"As If"

FROM BILL WHITTLE'S STARTLING AND BRILLIANT STRENGTH

In extreme cases --sadly rising in frequency -- these people not only hate America. They hate everything. They see nothing in American history beyond slavery and the Indian Wars.

They often claim to live, or would prefer to live, in more refined, decent and civilized nations, like Canada and Britain and New Zealand:

As if white, English-speaking Canadians grew out of the ground like corn on an empty, Indian- and Eskimo-free horizon, or the thousand years of English conquest over India, China, Africa, Ireland, Scotland and Wales was in a parallel universe, or that the warlike Maoris invaded and took over the North and South Islands from the peaceful, indigenous white settlers.

As if France were not the most blood-soaked patch of land on the surface of the earth,

As if Russia's leaders never so much raised a hand against its own suffering people,

As if Scandinavia was not the epicenter of centuries of rape, pillage, murder and misery,

As if the Aztecs said gracias in Castilian Spanish as they cut the living hearts out of their prisoners.

As if the Spanish themselves had never known the Inquisition, Italy no Papal Wars or Duces or Ethiopias,

As if Belgium had no Leopold and Leopold no Congo,

As if Germany ...well.

As if African slaves were only held by whites and Christians,

As if Japan has practiced nothing but calligraphy and origami for a millennia,

As if South America was a spotless white linen of freedom of expression and individual rights,

As if China was a champion of democracy and the common man,

As if Indians never spat on anyone,

As if, as if...

As if the entire bloody history of conquest and war and displacement were the unique domain of America alone, or, equally absurd, that we deserve to die for not being born perfect and without sin -- as they, in their own self-obsessed, one-person Universes expect everyone else to be.

And so they trot out every single example of human atrocity as if they were Atticus Finch sweating under the heat in that courtroom in their mind; these snipers and critics and ‘activists’ who have no plans of their own, no solutions, no answers to these dirty and difficult and eternal issues, and so sit in the warm cocoon of perfection afforded the man who attempts nothing. And while better men and women – better men and women by every measure – struggle and fight and bleed to make the world a better and safer place, they grow more and more disconnected form the essential ugliness and brutality that is half – and only half – of this flawed and broken and hopeful and noble human existence.

And because we are all born with this legion of devils inside every heart, more than anything else in the world they hate themselves. Carrying all the guilt of the world on their stooped and broken spirits, their eyes cast so far down that they can see nothing of nobility or progress or redemption of any kind, these people are broken. They are miserable, bitter, cynical husks. And we all know what misery craves.

See them for what they are: nothing more than the Comic Book Guy on the Simpsons: Worst. Country. Ever.

They are useless people. They have heeded the last and final boarding call and pushed back from the gate of reality. They have left the building.

Don’t argue with them, don’t engage them. They want to make this about rhetoric and sophistry, which they fetishize, and not about the simple difference between right and wrong, which is a world where they cast no reflection.

[Slightly reformatted for emphasis and to capture the poetry of the prose.]

Posted by Vanderleun at May 22, 2004 1:20 PM