An Amnesty From Hell

February 12, 2007

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An Amnesty From Hell

Dear Wordworm,

I received your recent note, which was rife with glee as you reflected on the ongoing string of statements made by American Catholic bishops and lay politicians in support of unregulated immigration into that country. You positively gloated at the temporary alliance of the Enemy’s most short-sighted clerics with politicians who are so thoroughly in our pocket that at times “one almost forgets that they are not yet in Hell, but still technically alive”—all united in flagrant contempt for laws which are at once just, necessary, and prudent. You chortled like an apprentice tempter at this ménage, in particular at the bold pretence that flooding a country already unfriendly towards the unskilled and the unlucky with millions more strong backs and willing hands to drive down wages was an act of “compassion” on behalf of the Enemy’s poor.

Of course, I shared your sentiments—albeit with more restraint, an austerity which you would do well to emulate. But as usual, you celebrated too soon. Whatever the appearances or odds, Senators Kennedy and Specter, Clinton and Boxer, are not yet safely nestled in Our Father’s House, “stacked up like frozen dinners in the fridge,” as you assert. While one of these wretched amalgams of spirit and flesh still eats, breathes, or farts, he is never safe from the Enemy’s attentions, from the sudden assault of self-contempt which leads not to despair and a satisfying suicide (remember that glorious harvest at Nuremberg? I do love Germans cooking….) but Something Else indeed. There have been so many tantalizing, infuriating escapes over the centuries that I marvel at your hubris. From Dismas (the thief on the cross) to Constantine, from General Sherman to Oscar Wilde, the list of penitent rogues is long and loathsome, a standing slap in the face to those who smack their the lips.

However, if you may keep an uncle’s rebuke in mind, there is much here to admire. We have long labored in frustration and futile rage at the riddle of this land they call the United States. While its founding entailed a good bit of rapine, slaughter, and slavery, there was less than we usually provoke in the creation of a country. (What fun we had in Mexico!) A disturbing number of the white inhabitants actively regretted the displacement of its savages, for instance dispatching missionaries to share with them the Enemy’s creed. (Some of our favorite universities, such as Dartmouth, were begun for this squalid reason.) While a few thousand enjoyed without a qualm the benefits of slavery, millions more anguished with guilt about it, and enlisted to fight. Even those who drew the sword for the South mostly acknowledged the evil of slavery, and fought for other reasons entirely. When the war was done, the land’s inhabitants did not, alas, settle down to decades or centuries of oppression and terrorism (Would you enjoy a helping of Balkan Stew? Or perhaps a plate of Lebanese flambé?). Quite the contrary.

Nor may we look back with delight upon a history of wars among the varieties of the Enemy’s religion. That spectacle of torture, hypocrisy and hate which we unleashed on Europe—from a Thirty Years’ War to an Inquisition even the pope could not control, from Protestant witch-burnings to Cromwell’s genocide in Ireland—we have never replicated on American shores. Even those who viewed with skepticism or scorn the scriptures and rituals of the churches were keen to tolerate them, indeed to craft upon these shores a sanctuary for every fevered variation of faith. Our single greatest motive for hatching heresies—the joy of sects—was thereby spoiled. With no one willing to light the stake, it might as well have been a Maypole.

What is worse, of all the world’s wealthy countries, only this one retains an interest in the Other World—and is consequently willing to populate the earth. (To learn more of this unhappy fact, read the enemy’s partisans Huntington and Sailer.) It’s a curious trick of ours: We convince these primates to fix their eyes firmly downward, on the “realities” of self-enrichment, sexual variety, and bestial comforts, with our whispered threats about “throwing away” their lives on “superstitions” concerning eternity. In those nations that listen (remember how long we had to work on the Spaniards and the Quebecois?) things change quickly in our favor. Within a single generation, their novels all reek of despair and their beds of lubricants and latex, as they lose the desire even to reproduce; like pandas, these beasts will not breed in captivity.

But not so in America. Except for the smart set—whom we bagged right after their greatest moment of heavy-lifting for the Enemy, when they took down Herr Hitler, held back sweet Stalin, and inexplicably rebuilt the nations which had attacked them—we have largely failed to replicate here the godless, childless playroom we made of Europe. (And don’t come back to me with figures from Vermont! Little patches of success in a general rout are merely the Enemy’s way of taunting us.) In appalling numbers, these Americans arise from their video screens and exercise machines to pray, to oversee or undertake their children’s schooling, to waste their time feeding or clothing perfect strangers. This nation is nearly alone in what they call the West (we’ve seen to it that they may no longer christen it Christendom) in torturing itself over abortion. Nearly everywhere else, we have installed our single sacrament behind high walls and sacred shibboleths, where none may question it.

Nor has the heady mixture of so many cultures and tongues accomplished here what we had hoped. Instead of congealing into a hundred mutually hateful factions, each scheming for domination in its private enclaves, the waves of migrants who landed upon these shores in numbers like conquering armies instead lay down like lambs. They learned the folkways, the language, even the civic “virtues” of their hosts, and promptly clotted the land with their noisome churches and squawking schools. The whiskey-reeking Irish hooligans allowed their priests to civilize them, and marched into the ranks of the police. From plotters of treason against the Czar, the Jews became industrious watchmakers and tailors—then once enriched, began endowing cancer hospitals. The Germans laid down their grievances and guns, and used the profits from brewing beer (How we loathe its smell!) to open Bible colleges and orphanages.

And so on, through all the dreary ranks of Europeans and Asiatics who showed up stinking and starving from lands where our efforts were more successful—each one, almost without exception, behaved with what we can only admit was “humility,” the lowest and most degraded instinct known to man, and one which comes straight from the heart of the Enemy. Of course, these aliens behaved this way because it was demanded of them. The Americans, still stuck in a hymn-singing, low-church strain of the Enemy’s creed, were firm on this point; all these polyglot foreigners must become Americanized, learn the language and customs, the culture and the constitution of their hosts—or be sent home. Those who would not cooperate were shipped back where they belonged, while the rest settled down to hard work and intermarriage. In their very own papist and Yiddish schools they drilled their charges with the precepts and principles of Protestant America. The result? A dreary spectacle of live-and-let-live, a disappointment all round.

But this need not last. The peace and prosperity which dragged on in Europe, with few interruptions, from 1818 until 1914, also must have seemed like it would last forever—but we saw to that. We have even better reason for hope on these shores and in these times.

You see, the humans are prone to behave in surprising ways. Being in essence half meat and half a ghost, they zigzag between the instincts of a beast and the aspirations of an angel (sometimes a fallen one). When things go well, when they are rich, fat and happy on the savings and scruples of their ancestors, it never takes them long to decide they are back in Eden (minus the Enemy), and that they have somehow deserved it. Like spoiled heirs, they squander what their grandparents have hoarded, pulling out the very rafters that hold up their home to build a bonfire and pop the seed corn. All we provide is the melted butter.

In this case, we’re greasing the Americans with the idea that their land is indestructible, that the Enemy blessed it at birth with infinite wealth, unassailable virtue, and the promise of easy victories—that it is somehow destined to rule the world forever. Had we permitted the Americans to study history—instead of “media,” “journalism” and “Gender”—they might have heard that other countries once treasured similar fancies. (Remember “Austria est Imperator orbis universalis”? We launched a few fine wars with that one.) Could they locate Moscow or Mongolia on a map, they might take pause and reflect… But there is scant danger of that.

Instead, their very intellectuals feed in them the fantasy that every other land secretly wishes to remake itself into the U.S.—and is full of men and women who are Americans-in-waiting. All it needs to turn, say, Bosnia, into Brooklyn is a division of national guardsmen. (And women! How it delights the heart of hell to see these breeders toss their children’s mothers into battle.) Conversely, 20 million Mogadishans are merely Michiganers in waiting—just a plane ticket away from paradise. Who but a heartless scrooge (or worse still, a racist) would snatch the golden boarding pass from their hands?

If only these mallrats and couch potatoes knew how few real racists we’ve been able to rouse up there of late, they might stop to reconsider. But that is the function of our Ideology Department—of which you should recall I am the Director. This grandiose American Daydream anaesthetizes most of the religious and patriotic folk who might otherwise rub their eyes and awake to thoughts of prudence and modesty, and wonder whether the Crystal Palace they’ve inherited can stand all the stones we’re pelting at it.

On the other side of the ludicrous chasm we’ve created between “red” counties and “blue” (a great simplification of mine for which Scrotbag claims the credit), stand the cringing humanitarians and freedom-fearing “liberals.” These creatures helped us tear apart, year by year and essay by essay, the very machines which once operated to turn arriving foreigners into Americans. The public schools which once pounded home civics and grammar, history and even religion, are now a carnival of grievances—the battleground of clamoring factions (black and brown, yellow and lavender), little more than holding tanks for future single mothers and criminals. The universities…well, that is your own department, Wordworm, and I will not spend precious ink flattering you. Yes, it is impressive that Yale University has admitted a leader of the Taliban, while it exiles ROTC. Duly noted, nephew. It really is no great accomplishment to take spoiled, ungrateful scribblers and turn them into traitors; it happens all the time. (Remember that big pot of Hollywood Ten Alarm Chili we enjoyed?)

What I have managed is rather more difficult. I have convinced:

· The self-proclaimed partisans of the poor that caving in to the demands of big business is a service to working stiffs;
· The wistful guardians of the Enemy’s natural environment to assist in doubling their nation’s population, within a few short decades;
· The devotees of tolerance and feminism to welcome wife-beating terrorists and their clergy;
· The principled opponents of patriotism to cooperate with fanatical nationalists—from Mexico.

This last is the critical point, which we’ve taught the lotus-eaters of Left and Right to ignore. Unlike all the other influxes of migrants to this detestable country, which saw refugees in their millions jumping onto boats to leave their homelands far behind, the current wave comes principally from a single source: Mexico, a land with an almost unguarded border some thousands of miles long, a fiery and intransigent national culture, and historic grievances against the United States. The entire southwest of the U.S. once belonged to Mexico—although it was largely uninhabited, entirely undeveloped, and sold to the Americans by a solemn treaty after a war they lost fair and square. Such realities, being historical, are easy for us to obscure. The result is that Spanish-speaking Indians whose ancestors never left Guadalajara now march in Los Angeles bearing signs and chanting slogans about “reclaiming our land,” as if they’d been living peacefully for centuries in Culver City when the borders were suddenly shifted and the Stars and Stripes run up. O ludicrous spectacle! O Reconquista

There is more at stake here than simply destroying the United States. As pleasant as prospect as that might be, as much as we will savor the polyphonic pandemonium which will erupt once America no longer has a dominant culture, and power is up for grabs, I always recall that our primary mission is spiritual. Ours is a strife with principalities and powers. We are here for a feast of souls.

The first course we will enjoy are the children of the immigrants themselves. Our division of Damned Lies and Statistics has already documented the decline of religious practice among the Hispanics who arrive—as they leave the poor simplicity of rural villages, and crowd into the slums of Compton, Miami, and Detroit, joining gangs, experimenting with drugs, and learning from the resident underclass the culture of dependency and resentment. Despite all this, the leaders of the Enemy’s church look to these helpless new arrivals to pack their emptying pews, some even daring to suggest that “fresh blood” from a “traditional culture” will lead to a religious revival in these cities. We know, of course, that packing unlettered peasants into such cities is like flooding a whorehouse with virgins to raise the moral tone—it works, for 15 minutes. An excellent appetizer.

For soup, we may savor the spleen provoked among once-tolerant Americans of meager means who suddenly find their neighborhoods overcrowded with foreigners and inundated with cheap labor, strange sights and alien smells. Recall the success we once had reviving the Klu Klux Klan—in Illinois, in the 1920s! Expect more reactionary absurdities along this line: burning churches and lynch mobs may not be far behind. (The elites who engineered this debacle will sniff disdainfully, and move a little further into the exurbs….)

As the main course, we will fatten upon the newfound divisions all this chaos will create among the adherents of the Enemy. The almost unbounded hatred we once were able to sow between the papists and the bible-thumpers, the bead-fingerers and snake-handlers, will arise like the ghost of Torquemada to walk the earth. This time when America’s Protestants protest that its Catholics are urging and fostering treason against the state in the interests of taking it over, they will have a point! In fact, that is precisely what certain bishops such as dear old Roger Mahoney in Los Angeles are trying to do, without admitting it to themselves. The old resentments they treasured about social slights reported by their grandfathers (for instance, one of them had to go to Fordham instead of Harvard) will goad them on, as will the Christianized Marxist program which they call the pursuit of “social justice.” The coalition formed in recent decades between the most serious Protestants and Catholics against our reproductive policies will shatter into a mass of poisonous splinters, as we make of every city a little Belfast. Bombs away!

So carry on, little Wormwood, among the Ivory Towers. Fill them with snipers, and keep their powder dry. But never mistake where the front lines lie, or which of us deserves the credit for the coming victory. When this tipsy country awakes from its three-day drunk in a smoking ruin, it is I who will claim the credit and reap the rewards.

Your Affectionate Uncle,

Screedbait
 
John Zmirak is author of The Bad Catholic’s Guide to Good Living.

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