Massacre At Mazar-i-Sharif: It’s A U.S. Pastor’s Fault

In order to bring back any semblance of sanity to our public and private affairs, our people have to be re-educated, all the way from basic math to an understanding of right and wrong. In the absence of any standard - which is where we are now - who is to pass judgment? For far too long we’ve been drifting. Every issue has become existential; a tug of war, pulling our nation apart. We have yet to learn that our near paralysis in responding to events stems from being so utterly disorganized; that the most organized – not the most powerful, not the most tolerant, not the kindest – invariably win the day. The storming of the UN (do-gooder) compound in the Afghan town of Mazar-i-Sharif earlier today drives this thought.

It’s hard to imagine any outrage building in the West over the burning of a Bible or an American flag. In fact, this would likely be applauded by untold numbers of our own. We even tolerate the daily shredding of our own Constitution. We tolerate gross incompetence in leadership. We tolerate insult. We tolerate the erosion of our living standards. We tolerate decline. We even tolerate the intolerant.

At this point we lose. We declare ourselves ‘good people’. Why? Because we are tolerant, of course. At the same time, we have no idea that ‘good’ actually means standing for something. Without any discernable standards to go by, who is to say? We are fruit, ripe for the picking. We will not defend ourselves because we have nothing to defend. A man robs us on the street and we say, “He probably needs it more than us.” And, once again, we fall for the ruse of equating tolerance with virtue.

Our enemies have noticed. They are advancing without feeling the need even to disguise themselves. The drama of vultures feasting on a corpse is unfolding right before our eyes. Despite our considerable arsenal of bombs - which is larger than all the bombs in the world combined - no one respects us.

It’s open season. Libya is not the arena to demonstrate our roar – like Iraq was, and (to a lesser extent) Afghanistan. In Libya we lose no matter who wins. Our immediate focus should be on Iran. Instead we ignore it.

The world wonders and waits, vying for position for the privilege of driving the final stake through America’s heart. At this point, it’s no contest. Anyone can do it. Buried up to our necks in our own justifications for our limitless tolerance, anyone can throw the stone that will put out the lights.

http://pkoelliker.blogspot.com/

Lions And Ducks And Bears

The Middle East is burning. Protests spreading in Libya; protests spreading in the Middle East and beyond. Once the cat is out of the bag, everything becomes unpredictable. In Libya, the prize is light crude. Many nations - especially in Europe - depend on it. Oil prices rising everywhere - affecting everything. Someone in Libya shouts, “Where is America? Where is the UN? This is a massacre! We need help. Now!”

They don’t ask for Chinese intervention. They don’t ask for Russia - or Europe. They ask for America. An automatic reflex.

“Sorry guys, you’re on your own. We’ve got our own insurrection to deal with. Wisconsin. And it’s spreading to other states.“

“But what about the oil? We’ll pay!”

“Sorry again, guys. We don’t need your oil. We’re ’green' now. Don’t you see? We’re green. Oil is a cancer. We’re trying to choke it off. We’ve got windmills, batteries, solar panels - and mercury light bulbs. Besides ….besides what?

“While we may have started all this mess with the likes of Google, Facebook and the unions, it’s out of our hands now.”

Kaddafi is toast. He burnt us once too often. No sympathy for that dictator. He’s fresh out of IOU’s - and so are we. The rest will fall in place after the dust has settled. Blame it on Israel.
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In the center of the town, opposite the station, is the village green. There, right in the middle, is a pond. The family often goes there to feed the ducks after dinner with the bread that’s left over.

Dad says, “Look kids! They’re over there.” And the kids run over to where they are.

When the parents catch up with them, mother remarks, “My, how they’ve grown!”

Dad is unsure whom she’s referring to - the children or the ducks - and says nothing. When their bags are empty, the children are anxious to leave.

“Say good-bye to the ducks,” Mom says.

“They’re not ducks,” chime the children in unison.

“What are they then,” asks Mom.

“Bears,” say the children.

Mom and Dad laugh. They think it’s cute. From then on, the family refers to the ducks floating silently on the surface of their own reflections on the village pond as ‘bears‘.
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Later that year, the county proposed a bear hunt to cull the sloth that’s become a nuisance to garbage cans and pets. There were so many people against it that the idea was scrapped.

Mom mentions it one evening to Dad. “They’ve banned duck hunting,” she says.

Dad looks up from his paper. He seems annoyed. He liked to go duck hunting with his friends - in season, of course. “What’s wrong with duck hunting?” he exclaims.

http://pkoelliker.blogspot.com/