24 December 2011
19 December 2011
Memories (3)...
The year after we moved back to California from Colorado, I was 10. My brothers were 8, 6, and just 5. My dad had grown up backpacking in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of Southern California and he was eager to introduce us to the spectacular beauty of those wonderful peaks and valleys. This was in June, 1981
Here is a story my girls have heard only once or twice:
When I was 10, and Uncle Eric was 8, Uncle Dean was 6 and Uncle Paul was just 5 years old, Grandpa took us backpacking. We drove for what seemed like a very long time, then we parked our Volkswagen bus off a dirt road in a pine forest.
On a backpacking trip you carry everything you will need on your back. Some backpacks look like the ones you have for school or car trips, only bigger. Some backpacks have frames to carry the load inside them, and others have them outside. When we were boys we didn't have any backpacks - only frames with shoulder straps.
Grandpa laid the frame on the ground and put a tarp over the frame. Then he put all of our things on the tarp. He put an extra pair of pants, an extra shirt, 2 pairs of socks, a sweatshirt and a stocking cap. Then he put our sleeping bag and our share of the food we would carry. Grandpa carefully folded the tarp so that it covered our things and so that it would keep them dry if it rained, then he tied it tightly to the backpack frame.
Then we all lifted our packs and started walking. We followed a trail and used a map and compass to make sure we were where we thought we were. When we came to a high spot that had a good view, we would take out the map and turn it so it was lined up with the mountains and valleys around us and use the compass to measure where we were.
We were walking to Chewing Gum Lake. On the trail it was about 10 miles - which is a very long way for short legs to walk. And we got to Chewing Gum Lake late in the afternoon.
The lake was clear and dark, dark blue. The water was very cold, because until just weeks before we got there it had been frozen! Now it was late spring, and the days were warm and sunny.
But as we set up camp, Grandpa thought it might rain, so he pulled out two thin plastic sheets and stretched them over ropes tied between the trees. We made our beds under them and went to sleep. We were very tired.
In the morning when I woke up I saw that the plastic sheet that had been high above my face was now very close to my nose. And every time Uncle Eric or I breathed in the tent moved closer. We crawled toward the end of the tent and found that the trees, the rocks and the ground were covered in almost a foot of snow!
We didn't have any snow boots or jackets or gloves. We played in the snow for a little while, but we knew it was important to stay dry, too. After all, we only had one other pair of pants and two pairs of socks. If we got wet it would be impossible to stay warm.
Grandpa didn't seem worried. He cooked our breakfast. Later he fed us lunch. We had only planned on staying out for one night and coming home the following afternoon. But now we could see that it might be best to wait one more night so the snow could melt a little more.
Grandpa always was prepared. He had brought some extra food and we ate it for dinner that night. We said a prayer for help and for good weather. Then we went to bed.
In the morning we woke to find - you guessed it - more snow!
There is a time to wait and a time to move. And Grandpa decided that it was time to move. He fed us what little food we had left, then we packed up our things.
Grandpa laid out his map and used his compass to make sure it was lined up with the earth just right. Then he turned his compass and pointed it to the spot on the map where we had left our car. He stood up, put on his pack, checked his compass one more time, and started walking. And we followed as fast as our legs could go.
The trail coming in had been gentle and smooth. It had wound along meadows and curved around steep hills and cliffs.
The path we took to get back to the car was no path at all. It was an imaginary line pointed out by our compass. It took us up steep rock faces, through bushes, and over hills. Whenever we came to a high point with a good view, Grandpa would check his map and his compass again to make sure we were still on course - heading for our car and safety.
For Uncle Eric, Uncle Dean, Uncle Paul and me this was a great adventure! We were being just like Daniel Boone or Davey Crockett or Lewis and Clark. We were exploring and blazing a trail through the wilderness. I realize now that for Grandpa this was a race against time, temperature and fatigue. Winning the race would mean getting home to Grandma. Losing the race would mean understanding more about the Donner Party who had met their terrible fate 134 years before and just miles from where we were.
After what seemed like a long time, with very wet feet and pants, we came out of the woods onto a dirt road. Grandpa looked right. Then he looked left. He turned left and started walking down the road. And we followed him.
And there, fewer than 500 feet from where we'd come out of the trees, guided by our compass for nearly 4 miles straight through the wilderness, was our green and white 1978 Volkswagen bus.
Maybe you're wondering about the prayer for good weather. Sometimes we get what we need instead of what we want. There wasn't nearly as much snow on the second night as there had been the first. And as we climbed lower on the mountains the snow on the ground disappeared. The second day was not rainy or snowy. And it wasn't too hot, either.
On all that forced march none of us complained about being tired or hungry or scared. I don't think any of us felt tired or hungry or scared. We carried our packs and we followed Grandpa.
And so, was our prayer for good weather and help answered? Absolutely. And so will yours be - maybe in ways that you don't want, but always in just the ways you need.
Here is a story my girls have heard only once or twice:
When I was 10, and Uncle Eric was 8, Uncle Dean was 6 and Uncle Paul was just 5 years old, Grandpa took us backpacking. We drove for what seemed like a very long time, then we parked our Volkswagen bus off a dirt road in a pine forest.
On a backpacking trip you carry everything you will need on your back. Some backpacks look like the ones you have for school or car trips, only bigger. Some backpacks have frames to carry the load inside them, and others have them outside. When we were boys we didn't have any backpacks - only frames with shoulder straps.
Grandpa laid the frame on the ground and put a tarp over the frame. Then he put all of our things on the tarp. He put an extra pair of pants, an extra shirt, 2 pairs of socks, a sweatshirt and a stocking cap. Then he put our sleeping bag and our share of the food we would carry. Grandpa carefully folded the tarp so that it covered our things and so that it would keep them dry if it rained, then he tied it tightly to the backpack frame.
Then we all lifted our packs and started walking. We followed a trail and used a map and compass to make sure we were where we thought we were. When we came to a high spot that had a good view, we would take out the map and turn it so it was lined up with the mountains and valleys around us and use the compass to measure where we were.
We were walking to Chewing Gum Lake. On the trail it was about 10 miles - which is a very long way for short legs to walk. And we got to Chewing Gum Lake late in the afternoon.
The lake was clear and dark, dark blue. The water was very cold, because until just weeks before we got there it had been frozen! Now it was late spring, and the days were warm and sunny.
But as we set up camp, Grandpa thought it might rain, so he pulled out two thin plastic sheets and stretched them over ropes tied between the trees. We made our beds under them and went to sleep. We were very tired.
In the morning when I woke up I saw that the plastic sheet that had been high above my face was now very close to my nose. And every time Uncle Eric or I breathed in the tent moved closer. We crawled toward the end of the tent and found that the trees, the rocks and the ground were covered in almost a foot of snow!
We didn't have any snow boots or jackets or gloves. We played in the snow for a little while, but we knew it was important to stay dry, too. After all, we only had one other pair of pants and two pairs of socks. If we got wet it would be impossible to stay warm.
Grandpa didn't seem worried. He cooked our breakfast. Later he fed us lunch. We had only planned on staying out for one night and coming home the following afternoon. But now we could see that it might be best to wait one more night so the snow could melt a little more.
Grandpa always was prepared. He had brought some extra food and we ate it for dinner that night. We said a prayer for help and for good weather. Then we went to bed.
In the morning we woke to find - you guessed it - more snow!
There is a time to wait and a time to move. And Grandpa decided that it was time to move. He fed us what little food we had left, then we packed up our things.
Grandpa laid out his map and used his compass to make sure it was lined up with the earth just right. Then he turned his compass and pointed it to the spot on the map where we had left our car. He stood up, put on his pack, checked his compass one more time, and started walking. And we followed as fast as our legs could go.
The trail coming in had been gentle and smooth. It had wound along meadows and curved around steep hills and cliffs.
The path we took to get back to the car was no path at all. It was an imaginary line pointed out by our compass. It took us up steep rock faces, through bushes, and over hills. Whenever we came to a high point with a good view, Grandpa would check his map and his compass again to make sure we were still on course - heading for our car and safety.
For Uncle Eric, Uncle Dean, Uncle Paul and me this was a great adventure! We were being just like Daniel Boone or Davey Crockett or Lewis and Clark. We were exploring and blazing a trail through the wilderness. I realize now that for Grandpa this was a race against time, temperature and fatigue. Winning the race would mean getting home to Grandma. Losing the race would mean understanding more about the Donner Party who had met their terrible fate 134 years before and just miles from where we were.
After what seemed like a long time, with very wet feet and pants, we came out of the woods onto a dirt road. Grandpa looked right. Then he looked left. He turned left and started walking down the road. And we followed him.
And there, fewer than 500 feet from where we'd come out of the trees, guided by our compass for nearly 4 miles straight through the wilderness, was our green and white 1978 Volkswagen bus.
Maybe you're wondering about the prayer for good weather. Sometimes we get what we need instead of what we want. There wasn't nearly as much snow on the second night as there had been the first. And as we climbed lower on the mountains the snow on the ground disappeared. The second day was not rainy or snowy. And it wasn't too hot, either.
On all that forced march none of us complained about being tired or hungry or scared. I don't think any of us felt tired or hungry or scared. We carried our packs and we followed Grandpa.
And so, was our prayer for good weather and help answered? Absolutely. And so will yours be - maybe in ways that you don't want, but always in just the ways you need.
Posted by The LS Voice at 9:45 PM 0 comments
18 December 2011
Reaping What Was Sown In The Arab Spring...
This video is graphic and disturbing. If it offends you, I am truly sorry. If you are bothered by senseless mob violence in the name of the State, I invite you not to watch it.
On 3 February 2011 I told you that Egypt would end up this way.
Here is video from Egypt taken on 17 December 2011. The western press wants to call these people "police" and "military" forces. That is a slur on all professional soldiers and law enforcement officers around the world. What they truly are amounts to no more than rabble wearing military surplus gear viciously attacking literally helpless protesters.
I'll be the first to say it. Shouting and throwing rocks at a group of disciplined and trained police or soldiers is always a bad idea. Doing the same to a mob of young male thugs living out the hellish contradictions and repression of an Islamist Paradise is just plain stupid. And I don't know what those protesters had done just before the camera went on.
Having said that, there is no excuse for the behavior recorded here. None. It is the manifestation of evil and I say it is as evil as the Rwandan Genocide and the Nazi Holocaust. And this does not even contemplate the wholesale slaughter of Coptic Christians who enjoyed religious freedom for more than 1500 years in Egypt and now are being exterminated.
I hope that Mr. Obama and the ignorant others who supported the ouster of Hosni Mubarak will understand that what Egypt has today is much, much worse than what it had last Christmas.
The liberal is either woefully naive and willfully ignorant relative to human nature, or holds as his highest aim the degradation and misery of all the human race.
God save us all if this is what is coming to America.
http://youtu.be/4iboFV-yeTE
On 3 February 2011 I told you that Egypt would end up this way.
Here is video from Egypt taken on 17 December 2011. The western press wants to call these people "police" and "military" forces. That is a slur on all professional soldiers and law enforcement officers around the world. What they truly are amounts to no more than rabble wearing military surplus gear viciously attacking literally helpless protesters.
I'll be the first to say it. Shouting and throwing rocks at a group of disciplined and trained police or soldiers is always a bad idea. Doing the same to a mob of young male thugs living out the hellish contradictions and repression of an Islamist Paradise is just plain stupid. And I don't know what those protesters had done just before the camera went on.
Having said that, there is no excuse for the behavior recorded here. None. It is the manifestation of evil and I say it is as evil as the Rwandan Genocide and the Nazi Holocaust. And this does not even contemplate the wholesale slaughter of Coptic Christians who enjoyed religious freedom for more than 1500 years in Egypt and now are being exterminated.
I hope that Mr. Obama and the ignorant others who supported the ouster of Hosni Mubarak will understand that what Egypt has today is much, much worse than what it had last Christmas.
The liberal is either woefully naive and willfully ignorant relative to human nature, or holds as his highest aim the degradation and misery of all the human race.
God save us all if this is what is coming to America.
http://youtu.be/4iboFV-yeTE
Posted by The LS Voice at 11:05 AM 0 comments
17 December 2011
The True Meaning of Christmas...
Merciful Jesus,
Who takes away the sins of the world,
Grant them rest.
Lamb of God,
Who takes away the sins of the world,
Grant them rest.
Everlasting.
Rest.
Merry Christmas!
Posted by The LS Voice at 10:23 PM 0 comments
16 December 2011
Memories (2)...
This is the second in my stories for my girls. It's one my youngest especially loves. It would have been early in 1975.
As long as I can remember, Grandpa always kept bees. Bee keeping was a pastime that his great uncle enjoyed. In fact, he liked it so much that his great uncle sold the honey his bees produced in Southern California.
Our bees lived in hives. The hives where the bees lived were like white boxes and when I was little they were about as tall as I was. They stood on metal legs and my dad wrapped oily rags around them so that ants and other bugs wouldn't climb inside. And they were always in a back or bottom corner of our yard.
Each year, Grandpa would put on a big white suit that covered his whole body. He would put on thick gloves and high boots. He would put on a straw had with a net to cover his face. Then he would light a small fire in a smoke can. Grandpa blew that smoke into the beehive. Some of the bees came out to get away from the smoke. The bees that stayed in the hive just fell asleep.
Then Grandpa would take the top off the hive and remove the honeycomb. With a hot knife he shaved the wax seals off the honeycomb and golden sweet honey started running out. He put the honeycomb frames into a spinner set in a big drum that had a crank on top and a faucet on bottom. Then Grandpa would turn the crank as fast as he could, making the honey spin out of the honeycombs and splash on the insides of the drum, then run down into the bottom.
Uncle Eric, Uncle Dean, Uncle Paul and I would put a glass jar under the faucet, then open the faucet to let the honey run out and fill the jar. And Grandpa made sure to give us bits of honeycomb to chew on. It was like very sweet gum!
Then Grandpa would put new honeycombs into the hives and let the bees come home. And they started making more honey right away.
When Uncle Dean was a baby he loved two things. He loved to watch bugs and animals. And he loved to hit things with sticks.
You might be able to see where this is going....
One day, when Uncle Dean was just a baby, and we still lived in California, he crawled out to the beehive and sat up on the ground. He watched the bees fly in and out. He watched the bees crowd the entrance to the hive and fan cooling air into the hive with their wings.
And then he noticed, on the ground next to him, a stick.
Uncle Dean picked up the stick and started hitting the side of the beehive. And the bees did not like it one bit!
They flew out of the hive and landed on Uncle Dean. There he sat, wearing only a cloth diaper, while the bees stung him. Because he was just a baby he couldn't run away. He couldn't even think to crawl away because the bee stings hurt him so much. So he sat there and cried.
When Grandma heard Uncle Dean crying she came running. She picked up Uncle Dean and brushed the bees off of him. She carried him into the house and put a paste made of baking soda and water on the stings. This was to draw out the poison.
The baking soda paste worked. But Uncle Dean had been stung more than 30 times. His eyes swelled up. His lips swelled up. And he was covered with bumps for quite a few days.
But that wasn't the end of his problems with bees! That's a story for another night...
As long as I can remember, Grandpa always kept bees. Bee keeping was a pastime that his great uncle enjoyed. In fact, he liked it so much that his great uncle sold the honey his bees produced in Southern California.
Our bees lived in hives. The hives where the bees lived were like white boxes and when I was little they were about as tall as I was. They stood on metal legs and my dad wrapped oily rags around them so that ants and other bugs wouldn't climb inside. And they were always in a back or bottom corner of our yard.
Each year, Grandpa would put on a big white suit that covered his whole body. He would put on thick gloves and high boots. He would put on a straw had with a net to cover his face. Then he would light a small fire in a smoke can. Grandpa blew that smoke into the beehive. Some of the bees came out to get away from the smoke. The bees that stayed in the hive just fell asleep.
Then Grandpa would take the top off the hive and remove the honeycomb. With a hot knife he shaved the wax seals off the honeycomb and golden sweet honey started running out. He put the honeycomb frames into a spinner set in a big drum that had a crank on top and a faucet on bottom. Then Grandpa would turn the crank as fast as he could, making the honey spin out of the honeycombs and splash on the insides of the drum, then run down into the bottom.
Uncle Eric, Uncle Dean, Uncle Paul and I would put a glass jar under the faucet, then open the faucet to let the honey run out and fill the jar. And Grandpa made sure to give us bits of honeycomb to chew on. It was like very sweet gum!
Then Grandpa would put new honeycombs into the hives and let the bees come home. And they started making more honey right away.
When Uncle Dean was a baby he loved two things. He loved to watch bugs and animals. And he loved to hit things with sticks.
You might be able to see where this is going....
One day, when Uncle Dean was just a baby, and we still lived in California, he crawled out to the beehive and sat up on the ground. He watched the bees fly in and out. He watched the bees crowd the entrance to the hive and fan cooling air into the hive with their wings.
And then he noticed, on the ground next to him, a stick.
Uncle Dean picked up the stick and started hitting the side of the beehive. And the bees did not like it one bit!
They flew out of the hive and landed on Uncle Dean. There he sat, wearing only a cloth diaper, while the bees stung him. Because he was just a baby he couldn't run away. He couldn't even think to crawl away because the bee stings hurt him so much. So he sat there and cried.
When Grandma heard Uncle Dean crying she came running. She picked up Uncle Dean and brushed the bees off of him. She carried him into the house and put a paste made of baking soda and water on the stings. This was to draw out the poison.
The baking soda paste worked. But Uncle Dean had been stung more than 30 times. His eyes swelled up. His lips swelled up. And he was covered with bumps for quite a few days.
But that wasn't the end of his problems with bees! That's a story for another night...
Posted by The LS Voice at 2:06 PM 1 comments
14 December 2011
Coincidence...?
Okay, I usually don't do things like this, but a friend of mine forwarded a forward of a forward that I actually looked at before deleting.
It tickled me. I think it could be said of many of our presidents. And since this is my blog, I'll put it up regardless of whether or not I think it'll tickle you.
It tickled me. I think it could be said of many of our presidents. And since this is my blog, I'll put it up regardless of whether or not I think it'll tickle you.
"In the coming year, 2012, the State of the Union Address and Groundhog Day will both occur on February 2nd.
"This is an ironic juxtaposition of events.
"One involves a meaningless ritual in which we look to a creature of minimal intelligence for prognostication.
"The other involves a groundhog."
Posted by The LS Voice at 3:27 PM 0 comments
13 December 2011
Memories (1)...
My youngest girls are constantly asking me to tell them stories about my life before them. So, I think from time to time that I'll write them here so they can read them later.
One of their very favorites is this. It probably happened the summer of 1978.
When I was a boy we lived in Colorado, near the Colorado River. Uncle Eric, Uncle Dean, Uncle Paul and I did not have many rules, but there was ONE rule we HAD to obey: NEVER go in the Colorado River. The water was deep and fast and dangerous. It could sweep a person away and suck them under and they could disappear forever. They could even die!
One HOT summer day, Uncle Eric, Uncle Dean, Uncle Paul and I walked down to the edge of the Colorado River. The big trees along the bank had droopy branches covered with leaves that made little forts near the trunks of the trees. We played in the cool shade, but as the day went on, it got hotter.
And we looked at the cool brown water (it looked like chocolate milk) of the Colorado River and thought it would be so nice if we could just put our toes in it. After all, putting your toes in is not the same thing as "going in", right?
So we took our shoes off and dipped our toes in the cool water and it felt SO good!
But as the day went on, it got hotter. And we looked at the cool brown water and thought it would be so nice if we could just put our feet in it. Our socks were already wet and, after all, putting your feet in is not the same thing as "going in", right?
So we put our feet in the cool water and it felt SO good!
But as the day went on, it got hotter. And we looked at the cool brown water and thought it would be so nice if we could just walk in the water up to our knees. After all, our feet were already wet and muddy and walking in the water up to your knees isn't the same thing as "going in", right?
So we found a shallow spot that didn't drop off too quickly and walked in the water up to our knees and it felt SO good!
And then all of a sudden, Uncle Dean shouted! He jumped out of the water and onto the river bank. We looked in surprise and then noticed that he only had one sock on. "Hey, Dean," we said, "what happened to your sock?" With wide eyes Uncle Dean pointed to the water and said, "A giant crawdad grabbed my sock and wouldn't let go!"
That was enough to get us all out of the water.
We put on our shoes and walked home. And when we got there Uncle Dean had to explain to Grandma what had happened to his sock.
And I don't think we EVER went back in the Colorado River without our parents again.
One of their very favorites is this. It probably happened the summer of 1978.
When I was a boy we lived in Colorado, near the Colorado River. Uncle Eric, Uncle Dean, Uncle Paul and I did not have many rules, but there was ONE rule we HAD to obey: NEVER go in the Colorado River. The water was deep and fast and dangerous. It could sweep a person away and suck them under and they could disappear forever. They could even die!
One HOT summer day, Uncle Eric, Uncle Dean, Uncle Paul and I walked down to the edge of the Colorado River. The big trees along the bank had droopy branches covered with leaves that made little forts near the trunks of the trees. We played in the cool shade, but as the day went on, it got hotter.
And we looked at the cool brown water (it looked like chocolate milk) of the Colorado River and thought it would be so nice if we could just put our toes in it. After all, putting your toes in is not the same thing as "going in", right?
So we took our shoes off and dipped our toes in the cool water and it felt SO good!
But as the day went on, it got hotter. And we looked at the cool brown water and thought it would be so nice if we could just put our feet in it. Our socks were already wet and, after all, putting your feet in is not the same thing as "going in", right?
So we put our feet in the cool water and it felt SO good!
But as the day went on, it got hotter. And we looked at the cool brown water and thought it would be so nice if we could just walk in the water up to our knees. After all, our feet were already wet and muddy and walking in the water up to your knees isn't the same thing as "going in", right?
So we found a shallow spot that didn't drop off too quickly and walked in the water up to our knees and it felt SO good!
And then all of a sudden, Uncle Dean shouted! He jumped out of the water and onto the river bank. We looked in surprise and then noticed that he only had one sock on. "Hey, Dean," we said, "what happened to your sock?" With wide eyes Uncle Dean pointed to the water and said, "A giant crawdad grabbed my sock and wouldn't let go!"
That was enough to get us all out of the water.
We put on our shoes and walked home. And when we got there Uncle Dean had to explain to Grandma what had happened to his sock.
And I don't think we EVER went back in the Colorado River without our parents again.
Posted by The LS Voice at 8:12 PM 0 comments
09 December 2011
Shift Focus: Homegrown Terrorists
John Brennan, President Obama's top advisor on terrorism, has issued a new report. In it he astutely notes that military efforts around the world have reduced Al Qaida's ability to operate effectively on an international scale. He also points out that there is an increasing threat from inside America.
I think that's where the intelligent part of the report ends and the liberal doublespeak and political correctness begins. Mr. Brennan suggests that the United States' approach to the threat of Mumbai-style attacks on domestic urban centers and Beslan-esque seiges at our public schools should be "education".
Mind you, this isn't an education campaign aimed at Muslim extremists or Muslim fence-sitters, teaching them about the value of personal liberty or the greatness of the American way of life or the fact that America allows true Muslims a greater chance to express their religiosity and develop a personal relationship with Allah than any other country on earth.
No. It's an education campaign aimed at members of communities. It wants to teach us about the local, state and national resources that are available to us to keep us safe.
Really?!
Really.
In fact, Mr. Brennan goes as far as to assert that his education campaign would be modeled after those used to reduce gang violence, sex crimes and school shootings! Heaven help us if that approach is also as effective.
Even more disturbing to me than the naivete of Mr. Brennan's community outreach program is the fact that he lumps all "extremism" into one category of "potential terrorists".
Now, I know that there are extreme vegetarians and extreme animal lovers and extremely devout Buddhists and Christians and Jews. There are extreme Republicans and extreme Democrats. And I know that sometimes PETA-types burn down mink barns and Sierra Club-types spike old-growth trees. I know that sometimes even a Timothy McVeigh-type does something horrific.
But those crimes don't rise to the level of systematic terror with the goal of destroying the American way of life and enforcing a system of belief and behavior that is antithetical to all that is good and decent.
Eco-terrorism and militia-oriented terrorism have precise targets. For animal rights terrorists, it's the evil corporations abusing our friends. For tree huggers, its the evil corporations abusing our friends. For Timothy McVeigh it was the evil federal government that abused his friends at Waco and Ruby Ridge.
But for Islamic terrorists their target is not so precise. Or maybe it is exactly so precise. It is not any entity abusing their friends. Witness the lack of real support for the Palestinian cause among the Muslim world.
Their target is anyone who does not agree with them. Their goal is to force submission and to annihilate dissent. Their target is the adult, the child, the elderly, the infirm, the homosexual, the woman, the mentally ill, the Christian, the Jew, the pagan, the corporatist, the capitalist, the bureaucrat, the monarch, the president, the peasant, the infidel.
I think that's where the intelligent part of the report ends and the liberal doublespeak and political correctness begins. Mr. Brennan suggests that the United States' approach to the threat of Mumbai-style attacks on domestic urban centers and Beslan-esque seiges at our public schools should be "education".
Mind you, this isn't an education campaign aimed at Muslim extremists or Muslim fence-sitters, teaching them about the value of personal liberty or the greatness of the American way of life or the fact that America allows true Muslims a greater chance to express their religiosity and develop a personal relationship with Allah than any other country on earth.
No. It's an education campaign aimed at members of communities. It wants to teach us about the local, state and national resources that are available to us to keep us safe.
Really?!
Really.
In fact, Mr. Brennan goes as far as to assert that his education campaign would be modeled after those used to reduce gang violence, sex crimes and school shootings! Heaven help us if that approach is also as effective.
Even more disturbing to me than the naivete of Mr. Brennan's community outreach program is the fact that he lumps all "extremism" into one category of "potential terrorists".
Now, I know that there are extreme vegetarians and extreme animal lovers and extremely devout Buddhists and Christians and Jews. There are extreme Republicans and extreme Democrats. And I know that sometimes PETA-types burn down mink barns and Sierra Club-types spike old-growth trees. I know that sometimes even a Timothy McVeigh-type does something horrific.
But those crimes don't rise to the level of systematic terror with the goal of destroying the American way of life and enforcing a system of belief and behavior that is antithetical to all that is good and decent.
Eco-terrorism and militia-oriented terrorism have precise targets. For animal rights terrorists, it's the evil corporations abusing our friends. For tree huggers, its the evil corporations abusing our friends. For Timothy McVeigh it was the evil federal government that abused his friends at Waco and Ruby Ridge.
But for Islamic terrorists their target is not so precise. Or maybe it is exactly so precise. It is not any entity abusing their friends. Witness the lack of real support for the Palestinian cause among the Muslim world.
Their target is anyone who does not agree with them. Their goal is to force submission and to annihilate dissent. Their target is the adult, the child, the elderly, the infirm, the homosexual, the woman, the mentally ill, the Christian, the Jew, the pagan, the corporatist, the capitalist, the bureaucrat, the monarch, the president, the peasant, the infidel.
Posted by The LS Voice at 3:16 PM 0 comments
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
