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The Big #Fail And Betrayal II: The War That Dare Not Speak It’s Real Name

13 September 2019 @ 17:22

The Western World Is Less Safe Today Because Western Governments Fail To Recognize That The Cult Of Death Called Islam Is Not Compatible With Western Values.

—Mike Miles, 90 Miles From Tyranny [tip of the fedora to Bud Hammons]

I’ve decided to add a second part to my post of yesterday, The Big #Fail And Betrayal: Not Avenging The Murdered Of 09/11, because of a comment made by Laura Rosen Cohen over at Mark Steyn’s joint:

Also, I’m not going to commemorate 9/11 anymore. I’m tired of commemorating and of watching sad/touching/ whatever memorials where no enemy is named and passive language abounds (“when the Twin Towers fell”). We’re now at the point where airplanes are being blamed by the New York Times for the terrorist attack. I can’t muster sad. I’m still angry. I won’t ever forget, and won’t ever forgive but I won’t be dawn into amorphous, meaningless, emotionally manipulating pomp and ceremony completely devoid of truth.

Fellow Steyn Club member Paul Cathey added to her remarks:

…None of the networks will show the horror — the bodies of those who jumped, rather than be consumed with fire, plummeting hundreds of feet (long enough to think about it), and then, those inside the access points to the tower, hearing those bodies thump on the roof. The betrayal is unutterable. Every so-called commemoration is nothing but a gutless emotional wallow, complete with violins and mood-correct piano. Lachrymose, endlessly weepy Tragedy supplants heinous Atrocity resulting in lawful righteous rage. I turn my face from these loathsome “commemorations” in disgust.

Both are Dead Solid Perfect…as is Mark in another post on the site, entitled: The Language Of Losing:

The eighteenth anniversary of 9/11 was marked by the Administration inviting the Taliban to Camp David, and by the resignation and/or firing of John Bolton as National Security Advisor – which two events may not be unconnected. Because really, when the Taliban are running around Camp David, who needs national security?

For the fifteen years after the launch of SteynOnline in 2002, we re-posted every year on this date material of mine from September 11th 2001 and the days that followed. Two years ago, we ceased that policy, for reasons I discussed on Clubland Q&A:

If this is a war, there’s no agreement on what we’re up against: Terrorism? Islamic terrorism? Islamic extremism? Islam? Whatever it is, a president who, on the campaign trail, mocked his predecessor’s inability to use the words “radical Islam” himself eschewed all mention of the I-word today. September 11th 2001 was supposedly “the day everything changed” – if by “everything changed” you mean “the rate of mass Muslim immigration to the west doubled”. As that absurd statistic suggests, we are not where I thought we would be 16 years on: We run around fighting for worthless bits of barren sod like Helmand province in Afghanistan, while surrendering day by day some of the most valuable real estate on the planet, such as France and Sweden.

That last point may seem obvious. But, if it is, it’s a truth all but entirely unacknowledged by anyone who matters in the western world. I subsequently expanded on it, in a piece we called “The Language of Losing” and which appears to have been succeeded by “The Actions of Losers” – such as inviting the Taliban to Camp David. Hey, why not for the ceremonies in Lower Manhattan? On yet another wretched anniversary I mourn not only the dead of that grim day, but our loss of purpose. All that has changed two years on is that for “sixteenth anniversary” we substitute “eighteenth” – and on and on into the future….

In all the Western countries, Islam is both waging Violent Jihad and Stealth Jihad.

The latter is a The Camp Of The Saints Scenario in slow-motion [If you haven’t read this novel: 1) Shame on you and 2) you can order it here to begin your Repentance].

I’ve been accused of being an Old Testament Type and, while I try to show Christian Mercy in most cases, I cannot Forgive in the case of 11 September 2001 — or, for that matter, in the case of 11 September 2012.

I will never Forgive the Barbarous Heathens of Islam who plotted the attacks, nor those of them who cheered these Murderous Bastards on.

I will never Forgive those non-Muslims in The West who have been spreading-around this ‘Religion Of Peace’ Bullshit.

And I will never Forgive those have provided political and/or material Aid And Comfort to Our Enemies [yes, I’m staring at you Ideologues — fellow Totalitarians of all stripes].

If that makes me Old Testament, then so be it [it’s part of The Bible, too].

As for the Soldiers, Sailors, Marines, and Intelligence People who have fought, and continue to fight, in The War Against Islam, I agree with Bosch Fawstin:

…If we had an honest commander in chief on 9/11/01, he would have been profoundly moved by all of the Americans who enlisted in order to avenge the atrocity, and he would have honored them by allowing them to do what they do, to unleash hell on the savages, and to avenge the atrocity. That didn’t happen. And it’s not happening. Once the liar in chief said “Islam is peace”, he crippled our war effort from the outset, and we have not been able to get on a war footing ever since. It’s disgraceful what our government has done to these patriotic men and women who still think America is worth fighting for, placing them in absolutely unnecessary danger, placing the lives of Muslims above theirs, and stifling them with rules of engagement that do not allow them to do what they signed up for. I salute all of you, and the family and friends who support you. I could not do what I do without you doing what you do, defending my freedom to write and draw what I want. Our corrupt government has taken your love for America, and your desire to put an end to the Islamic enemy’s war on us, and spat on it. The day we get a commander in chief with half your courage, the end of jihad will begin.


More from Mr. Fawstin in another post:

To those who are “sick of war” and who are excusing Trump’s appeasement of the Islamic enemy as if their lives depend on it:

I’m sick of our government spending the last 18 years not doing what is necessary to end the Islamic enemy’s war on us. I’m sick of our intellectuals selling out the truth by pretending that Islam isn’t the Islamic enemy’s ideology. I’m sick of idiots saying that if we’re to finally respond to Iran’s decades-long war against us- with war -that that would mean that we would be engaging in a “new” war. All of the so-called “wars” that we’ve “fought” since 9/11 are all One war. And that one war, the Islamic enemy’s jihad, goes on because we refuse to end it. So before complaining about how you’re “sick of war”, and of “nation building” (as if any honest person is for that) ask yourself how a very defeatable enemy could remain undefeated if we actually waged war against it for 18 years. You can’t win a war if you refuse to fight it. So if you’re sick of anything, you should be sick of our government prolonging the inevitable, and you should be very sick over how our politicians are able to live with the deaths of American soldiers and civilians, and how they cannot live with criticism of Islam.

Amen, again.

To many of our Fellow Americans, 09-11 seems to be nothing more than another way to do some Virtue Signalling, to ‘remember’ that ‘something happened to someones’ and be seen doing it.

That this Atrocity was part of a Long War by Islam against The West is rarely mentioned.

Our refusal to speak The Truth just means we shall be attacked again and that the Stealth Jihad can continue to spread like the Cancer it is.

I remain Disgusted.

…He had thrived, after all, on always being right, and had spent his whole life avenging one Ben Suad, alias Clément Dio. But today, as his vengeance was about to triumph, he felt nothing whatever. Even the French army’s wholesale defection — that army he had loathed, and locked horns with, and slandered — left him utterly indifferent. He looked on, apathetic, as the last twelve remnants got into their truck and beat their retreat.

And it didn’t even seem to cross his mind that much of the handiwork, in fact, was his.

As the Ganges refugees stormed ashore, he wavered for a moment, as if he were wondering why he was there, and what he was doing. Then he got up, and all at once something came back to him. Something important. Bits and snatches of things he had said once before: “Monsieur Orelle … Do you think they have a chance? …. It’s the Last Chance Armada …” He broke into a smile. “Damn good!” he thought. “I really told it straight! Now here they are, and they’ve got me to thank!” That realization set his blood atingle.

“Look, it’s me! It’s me! Dio!” And he waved his arms wildly, called out to the horde: “Let’s tear down this mess! Let’s begin all over!” But being rather small and swarthy — with his elegant crop of kinky hair, and a shifty look in his baggy eyes — and wearing a much too elegant jacket, he looked for all the world like one of those doormen who hang outside nightclubs to huckster the tourists.

Death came in the form of a gigantic black, carrying a monster child on his shoulders, with a huge throng following after him, singing. He stopped in front of Dio, grabbed him off the ground, lifted him bodily so the twisted dwarf could see him. The creature, cap on head, took one look and gave a cry. For the third time ever. Our friend Dio, or Ben Suad, knew that he was done for, though he had no time to comprehend the verdict.

The turd eater’s fingers tightened around his throat, and his body was flung out over the sand like a limp rag doll. In no time, the trampling feet of the mob made it look like one of those mangled, bloody goats, swatted hither and yon in a game of Afghan polo …

If, indeed, we can speak of a verdict, we can look for the reasons behind it. Here are two men, each in his own way an instrument of fate. One crosses the oceans, finds the other, and kills him, in a flash of inspiration, as if he knew precisely who he was. The one deliberate act of murder that the horde was to commit. Utterly senseless, by all logical standards. But if we choose, rather, to swim in a sea of symbols, deep and profound, a kind of logic begins to take shape. Namely, the Third World’s staunch refusal to admit any debts, to dilute the radical meaning of its triumph by sharing its glory with alien beings. To thank them, or even accept their existence, would merely prolong a form of subjection. The turd eater settled things once and for all. Take it for what it’s worth.

Or perhaps there’s another, more natural, explanation, and one that, frankly, we find easier to accept. To wit, that the monster couldn’t stand Dio’s looks. No, he simply couldn’t stand them!

The Camp Of The Saints, Chapter Forty-Three [re-paragraphing mine]




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