Tiny, Tiny Ripples of Hope
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I get weary of constantly posting pessimistic thoughts. I try to summon the Frank Capra-part of my personality, but it’s been overwhelmed by a deluge of Orwellian tyranny. It can’t break past the Plandemic. Or the never-ending lockdown. Or the increased censorship. Or all the unpunished fraud and corruption. Looking for a fairy tale ending, or a light at the end of this draconian tunnel, is like cold-calling as a telemarketing representative. Just as it takes a special soul to weather all the angry hang ups in telemarketing, it takes a special soul to withstand the nonstop negativity in our present troubled world. How many times can you keep bouncing up from the canvas, when the referee has tied your arms behind your back? The game is rigged, and most of the people not only can’t see that, but continue to actively cheer on those who are rigging it.
I’m a sensitive guy. The kind women claim to love. I want everyone to like me. So when former cyber friends delete me on social media, as far too many have, it hurts. I understand why; in almost every case, it has been because of my writing about this “pandemic,” which I call the Greatest Psyop in the History of the World. All the residual effects of the deadly Trump Derangement Syndrome have been channeled into this virus. Those who continue to irrationally hate Trump/Goldstein are clinging to their masks and embracing every restriction on their liberties that our corrupt leaders devise. This is the only disease we’ve ever seen where people want it to be worse than even the fear porn artists say it is. Some of my old friends are seriously suggesting that we should just continue to wear the masks forever.
When you have talked to the whistleblowers I have, and the recurring theme is that their own families virtually never support them, you become even less hopeful. It does make my own experience, of having my niece delete me on Facebook, or old friends telling me I’m “dangerous” for doubting the Great Plandemic, a little more understandable. Misery loves company, and all that. But it does quell the urge to blow the whistle, when your own family and close friends not only aren’t understanding, but actually resent you for it. Nobody likes the unpopular, and no one is more unpopular than a whistleblower.
My nature was nurtured by a bitter, alcoholic father, and a bubbly, upbeat mother. I am grateful everyday for my mother, whose sunny, laughing persona counteracted my father’s dark cynicism. It’s no mystery why I was drawn to the writings of Ambrose Bierce, the most famous literary cynic, as well as Frank Capra’s populist-themed films, which featured implausible but delightfully attractive fairy tale endings. Yin and Yang. However, considering how thoroughly the dark side seems to be winning at this point, my perspective is more skewed than ever now to Bierce rather than Capra. I still sometimes turn to Bierce’s The Devil’s Dictionary for comfort.
My favorite novel of all time is 1984. I have written about how this whole plandemic/lockdown psyop has incorporated so much of Orwell’s language. Recently, a coalition formed to pressure Joe Biden into establishing a Disinformation Task Force. Among the groups lobbying for this include Pen America, the Electronic Frontier Foundation, and most laughably, an outfit calling themselves Free Press. One of their quotes bears repeating. “We know that fighting disinformation also means remaining vigilant against censorship and other threats to free expression,” stated Matt Bailey, director of Pen America’s Digital Freedom Program. “We also know that disinformation itself is a profound threat to free speech, because it prevents the robust exchange of ideas and sows distrust and polarization.”
This is today’s Left in all its glory. So “fighting disinformation” equates to counteracting “threats to free expression?” Kind of like we dropped the bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki to save lives. They ought to just drop all pretenses and create a literal Thought Police patrol. Because that’s exactly what Orwellian terms like “hate speech,” “conspiracy theories,” and “disinformation” are; attempts to control and punish thoughts unfriendly to, and unwelcomed by, the government and its sycophants in media. They are contending that “conspiracy theorists” are “yelling fire in a crowded theater,” much like they claimed Eugene Debs and other WWI protesters were “shouting fire” by protesting the war.
With the disappearance of Trump from the national scene, we are back to cold reality. Not even a fake White Hat in sight. The evil virtue signalers are in charge of everything in society now, and they are wielding their authority like a gaggle of Genghis Khans. The stupid, Republican “opposition” stands for nothing, and will apologize for things they never said, never intended to do, and never believed, on cue when ordered to. They have been labeled Recucklicans for good reason. No one with a large public platform is on our side. Tucker Carlson is about the best you’re going to get. Years of scoffing at “conspiracy theorists” brought us to this point. You don’t “trust the plan” when the planners are demented, eugenicist elitists.
Maybe we go back to the “all change is local” tactic. Try to overturn the tyranny from the bottom up, instead of looking to the top, where the corruption is most obvious. Perhaps we can start with a few honest dog catchers. This plandemic and lockdown has exposed the rot at the middle and lower levels of the system. The Lori Lightfoots and Rachel Levines of the world used to be unknown outside their spheres of influence. Now we know that the states and cities are full of this kind of monumentally incompetent leadership. Mayors used to be spoofed on television programs like Green Acres and The Andy Griffith Show. The real mayors we’ve watched oversee such shocking incompetence over the past year don’t have any comedic value. You can’t laugh at compromised buffoons presiding over the destruction of the country.
Literary giants of the past recognized how bad those in charge historically have been. Jonathan Swift talked about the judges of the eighteenth century being so corrupt you couldn’t bribe them to do the right thing. Charles Dickens lambasted British leadership for being “experts in how not to get it done.” Our modern leaders are so devoted to chicanery and crime that it would be hard to bribe them into doing anything good. And virtually every present-day leader, at every level, in unquestionably skilled in “how not to get it done.” There’s always another country to bomb, or a corporate bailout to fund, instead of addressing that Third World infrastructure. Misplaced priorities and naked hypocrisy rule.
I am so grateful for all the messages of support I get, from people all over the world. They are what keeps me going. Knowing that I’m having an impact makes it all worthwhile. Despite my incessant complaining and default gloominess, I get far more positive than negative feedback. There are lots of trolls, but I don’t feed them too much. I’m told I am too tolerant of them, but I guess that’s part of being a civil libertarian. As I’ve told some of them, at least they’re paying attention. They’re reading and listening. That’s more than I can say for most everyone who knows me in real life. Or at least they don’t admit it. I suspect some are lurkers, reading my work and listening to my radio show.
I won’t invoke fire and brimstone, but at this point we all need to rely on our faith. Our problems are so enormous, and the corruption so extensive, that only a supernatural force could fix it. How many powerful personages have lived long, happy lives of crime, and died unpunished? We shouldn’t relish vengeance, but if they aren’t held responsible for their actions, what does morality really mean? How many good people have lived lives, short and long, of “quiet desperation,” to quote Thomas Wolfe, of financial hardship and ceaseless frustration? Was all their suffering and sacrifice in vain? Is there no “eternal reward?”
My faith, shaky as it often is, is what spurs me on. Every fiber of my being tells me that this vale of tears cannot be all there is to life. The grave is not life’s goal, to quote Longfellow. The evidence for life after death is extensive. Look at the intricate detail on a butterfly’s wings, or the shell of a box turtle. That didn’t happen because of some random occurrence. We are not meaningless microbes in an endless, incomprehensible universe. We aren’t here because of some ridiculous Big Bang. We didn’t crawl out of the primordial ooze, whatever that is, and mystically leave the sea for land. Why did anything stay in the sea? If we evolved from apes, why are there still apes? Creation proves a creator.
As John Lennon once said, “Okay, so flower power didn’t work. So what? We start again.” So politics didn’t work. So Trump didn’t work. We start again. Try to change the hearts and minds you can. As Robert F. Kennedy put it, “Each time a man stands up for an ideal or acts to improve the lot of others or strikes out against injustice. He sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest wall of oppression and resistance.” It sounds corny, but be the change you want to be. Send forth tiny ripples of hope.