do to continue this trend in our favor, and if we are threatened with extinction by the majority of dhimmi fascists we must resist. But if we are triumphant in our attempts to effect social change we must guard against extremism on out own part. We must have the public opinion on our side, and we must act in loco parentis as guardians of our democracy as well.

We must change our society, wipe out the rule of dhimmi fascists and redraw the social contract that allows us to live as reasonable adults in civil society. We face the bulk of the world's current population as they are, and they are parasitic. We split from them, and we must be careful in how we approach our future lest we go too far and wipe out not just the primitives of Islam but many of our own as well.

The rules have to change. We clear-minded democrats must rule.

Thursday, November 24, 2005

A Look to the Future

There are four themes left for this blog before we can stop and assess the progress we've made. The careful reader will notice large and significant gaps in the material so far, discussion of Montaigne, Montesquieu, Rousseau, and de Maistre, as examples, but they will come under a later and different title. There are significant holes in our discussions of Herder, Fichte, Sorel, and Lenin, and those will also come to be covered in a later attempt at revision and completion. Perhaps the most obvious omissions to date are of Hume and Kant. They will be separate topics for a later work on the origins of atheism and the rise of Left dhimmi fascism. As a later part of that look at our current situation we will also turn to Plato for the beginnings of political fascism. These things must wait. It is our hope that this blog can treat at least basically the remaining five major themes of our blog:

Ecology Fascism;

Identity Fascism;

Gnostic Fascism;

Anti-war Fascism;

Eschatological Fascism.

We appreciate your continued interest in this blog, and we welcome your comments and critiques.


Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Presbyter Scum

Our friends at Cuanas posted this yesterday, and we pass it on here. Frankly, I get so disgusted by the antics of the Prsbyterian Church that I am hardly able to think straight when I turn my mind to the evil these people do. Below, Pastorius leads off with an introduction you may follow into the whole of the sorry mess the church has become. And following that there are some comments from a friend who certainly knows more about this than I or others at the fortress. One thing is clear to all of us, mostly atheists and hardly people you'd invite home for dinner: we know the difference between right and wrong. Obviously the Presbyterians don't.

The Presbyterian Church is rotting out from the inside:

On October 20, 2005, the Lebanese press reported that a delegation from the Presbyterian Church USA, headed by Father Nihad Tu'meh and with Robert Worley as its spokesman, visited southern Lebanon at the invitation of Hizbullah, and met there with the terrorist organization's commander in southern Lebanon Nabil Qawuq...

A year previously, on October 17, 2004, a Presbyterian Church USA delegation visiting Lebanon also met with Qawuq. MEMRI TV translated excerpts from a report on the meeting that was aired by Hizbullah's Al-Manar TV. During the meeting, church elder Ronald Stone said, "We treasure the precious words of Hizbullah and your expression of goodwill towards the American people. Also, we praise your initiative for dialogue and mutual understanding. We cherish these statements that bring us closer to you. As an elder of our church, I'd like to say that according to my recent experience, relations and conversations with Islamic leaders are a lot easier than dealings and dialogue with Jewish leaders."...

Interesting articles on the Presbyterian Church rotting out from the inside. Corruption of the Satanic sort within the institutionalized church was predicted by Christ Himself. You'll need to bear with me a bit, as I attempt a brief Bible lesson here, as you mentioned the difference between Presbyterian and New Presbyterian wasn't clear to you. Throughout scripture birds often symbolize spirits, usually evil spirits, though not always. The first bird let out of Noah's ark after the Flood was a raven which did not return, as it found plenty to eat floating around - highly symbolic of Satan occupying whoever is not saved. In Matthew 13:24-32 Jesus gave 2 parables, with parallel meanings. In both cases the "kingdom of heaven" refers to the whole of believers in Christ, regardless of geographic dispersion, on earth at once. In verses 24-30 the parable indicates that both wheat and weeds are allowed to grow or occupy the earth until the time of harvest or judgment. The implication is that, not only are there those on earth who reject Christ and are therefore not part of the kingdom, but they must have infiltrated to close proximity to bone fide believers, since tearing the two group apart prior to God finally winding things up would cause too much disruption - see verses 29-30.

In Matthew 13:31-32 the second parable is a little more explicit about the institutionalized church becoming infiltrated with dirty birds, so to speak. Mustard is one of the smallest of all seeds, the inference being that belief in Christ as God and Savior can seem to be little more than a mere moment's thought at first. As time passes, normal growth for mustard plants results in a small but potent and useful herb, akin to the idea of a small local independent church with a small but close knit group of believers who let pleasant their flavour be known in the world nearby. This is the way the Lord intended things to be. However, when the plant grows to excess size, it becomes a woody vine, no longer useful as food, and falls all over the ground - too much contact with the world for the cumbersome churches. In addition, the distorted sizes and woody branches can become nesting places for birds. In other words, a church so large that it extends to political proportions, with levels of administrative hierarchy in which power wielding can take place, is not what the Lord intended, and is a tempting locale for corrupt people seeking power and influence - through any venue.

Matthew 13:

24 Another parable put he forth unto them, saying, The kingdom of heaven is likened unto a man which sowed good seed in his field:

25 But while men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat, and went his way.

26 But when the blade was sprung up, and brought forth fruit, then appeared the tares also.

27 So the servants of the householder came and said unto him, Sir, didst not thou sow good seed in thy field? from whence then hath it tares?

28 He said unto them, An enemy hath done this. The servants said unto him, Wilt thou then that we go and gather them up?

29 But he said, Nay; lest while ye gather up the tares, ye root up also the wheat with them.

30 Let both grow together until the harvest: and in the time of harvest I will say to the reapers, Gather ye together first the tares, and bind them in bundles to burn them: but gather the wheat into my barn.

31 Another parable put he forth unto them, saying, The kingdom of heaven is like to a grain of mustard seed, which a man took, and sowed in his field:

32 Which indeed is the least of all seeds: but when it is grown, it is the greatest among herbs, and becometh a tree, so that the birds of the air come and lodge in the branches thereof.

Israel has always been God's chosen earthly people, and those who would be adversaries to Israel, align themselves with Satan, perhaps unwittingly but nevertheless. The name Satan means adversary, and his work often involves seduction in a political sense, and he of course can appear as an angel of light or as a minister of righteousness, as seen in the passage below.

2 Corinthians 11:

13 For such are false apostles, deceitful workers, transforming themselves into the apostles of Christ.

14 And no marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light.

15 Therefore it is no great thing if his ministers also be transformed as the ministers of righteousness; whose end shall be according to their works.

I've not bothered to follow all the twists and turns of the apostate churches, which include the Catholic, the Presbyterian, Episcopal, and others. To me, once they start doing things like wondering whether or not Mary was actually a virgin, or perhaps Christ was just a man, and maybe God doesn't mind homosexuality, etc. - all the politically correct garbage, I just lose interest in knowing anything more about them. There was split in which the New Presbyterian departed because they couldn't tolerate these sorts of doctrines of demons, ending the very sort of result your referenced blog has posted. The first word in scripture to describe Satan is the word subtle - Genesis 3:1, meaning not obvious, appears as simply the small harmless nose under the tent flap, the thin edge of a puny wedge, etc. Had people like Nihad Tu'meh and Robert Worley entered the Presbyterian Church 50 or 100 years ago and starting foaming the mouth with preaching and teaching anti-Israel and anti-Americanism, they would have been rejected. It has been necessary for that church to first depart from solid adherence to scripture before such apostasy could ever take hold. The Presbyterian Church today is doubtless one of the apostate institutions prophesied in Matthew 13:32.

The New Presbyterian Church takes a very opposite stance on issues relating to supporting Israel, and so far as I can tell they operate largely as small independent local churches, as the useful small mustard plant.

For all the bad press fundamentalist Christians get, that they are a bigger threat than Islam, that they are going to destroy the world, and so on, I reserve a greater hatred for "mainstream" Presbyterians than for any other living creatures. These whores of Babylon might look pretty from a distance but scratch them and they ooze poison. They are scum.

Here again is the link to Cuanas:

Ali Stardust and the Spiders from Allah

We found this originally at

In keeping with the holiday spirit, given that we're having giant roasted spider for dinner tomorrow, we present this Thanksgiving story. Thanks Robert and crew for another look at how little time we have left in the face of the superior forces of Islam. Wow. When we talked it over here at the fortress we concluded that there's little to be thankful for. The Muslims discovered America, found Arabic speaking intellectuals there, coached Shakespeare on writing, invented paper by creating Chinese people, invented the concept of zero by inventing Indian people, and invented the astrolabe by inventing the universe. What do we have to be thankful for? Maybe we'll get lucky and the spiders will get us before the winter closes. Yes, Muslims invented photography too. Thanks for the photo, Ali.

Sheik: Allah sent giant spiders to combat U.S.
Cleric says arachnids as big as a chair killed soldiers in battle

Posted: August 27, 2004
1:00 a.m. Eastern

© 2004

An Iraqi sheik claims Allah sent giant spiders to the town of Fallujah to help its residents fend off attacks by U.S. military forces.

Sheik Mahdi Saleh Al-Sumide'i spoke to Syrian TV on Monday, claiming several Arab television stations videotaped the helpful arachnids.

The interview is featured on the website of the Middle East Media Research Institute TV Monitor Project, or MEMRI TV. The organization translated the conversation into English.

"They [the Americans] attacked Fallujah and tried to cause great damage to its residents," he explained. "They destroyed mosques and homes, killed women, children and youths, and spread corruption in Fallujah. Nevertheless, we believe that Allah protects the believers, and indeed, Allah stood beside Fallujah, and I'd like to mention some miracles Allah performed in Fallujah. It is possible that the media does not know about them."

Continued Al-Sumide'i: "The first miracle that occurred in Fallujah took the form of spiders that appeared in the city – each spider larger than this chair, or about the size of this chair. The American soldiers left, holding the legs of this spider, and I too, in one of the Friday sermons, held up a spider, with all its magnitude, in front of the satellite channels and in front of the world. This spider also had thin black hair. If this hair touches the human body, within a short period of time the body becomes black or blue, and then there is an explosion in the blood cells in the human body - and the person dies."

The sheik's interviewer then asked about the alleged TV coverage: "The people saw it, but the TV stations did not air it?"

Responded Al-Sumide'i: "The people saw it and the TV stations indeed aired it. I held the spider, and there were between 13 to 15 TV stations, including Al-Arabiya, Al-Jazeera, Al-Majd, Dubai, Abu-Dhabi and other stations, and they saw it with their own eyes."

Some Arab Internet sites have repeated claims of Iraqis about the spiders, and there also are stories circulating of phantom white-robed knights on white horses sent by Allah that killed U.S. Marines in battle.

In a statement reminiscent of Saddam Hussein's spokesman, "Baghdad Bob," the sheik claimed the U.S. was underestimating the number of American casualties in Iraq by a factor of 100.

"Today, if a hundred Americans are killed, they say there was one casualty," he said, "and if dozens of tanks were blown up, they say one was blown up. No one will notice the losses caused to the American forces until they return to their bases – if they return, and in my opinion they will not return – but if they return, the world will see and the American people will see the number of losses."

Al-Sumide'i claimed there were mass graves in Iraq filled with the bodies of American forces.

"A mass grave was created in a desert area near the Saudi boarder for the American soldiers killed. There is also a lake near Al-Sa'diya. The Americans place the casualties inside white or black bags, seal them and toss them from a plane into the lake."

Islamic Flat Earth News Bulletin

Lebanese Cleric Abd Al-Karim Fadhlallah: When Columbus Reached America, He Encountered Arabic-Speaking Natives

Following are excerpts from an interview with Lebanese cleric Abd Al-Karim Fadhlallah, aired on Al-Manar TV on November 20, 2005.

Fadhlallah: The Arabic language, 200 years ago, was a universal language. It's interesting to note that when Christopher Columbus went to America, in what language did he speak with the Indians? It is said that the language they spoke with the Indians – and I have indisputable documentation of this at home... The intellectuals among the Indians spoke Arabic. He took two Arabs with him, to serve as interpreters between the Spaniards and the Indians. He took two of them as translators. So you can imagine the historic and cultural value of Arabic. It's undoubtedly very important.

11/20/2005 Clip No. 933

The Middle East Media Research Institute

A gentle reminder that my book, An Occasional Walker, is available at the link here:
And here are some reviews and comments on said book:

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Identity Fascism (5)

Multi-culturalism is the politics of group identity. It is a collectivist politic that defines the person as part of a group rather than the group as a collection of individual people. In the realm of identity politic ideology, the worst thing one can do is devalue the group, such as when one devalues the person by claiming he is "x," which reflects from him and onto the group identity: for example, if a man riots in the streets of Paris he is not a rioter but an expressive agent of Islamic rage; and if he is arrested he is not a criminal but a victim of racism inherent in the system that attacks him and his whole religious community by singling out the rioter and thereby imprisoning the entire group by proxy. If one were to claim that one man is a vandal, then by extension, one is a racist, blaming all members of the man's group for vandalism. One for all and all for all within the group. The origins of this collectivist and tribalist nonsense lie in the origins of Humanity, and it is we in the modern West who are the minority in our approach to man as a private individual free to make his own decisions and accept his own consequences good or bad therefrom. But it is only since the late 18th century that this idea is intellectualized for the masses. It is only in the past short span of years that multi-culturalism has gained credence in the modern West as coeternal with democracy and individualism; and yet the two cannot co-exist. The time is come for us as residents of the West to determine whether we are individualists or collectivists. We are free men and women with the inherent right to privacy that Life demands or we are members of our groups and beholden to the group for our identity and being as free men and women. It cannot be both ways at once.

The question arises when one asks "Who am I?" We get an answer from the German philosopher Fichte that will seem reasonable on the surface, not an answer likely to send us from the room in a screaming rage, but it might with a bit of inquiry into the nature of the answer.

Those who have followed this thesis carefully over the past six months will recall that Herder and Jung and Darre for example all define people from negativism, like a photographic negative rather than negative in a pejorative sense. A person is what he is not. In other words, I am me only if I am not infinite and continuous. I am me only if there is another to limit me and give me definition, boundaries, and identity. I am only me if there is something I am not, not you, for example. Being not you doesn't give me a great deal of identity as me. I must be something within the fact of my existence, other than a simple existence myself. What is being me? It is my mind, for one thing. My mind is nothing if it's empty of things other than pure instinct, leaving me to be as little or nothing more than an animal. What makes me Human is reason, and Reason is the ability to communicate with others through language.

When Napoleon invaded the Germanic areas in the early 19th century the Germanic people were not a united nation of Germans but a collection of disparate men and women living in feudal conditions, owned by Church and landowner and feudal baron. When the French invaded the Germanic lands, what then did the Germanic people have to offer by way of resistance to the French that made them not French and worthy of resisting? They had no national identity, not state to rally to, no overlord calling them to defend anything against invaders from France. What made the Germanic people not French? Their identity as Germans, of course, but what did that mean in a non-national context? It meant, roughly, nothing at all.

Identity comes into play here when Herder wrote that German people have a collective non-French identity because they speak German. The otherwise empty-minded animal being who has language is able to communicate with others and know he is not them and is therefore himself because he is not them; and also, he is able to speak to other German speakers and know that though he is not them he is similar, he is in fact part of a distinguishable group of not-French. But so what? That in itself doesn't give validity to him as a resister to the French invader of other Germanic lands and people, only himself. He might have more in common with the average French soldier than he does with a far removed German aristocrat on the whole. So Herder looks on Germans as a untied identity group legitimate in resistance to French invasion thus: having in common with all other peasants on Earth, the German does not have in common with them his collective identity as a man. No. Though there is a world-wide monoculture of peasantry that varies little from one side of the Earth to the other peasants have nothing in common with those who live close-- if they are not of his identity group, and that identity is what makes the one part of the group in his mind, the means by which we know him as Human.

The individual man is nothing unless he is in contrast to another so he might know what he is not. But, to be simple not other is insufficient: one must be something to be someone. One is identifiable as something by language, the very thing that makes the form of the mind unidentifiable even to the owner of the mind. If you can't think, you're not very Human. And to think, according to Herder and others, you need words, you need language. The language, the words you use, become your identifiable mind and person. If you have a language no one else understands, then your thoughts and identity are wasted and you are not really Human in terms of life's practicalities. Truly, to be Human you must be able to talk to others, and others must be able to understand you. The shared language, the words you use, that gives you identity, and it is only so if it's shared. You can't be Human all by yourself.

If you find someone to speak to who can understand you and you him, then you are a person. Where do you get the very words you use? You get them not from your own making but form your birth group. You get your words from your nation. The nation is your boundary that makes you specifically not another, and that gives you form and identity as a single individual. You, sorry to say, do not define the nation and are nothing without it. You cannot be anything without language, and the very language you speak determines the kind of you you are. If you speak German words, you think in German ways, and it makes you German, not French, no mater how much you have in common with the French peasant standing next to you who can't understand you. You have, in fact, more in common with the baron hundreds of miles away with whom you can speak meaningfully. You and he share your German identity by virtue of knowing things from the depths of German knowledge of yourself and him collectively. Your mind is German and so is his. You are not French. You do not share a mental world with a Frenchman, but you do with a German, no matter how removed he might be from you. When you think, you think in German, and your mind, your being as a man, is German. Your whole personal mental shape and form come to you from language and the thoughts it allows you to have. You are you when you are not another. And you are you if you can be something other than a vacuum, which requires the content of the defining language, the very stuff that makes you something specifically you. You have an identity. You are one of the group and not one of the others.

So what? Much ado about nothing. Except that if you are you and we are we, then we are not them, and they are not only not us but they are others. I am only meaningful in relation to you and my own group, having no identity as a person outside my own group. My privacy as a being in meaningless in itself, only being valid if I have a part in the group identity, and the group being the factor that gives me reality as a being is supreme to anything a small fragment such as myself could be. In short, my person interests in my own life are trivial beyond expression in comparison to the group.The group is the highest expression of my own existence. My group, based on language that gives shape and meaning to me as a being, is supreme always and ever. My language group is not something that sprang up last night with the mushrooms. It is organic in that it has existed from time itself. I, not being anything on my own but only as a part of my group, am also tied to the organic growth of my language group. I being part of the whole, have extension beyond myself as an individual, going back to the mists of the beginning of creation, having always been part of the group identity. One drop is rain, but many drops are an ocean, and the ocean is eternal and independent of the drop. But the drop is one drop that is external in identity as the ocean. Personal identity transcends the personal and is part of the eternal. I am German, and I have always been German in that Germans have always been Germans, and I bei ng here now, am part of the ocean of eternity of Germanness.

I am not a scum rioter in France. I am a Muslim, part of the ummah of Islam. If you imprison me for looting and burning, you imprison my identity as a Muslim, and that is an assault on all of my Islamness and other Muslims.

When we start thinking in terms of identity groups rather than in terms of privacy and individuals, which our mutli-culturalist friends in the West often do, then we are in danger of aiding and abetting Left dhimmi fascism naively. We accept ideas and actions we don't like but don't know how to say no to. We accept the evilness of racism, but we lose sight of the fact that it's not a race that commits crimes only the individual. We recoil from accusations of racism and let criminals go rather than accept that he is not a race and that we are not attacking the identity of the group but only the actor. If we can't distinguish between the actor and the group we will continue to allow our Western Modernity to crumble under the weight of identity fascist idiocy.

In coming posts we'll look at the writings of an anthropologist who argues from a positon of idntity fascism. Once we see this argument for what it is we might become less nervous about identitifying it in public as fascsiim rather than as something we should bend to from fear of personal immorality, of racism, sexism, or homophobia. We might come away from these installments on identity facism less willing to tolerate it.

Monday, November 21, 2005

Oh, No Particular Ocassion

Philobarbarist Fascism and Identity

Social determinists are deeply concerned about the People. The rest of us are interested in people. One might control the masses through sophisticated social engineering projects but no one can ever have a cup of coffee at Tim Horton's with the masses. Those who treat people like bacteria in a social Petri dish like to call themselves social scientists, objective and rational and oh so smart. We, being not so smart as the average social scientist, have no long and Latinate words to describe them, falling back instead on the four letter standards. No, not having any control models and statistical norms to measure social behaviour we sort of sit and listen and chat in the coffee bar with friends and try to pay attention on those occasions when we're not preparing our next bon mot.

Social scientists are all too often more impressed by their own theories than they are by anything resembling reality or good sense. So long as the social scientist doesn't see, as we do here at the fortress daily, the wreckage of socialism in the flesh, so long as the People remain statistics, then the models are lovely. And the further one is from the reality of the ruin the more likely one is to love the work of social science, and that, of course, means loving the People all the more. [Insert some four letter words here.] We see the little fat guy in the white uniform pull up on the street and take out the folding stretcher from the white coroner's van. We see him come almost daily to haul away the remains of the latest drug over-dose victim or shooting victim or beating victim or suicide victim. We don't see models of social change and activism, we see dead bodies, dead from socialism. [Insert more four letter words.]

We work in a working-class area that has gone to Hell. We aren't sentimental about the People. We meet people daily, real ones, and many of them are scary and disgusting, and we work in the fortress here barricaded and monitored to keep ourselves safe from them. And in spite of that they are not our enemies, many of them greet us on the streets and do us small favors and show some common Humanity in their behaviour at times. We take them as they are, and that changes from moment to moment, but they are consistently, always, people, and never, not even once in their whole miserable lives, masses. From an office across town the people who bang on our doors and try to sneak through the windows might be statistics, but to us they are men and women. We don't get sentimental about them. Those who do don't know them or care a shit for them. We do our best.

The following story comes from a Canadian newspaper I'm starting to like a lot. This story takes about ten minutes to read. It's anecdotal. It's not a social science survey of First Nations Peoples. It's about a school teacher and her students and their parents and the lives they live. These are not the cigar store Indians most social scientists see when they read statistical reports.

All the lost boys and girls
As a teacher in Kashechewan, the author's idealized view of native communities was beset by a classroom of uncontrollable children, heirs to generations of neglect and a dying culture
Laurie Gough
National Post

Saturday, November 19, 2005

In recent days, the Canadian media has focused its collective gaze on Kashechewan, the tiny native community on the shores of James Bay in Ontario. Much has been made of the town's contaminated water, which has sickened hundreds of residents and forced many to be evacuated. But having lived and worked in Kashechewan, I can report that water problems are just the tip of the iceberg. In almost every respect, Kashechewan is a very sick place.

I am a teacher, a graduate of Nipissing Teachers' College in North Bay, where I took a specialization in native education. I chose Nipissing because I wanted to teach in a different culture than my own and because I'd always had an interest in native people and their history. But nothing I learned at Nipissing could prepare me for the realities of teaching natives on an impoverished reserve.

My experience in Kashechewan generated a complete unravelling of almost everything I believed. Until then, I romanticized Third World and native cultures. Unfairly, I put those people on a pedestal, somehow expecting them to be wiser than people from my own culture, more connected to the land, perhaps even possessing an ancient knowledge that our culture had lost eons ago.

When Kashechewan's band-run school offered me a job, I was thrilled, even though the job interview should have made me nervous. A man on the hiring committee asked me only one question: "What would you do if a kid in your class set something on fire?"

That first morning, I had everything prepared. I was going to have the children make name tags out of coloured paper in the shapes of various local animals -- moose, geese, fish. On their desks I arranged crayons, glue, paper and scissors.

"Be firm but kind," I kept telling myself, as if I were the teacher on Little House on the Prairie, and an obedient group of timid children were about to enter the room. As I waited for 9 a.m., I looked over the list of names again: Elkanah, Zachariah, Malachai, Shem, Sue-Helen, Betty-Ann and Verna. How strange, I thought, this mix of biblical boys' names and all-American '50s girls' names on a fly-in, sub-Arctic reserve as far away from Israel and apple pie as one could get.

The bell rang, and my heart thudded as I rushed out to greet my new students. They weren't shy at all and looked me squarely in the eye. Later, I asked another teacher why some of my Third Grade students were so big. She told me some were 11 years old and had never been to school before.

The kids began bombarding me with questions -- "What your name?" "Why you wear that?" and let me know where I stood -- "Me hate school" and "Me go inside now." Before I could stop them, a storm of kids charged inside without me, shrieking, running, shoving and punching each other in the head.

Let me relate some highlights of that first morning: Dead animals were thrown around the classroom -- mice, sparrows, small rats. At one point, something I thought was the tail of a mink torpedoed toward me. When the rusty-coloured object landed on my desk, I looked down in horror at the braid of my hair. I reached up to feel my newly cropped hairstyle. Somehow, during the chaos, one of the kids had put his or her scissors to use. The curtains were torn down and used as a giant hammock. Books were cut up, scribbled upon and chewed. Nothing I did to try to prevent any of this had any effect. I was a non-entity. Already I'd aged five years and lost my voice. My hands were shaking. It was 10 a.m. I'd "get used to it," the other teachers told me.

The other teachers were wrong. I never got used to it. It never got better. But at least I had the advantage of knowing that if I really wanted to I could escape that sad little ice village and join my own culture again. These children and their parents were caught in a no-man's land, lost between two worlds -- one foreign, the other going extinct.

As time went by, I realized that very little native culture remains today in sub-Arctic Canada. Once, small bands of nomadic Cree roamed the territory, hunting, fishing and gathering. Today, most live in villages year-round in pre-fab houses, unemployed, on welfare and getting their highly processed food at the Hudson's Bay store. The vast quantities of sugar consumed daily by the kids is evident in their rotting teeth. Here and there, some of the old ways still exist: Twice a year, school is shut down for a week-long goose hunt. (The children were excellent goose callers, as they demonstrated daily in class.) But otherwise, it's simply a squalid imitation of the white man's world.

I was astounded by the discipline problems in the school -- until I observed the cause: These children's lives weren't structured in the way of most children's lives in the south. Children are rarely told what to do or not to do. They may sleep at a different house every night. Meals are rarely eaten together as a family. When I would ask the kids what they had for lunch, Mars bars, Coke and potato chips were the usual replies.

Television, it seemed to me, was the main culprit in destroying what little the people had left of their culture. Within a year of the first TV's arrival in the village in the late 1980s, the nurses told me, children began to fight regularly and swear at the teachers -- behaviour that had previously been rare. No longer were they content with their homemade toys; they wanted plastic guns instead.

In the times when the Cree embraced a traditional hunter-gatherer lifestyle, their ancestors' parenting methods would have worked. Allowing children to roam freely without rules helps them develop useful survival skills. But now that the people no longer hunt and gather to survive, this child-rearing method no longer works. Children typically become depressed and hostile by their early teens. The anger lasts into adulthood, where it's often accompanied by hatred toward all outsiders. Teachers would sometimes be pelted with rocks and snowballs as we walked down the road. Across the river, someone had hung the female principal's dog by a noose so it dangled dead on her front porch when she stepped out to work one morning.

Most parents were not the least bit interested in encouraging education or reading to their children. One reason, I had to remind myself, was that up until the 1960s, generations of parents had been taken away to residential schools at early ages. No wonder many of these adults had few parenting skills: They'd never had the chance to learn such skills from their own parents.

It was also evident that the very few who did manage to get away from the reserve to complete their educations rarely returned. This was understandable -- but it meant the community had few educated, positive role models.

I dreaded going to work every day. The male principal of the school seemed to have permanently shut himself up in his office, even though most of the classes, mine especially, were completely out of control. Even among a problem school, my class stood out as especially bad. Twenty of my 29 students were boys. Every day in class, these boys performed wrestling manoeuvres on each other, which usually ended with a pile-up of all 20. The fattest boy, who weighed more than I did, waited to jump on at the end as he roared out an attack call. Not a day passed when I didn't see blood.

The day after Halloween, all the kids brought bags of candy to school, and one chubby girl ate so much that she defecated right there in the classroom. She was so enraged when the boys teased her about it that she reached into her underwear to remove the offending rank mass and began throwing it around the room. I distinctly recall the considerably large contents of her bowels splattering on the blackboard -- way too close to where I was standing. All I could do was yell, "Hit the deck!" to warn the others, then hide under a desk myself. I figure that a kid who hurls her own feces at other children inside a classroom might be participating in an activity that even the worst problem kids in inner-city schools would consider unseemly.

Efforts to connect with the children through their culture produced dead ends. One day I tried some native drumming in my class. Some of the kids brought in drums, and we also made a few. Days later, a group of native elders came to tell me to stop the drumming because they didn't want "evil Indian ways against Jesus."

After three months, I began waking up with headaches and dark circles under my eyes. One day in class, I think it was the day when the kids had stolen my house keys -- they regularly stole things, but I really needed those keys -- I felt so defeated and exhausted that something in me simply gave up. I sat at my desk and watched bleary-eyed as they whirled around the room like dervishes, destroyed every remaining book and sprayed glue into each other's faces. I couldn't fight it anymore. In one last-ditch effort, I invited the parents into my class to help me, but none of them showed up.

When I left the job at Christmas, I was a different person. A few days after I returned to my hometown of Guelph, a woman I knew who saw me on the street looked at me aghast and asked what had happened, as if I was suffering from some incurable wasting disease. Other than my physical appearance, something else in me had changed. No longer was I a bright-eyed idealist yearning to live in a teepee and voice the virtues of native culture. I'd lost something essential on the reserve, perhaps faith in humankind.

I had gone to Kashechewan naively looking for a culture that no longer exists. Instead, I found abuse everywhere -- of children, women, animals and even the land itself, supposedly the subject of so much cultural veneration. On the reserve, open sewage was emptied into the streams; garbage was thrown all over the place; and every year, on Dead Dog Day, stray dogs were shot and thrown into the river, turning the water an alarming, brilliant red.

I have no idea what the answers are. But I do know I came away with the feeling that somewhere along the line, a great injustice had been done to those kids. In time, they will turn into equally dysfunctional adults, never having had the chance to succeed and thrive in a healthy community.

Philobarbarism is the idealisation of barbarians. Those who indulge in that kind of evil phantasy dehumanize individuals. People lose their identities as people and become Peoples. They become identifiable group-members, and that group identity becomes the person's identity, which we here have reduced to a form of fascism.

The philobarbarist collectivises men and women, turns them into cartoons and caricitures of men and women. Social science models do indeed have an effect on Peoples. Just watch for the little fat guy in the white uniform coming with the stretcher.