The Patriot Post® · Marxism: The Cancer That Never Quits
If I had my druthers, I would like to see some of those people involved in medical research turn their attention to stamping out the virus that has killed more people around the world over the past hundred years than polio, smallpox and AIDS put together.
The oddest thing of all is that people who have seen Marxism destroy entire populations continue to embrace it. When the results of the contagion are pointed out to them, and they are shown the harm it has done to people in such police states as the Soviet Union, China, Nazi Germany, Cambodia, Vietnam, Cuba, Venezuela and North Korea, saddling them with famines, disease, starvation, government-sanctioned brutality and the loss of free speech and their religious rights, the true believers scoff and either deny the facts or declare: “Marxism is perfect. The fault merely lies in the way that it’s been practiced.”
The appeal of the evil doctrine is that it promises that the riches of the society will be equally divided amongst the population. As someone once observed, when you rob Peter to pay Paul, don’t expect Paul to object. Of course, as history keeps showing, once the revolutionaries take power, it’s not Paul who profits, it’s a bunch of stiffs named Josef, Mao, Adolf, Pol Pot, Fidel, Che and Kim, along with their cronies.
Today, the latest nation to be hit with tyranny posing as agrarian reform is South Africa. It’s not getting a lot of attention, but the blacks are driving the white farmers off their land. Those who aren’t fleeing to Australia are being murdered.
But, as with black violence in America and Muslim violence in Britain and Europe, political correctness by the Marxist media is keeping a lid on it.
Over the years, I have marveled at the fact that the unlikeliest people have managed to have so much success. Consider John Kerry, for instance. Here’s a guy who lied about injuries he allegedly received in Vietnam, then kicked off his political career by going before Congress and slandering his fellow soldiers, referring to them as “baby killers.” In spite of that, he was elected to the Senate, came close to becoming the 43rd president, and wound up being our secretary of state.
Speaking of which, Hillary Clinton, who also wound up in that august office, came within a few thousand votes of becoming the 45th president, in spite of having spent the previous 40 years trashing the women her incorrigible husband had sexually attacked, and then compounding her sins by promoting herself as the defender of women; getting rich through a phony money-laundering charity called the Clinton Foundation; handing over a large portion of America’s uranium deposits to the Russians in exchange for an enormous bribe; dismissing half of us as a “basket of deplorables”; and, finally, copping the title of “World’s Sorest Loser” by traveling around the world, blaming everyone but herself for losing an election that even Vegas considered a sure thing.
In 1976, in a presidential race pitting Jimmy Carter against Gerald Ford, 58,709 people voted for the perennial candidate of the Communist Party, Gus Hall. That accounted for 0.07% of the 81,531,584 votes that were cast. But only one of those people ever became Barack Obama’s choice to head up the CIA, John Brennan. The same John Brennan who, in the wake of Andrew McCabe’s firing by the FBI’s committee on ethics, and having nothing to do with Trump, denounced the president, stating: “When the full extent of your venality, moral turpitude and political corruption becomes known, you will take your rightful place as a disgraced demagogue in the dustbin of history.”
Interestingly, the last person to regularly relegate his political foes to that particular dustbin was Leon Trotsky. With friends like John Brennan, Andrew McCabe doesn’t need any enemies.
Subscriber Dan Parker, the pride of Ocean Park, Washington, let me know that America’s college mobs reminded him of the student protesters who helped Mao turn China into an even more hellish place than it had been under the boot of Chiang Kai-Shek.
Because Mr. Parke is a young squirt, barely in his mid-60s, I reminded him that even before that, we had the vile spectacle of German college students driving Jewish professors out of their classrooms and burning books.
It is an unfortunate fact of modern life that those attending college, who are theoretically being reminded on a daily basis of all the things they don’t know, invariably come to believe they know everything. It is particularly annoying in the U.S. because the majority of those enrolled in liberal arts, which constitutes the majority of all college students, are less knowledgeable than the typical high school student of the 1950s.
One of the many things that have gotten worse over the years is bullying. In the old days, bullies were the bane of existence for many students. But at least it was localized. You knew who your tormenter was. Today, because of social media, boys and girls can be cyberbullied across state lines.
Even though I was always smaller than most of my classmates, thanks partly to having short parents and partly to having been skipped in school, I was rarely victimized because I was both funny and a pretty good athlete.
In fact, I can only recall two occasions. The first took place in grammar school. I didn’t report the incident of one kid picking on another, but when I was asked about it, I told the truth.
The bully let me know he’d be waiting for me in the alley near the school. I could have gone home by a different route, but I decided I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, I showed up on time. We wrestled, and, predictably, he tossed me to the ground. We went through the same routine one or two more times. By then, I suppose he got bored. We didn’t exactly become friends, but the skirmishes ended. Perhaps I had earned his respect. I don’t know. He didn’t earn mine. I still thought he was a jerk.
The next incident didn’t happen until high school. There was a trio of troublemakers. One was a guy named Bob Malinow, whose family owned a large mortuary; the other two were like his mini-henchmen, a pair of ferret-faced twins named Karess. One day, one of the twins grabbed my friend’s sweater and ran off with it, probably intent on tossing it in the trash or the fountain in the rotunda. I took off after him and retrieved the sweater.
About an hour later, as I was walking down a staircase, going from one class to another, I was suddenly socked in the kidneys. Fortunately, I was able to grab hold of the railing before I tumbled down the stone steps. As I hung on, gasping, I saw Malinow walk by, smirking.
It took me several seconds to recover, but when I did, I took off after him. I found him walking outside, probably on his way to phys ed. I ran full speed and used him like a tackling dummy. Once we landed on the ground, I began clobbering him with my fists. Think Peter Billingsley in “The Christmas Story.” And just like Billingsley, I would have been content to keep at it for as long as it took me to send him to the family mortuary.
Fortunately for the young heir, a teacher came by and pulled me off him.
I was asked to explain my peculiar behavior. I did. And because this was 1956 and not 2018, Malinow was expelled. If memory serves, the Karess twins joined him in exile.
Donald Lasher, a patriot who hangs his hat in Williamsburg, Virginia, sent along what he calls the Marine Corps exercise regimen for people over 70.
Begin by standing on a comfortable surface, then, with a five-pound potato bag in each hand, extend your arms straight out from your sides. Hold them there as long as you can but try to at least go a full minute. Then relax. Each day, you’ll find you can extend your time.
After a couple of weeks, move up to 10-pound potato bags. Then try 25-pound bags. Eventually you will find you can lift 50-pound bags and hold your arms straight out for several minutes.
Once you achieve this level, place a potato in each bag.