This could frankly be titled “From the dumpster fire’s heart I stab at you.”
We are in a strange place and no mistake. I mean, it’s been said for a long time that we’re in that awkward space when it’s too late to vote them out, but too early to start shooting.
It used to be amusing. Not laughing right now.
Added to that no sane person wants to start shooting, because we know if it ever starts it will make the French Terror look like a teddy bear picnic. And that the left isn’t sane and in their all-consuming lust for power they don’t realize the rest of us aren’t merely holding the worst back, but we are the worst that we’re holding back. And good men tested to the limits of their self-control can break: When tired, when sick, when despairing, when their children cry with hunger. We’re not even talking famine conditions. I don’t think that will happen here (I could be wrong.) It’s “Dad I want dinner” and either there is no money or no supplies for dinner. This is what should keep our supposed betters awake at night, but it doesn’t. Because their cult requires them to believe that the huddled masses long most of all for communism and redistribution.
They also believe that if they break every fire alarm, they’re safe from the fire. So they muzzle us, and they’ve rigged the elections so we can’t punish them. This means they can do what they want, right?
I tell you guys, all the proponents of never swatting or even saying no to your kids created these monsters. They think as long as there’s no immediate retribution — and they never experienced that as kids — there will never be consequences.
Sri Lanka? What’s that? They I bet you have shut their ears to it, and to all the other unpleasant and borderline rebellions against their rule and the rule of their favorites abroad going on all over the world right now.
Because if you don’t hear the alarm, the fire won’t hurt you, right?
So, not laughing. Really not laughing.
More spending the nights awake, wondering what the heck we can do about it, since we can’t vote the bastards out. The impossible — yes, you heard me, impossible — results of 20 and 22 have proven that conclusively.
And… well…. even if it feels like the whole country is high-Colorado timber after three years of drought, nothing will happen till there’s a spark. And then it will be too late to control the fire. Suburbs will burn just as readily as the littered wooded spaces, and the slopes covered in scrub oak.
But I can do nothing — not me personally — I can neither change the course of history nor stop the spark. Nor clean up the timber.
So I wake up screaming. And worry for everyone I love. And pray for a miracle.
But we’re human. We need to do something. Else we lose our minds, and not in a good way. Which adds both to the timber and the probability that what’s left after the fire is not the nation we know and love.
I find some comfort in USAianism. Yes, I know, I created it accidentally, from a joke in DST to suddenly having it hit me in the face in A Few Good Men.
And yes, I know I have a religion already (Thoroughly muddled with another religion through early instruction, which simply makes me as neurotic as a shaved cat.)
But USAianism is more a creed than a religion and plays well with all forms of Judeo Catholicism. (Though, no, I’m not talking to my church about that. They have some ideas that I find disturbing about temporal order, anyway.) All it requires me to believe is that the very existence of the USA is a miracle — look, anyone who knows history knows this — and its continuation despite all the times we’ve “fallen from grace” is almost as miraculous. And since it’s a miracle, I believe Himself intended it. Which frankly, given his preference for giving humans free will to choose makes perfect sense. We might not be absolutely free, but our system, however imperfectly observed gives or for a long time gave the individual more choice than any other. (Regardless of how often individuals choose “wrong.”)
So I comfort myself with rituals and observances. Along side the Christmas tree this weekend we’re putting up a tree of liberty: artificial oak tree. Will have felt around the base and patriotic ornaments.
And I am making cookie cutters in the shape of Hessians. We’ll bite their heads off on Christmas eve. (Think how much fun that would be for kids. And you could tell them the story.) And I’m fasting the last two weeks of advent, because our forefathers starved at Valley Forge. (I refuse to turn off the heat, though, even if they froze at Valley Forge too.) And I will read about the revolutionary war every day.
Yes, you are looking at me like I lost my mind. I didn’t. In fact, it’s sort of a ritual of hope. Embedding the history in ritual and the reasoning for our existence in a creedal matrix means it has a better chance of surviving down the centuries. Which means, even if we go down it won’t be forever. And that’s hope, though cold comfort. (Things my books taught me.)
But that’s “Personal angst management.” It doesn’t have much effect in the world, since right now we don’t have littles to teach the ritual and through it the ideas to.
So what can we do?
Well, I’ve told you before that the winter ahead is going to be hard. And probably the first of several hard winters. Because our government is outright making war on the people. Right now, mostly a war of attrition.
Years ago, during either Obama’s second term, or the covidiocy, or both (I don’t feel like looking) I came up with “Not one red cent for the blue.”
I mean, I used to patronize businesses and artists that I felt deserved to survive regardless of their political color.
But at some point I realized that they NEVER do that for us. They demonize us and tell lies about us. I don’t know how many people have been scared away from my fiction by “racist, sexist, homophobic” but I bet you more than a few, reason being I used to believe those slurs, well before I was published. So, in my twenties.
Most of my books are thoroughly apolitical and non-objectionable for anyone. And no, none of them are racist, sexist and homophobic, unless your reasoning is specious and a bit crazy, honestly. Because I’m not. And it’s really hard to write what you aren’t.
The ones that could be considered political — Dark Ships — mostly concern themselves with the future politics of regimes that don’t exist. And while, yes, my beliefs DO come through, and you can choose to port principles from them to our time, that is not what I was doing. Because I don’t write science fiction to reflect the present. I write science fiction because I like speculating about the future.
And yet, I’m thoroughly blacklisted at every respectable (and some non-respectable) publishing houses, and there are people who would not pick up my books for fear of contagion with forbidden opinions.
Because the left is REALLY GOOD at that. I knew that when I caught them saying that Heinlein — HEINLEIN — was racist, sexist and homophobic. The only justification I could find is that he treated women as being much more worthy than men. But no, that’s not what they meant. They never read him, because they were told what he was. And the left — and innocents — recoiled without reading.
So, I know they cost me business. They cost all of us business. And those of you who are employed have names you use here that no one knows at the work place, or you’d be fired.
The left has no problems with any of this, because they define themselves as “good people” and therefore if you disagree with them, you’re evil. And they have no problems — of course –punishing and destroying the evil.
I used to be much more nuanced than that. I used to think they had any number of useful idiots, and people who SIMPLY didn’t know better. And because of that, I held off and held back, and read their books — even if I had to skip past all the preaching — and bought their stuff.
But right now? Right now, I’m all out of charity. Unless they speak out against the present mess? (And then they become magically “right wing” according to their side) I HAVE NO CHARITY.
So, here we are. Facing hard hard times, and all out of patience.
And I’m going to give you an “Aim small, miss small” way of fighting back. It’s not much, but for many people it might be the difference between survival and not. Because things are about to be close to the bone.
It’s basically the only way I’ve ever taken revenge on anyone. You see, I’m …. lazy. Which weirdly, in my case is a saving grace.
When someone does something directly against me (openly or not) I could plot revenge. But dude. So much work. And I have books to write.
So what I do against those that hurt me? I ignore them. But I remember. Which means, later on? Down the line? When they need a hand up that I could easily give? I ignore them. My answer is something like “oh, noes. How turrible” and then I go my merry way, ignoring them.
I’m going to propose the same, but with a bit added, because we need to survive this winter, and the years ahead.
Not one red cent for the blue; all support to the red.
Look, we can’t afford NOT doing some business with the blue model. I have to do business with Amazon, for the same reason I have to do business with the atmosphere and gravity. What’s my other option?
Same applies to some food and supplies, and to services like paypal, which I still can’t cancel, become some editors still pay me that way on royalties for stories sold years ago.
This is not going to be a clean break or super-perfect.
What it means is that if there is a choice? I’ll buy from our side. If there is a choice of an artist to promote, a writer to pimp, a restaurant to patronize, a handyman to hire? I’ll buy from our side, I’ll push our side, I’ll patronize our side.
Now I’m not asking you to consume crap, just to buy/support our side. The left does that, and it’s led by degrees to all the stuff they sell/do being crap. Because quality stopped mattering.
But will I preferentially read an indie SF series from our side, ignoring the occasional typo, to the highly hyped, carefully set up story pushed by the majors and written by some red-diaper blue violet? Oh, you bet your sweet *ss I will. If the story is still good, supporting our own makes me feel better.
But Sarah, you’ll say I don’t often know the politics of my handyman, my mechanic, my restaurant owner.
No. And it’s not going to be perfect. But a little discrete investigation won’t kill you, either. You unfortunately these days can suss up anyone’s politics with a five minute talk or a five minute internet search.
Again, I’m not calling for perfection. Yeah, all of us have that friend we love who is wobbly at best. Or that vegetarian hippie restaurant we adore (Not since Charlotte 30 years ago, but yeah.)
What I’m saying is, when you can, offer support to our people. When possible, buy from our own. When you can make it work, shun those who hate us and want us to eat bugs.
It’s not much. But it might make a difference between some of us surviving and not.
Through the dark night ahead.
Be not afraid. Go light your lantern.