The Journal

 

Serving the Metropolitan Area

 

Since 1872

 

 

June 19th

 

ASSEMBLY!

 

By Jack Parnell - retired Congressman and Independent Presidential candidate

 

Syndicated by Acme Features

  

            What, then, shall be the architecture of our national Renaissance?

          America is a league of superiors... one of a favored few... where greatness has arisen, flourished by overcoming adversities, natural and human.  And it never really went away, no matter what the hotelier in the White House and the crybabies in their universities and Wall Street boardrooms say.

          We tamed a great frontier as, if in the Old World, would stretch from Dublin to Moscow, Stockholm to Madrid. With blood, we tore away from Britain's Empire and, with reason, drafted a Constitution of perfect and tiered rights... a code of law, as applauded by Francis Hutchinson, to prohibit "...even the greatest or wisest of mankind to inflict any misery upon the meanest or to deprive them of any of their natural rights."

          Over the 19th and 20th centuries, we redressed unfortunate exceptions to our national charge to life, liberty and the pursuit... not, I, emphasize entitlement... of happiness (in that order) by ending the tyranny of slavery through Civil War, acknowledging the status of women and absorbing millions of immigrants from Old World despotisms. We defeated Nazis and Communists, are shutting down Islamic fanatics, built an industrial and cultural colossus that still remains the envy of the world and put a man on the moon.

          And then... the precise date may be arguable but, for argument's sake, call it the twenty-second of November, 1963... America took a wrong turn.     

          We've changed, with the world, and not for the better. Our pride has become arrogance, our personal and national strivings soured into a politics of deception, hate and envy, tempest-tossed in that senseless whirl of spectacle exhaled by our junk culture. Excellence is scorned; enemies are bribed, not dispatched.  Honesty has been swept away in a tide of big money and small print.  Partisan venom cossets the mean and venal, driving capable Americans from public service and, even, motivating old scolds like Alan Bloom to boast that there has never been an age so trivially wicked as our own except, perhaps, Weimar Germany, where "decent people became used to hearing things about which they would have, in the past, been horrified to think."

          As this week’s Don Jones Index reveals, we are no longer either the freest or the happiest people on the planet.

          Why?

          "In terms of personal hatred," marveled former Clinton spin-doctor Paul Begala, the recent political climate has been "really without precedence!"

          Are we still great?  Yes!  Are we iniquitous?  Yes, to be sure, we are.

          We are a great iniquity.

          Our educational institutions (as pass through graduates incapable of holding a job... if we hadn't already shipped most jobs off to India or China...) are rotten with burned-out 60's losers who, admits Barbara Epstein of the arch-liberal History of Consciousness Board at Santa Cruz, warp little minds with politically correct identity politics as "their only point of leverage in a society with shrinking resources."

          "Personal piety has become an end in itself instead of the energy of social justice," contends the evangelical Christian Jim Wallis.

          Against these Squeamish stand flat-earth vouchercrats and DeVosocrats, intent upon camel-racing the Taliban back to the 13th century as local gumments lay off teachers to hire more prison guards and replace them with ranting, brainwormed preachers.  No wonder we’re having our clocks cleaned by the Chinese, the Koreans and the Finns… just as the economic sectors of the Don Jones Index informs us… while our institutes of higher education keep churning out MBA’s who can’t make change at the local Burger Jack!

          Dirk Olin, as questioned the intensity of our culture of 'hate' in E. J. Dionne's "Why Americans Hate Politics", noted "...we seem more sedated than impassioned." Normally a good night's sleep's a fine thing... one awakes refreshed, ready to tackle problems, bring bacon home, slap fat in the fire, all those good American things as real men do before breakfast. Ours, however, has been a restless, enervating half-century of apnea-plagued somnambulism.

          We don't even count sheep, we are sheep... "sheep in the wool factory," specified the financial writer Jay Hancock... and, soon enough, off on our way to the slaughterhouse.

          Now the right Reverend Pat Robertson once assured us (between seducing Senator McCain and hatching assassination plots against assorted Venezuelans perfectly capable of destroying their own country without his help) that the poor (and, presumably, middle-class, ever one corporate penstroke away from penury) are so beaten down that they only rise when "some upper-class reformer somewhere stirs them up." So, having a little money, if less class... guess that brings it down to me. My critics in Congress called me a madman... I will consent to being termed a mad man.

          Mad at labor's share of the national income as fell from 80% in 1960 to 67% by the '80s, 58% in Y2K and finally, now, below the midpoint at 49% and at the pride some radio pundits take at our still being first in imports, while having fallen to fourth in exports. Mad at a military re-enlistment rate lowest since 1948 and a prison population approaching five million, including some hundred twenty thousand geezers crossing over from Toronto or Tijuana with emphysema medicine (a third of whom refuse bail and squat in Federal, State and local jails awaiting jury trials as a ploy to get the medicine they need under the Eighth Amendment). Mad at seeing outsourced machinists and engineers, bankrupt farmers and surgeons who can't afford malpractice insurance as find themselves stacking cans at QualMart (or even scavenging empty cans for recycling) voting for bipartisan termitery as ignores debt and terrorism while promising to repeal the Constitution. "The most awful consequence of long-term unemployment..." declares "Termination" author Arthur Slote, "...is the development of the attitude 'I couldn't hold a job even if I found one,' which transforms a man from unemployed to unemployable."

          In consequence, I submit our charge is no less than to restore to Americans their trust in country, community and... above all... in themselves, and that, when CNC community organizers knock on the door to ask: "Your money or your life?" our hope and expectation is that you'll offer up the latter.

          We have... by latest count... 282 county organizations in 36 states, as include 1,421 district, over 18,000 precinct and 62,000 block organizations. In addition to registering voters and recruiting novice Catfish fingerlings (some of whom are now finding friendly waters on local school boards, zoning commissions and State legislatures), we offer disaster, firearms and CPR training, work with local charities and participate in Neighborhood Watch programs. CNC community watch members identified and brought down the Sandusky Strangler with over seventy other felons... including bank robbers, drug dealers and rapists. Armed CNC deputies, exercising their Second Amendment rights, kept half the commercial district of Trenton from going up in flames during those riots last year, as would have left the place another Newark or Detroit.

          Hear that alarm clock ringin' now... ringing to beat the band!... and some of you might have at least one, maybe both feet on the floor. Work to be done!

          Raisin' up an alternate party to donkey boys and elephant men ain't been done proper since 1860: Teddy Roosevelt propping up the Progressives before getting shot and his legacy being hijacked by the tired, corrupt liberals, George Wallace nearly throwing the race into the House back in '68 a'fore... go figure!... getting shot. Nader, firing off a lone gunman bullet of his own to elect George III and crash our economy.  Perot rounded up near twenty percent of the popular vote his first time out (avoiding victory and certain martyrdom by showing himself so crazy that the very lead in any assassin's bullet would have turned to soft, runny gold out'n the fear!)

          "This is not about me running for President," Bro' Ross protested, "the last thing I want is for this thing to be about me." But, of course, it was... even crazy as Perot turned out to be. Without ol' Bat-ears (and, of course, his money), Reform sunk like a uranium rat pellet, leaving the Washington barnyard dirty as ever: China Gore and George III posturing as to who was the more outside outsider in Y2K and, after the financial meltdown, the humiliation of the crawling, cringing Obama years and the casino guy’s regime that has, so far, avoided nuclear war only by dint of his policies being so un-understandable to the rest of the world that nobody knows quite where to turn… well how can a decent or even semi-decent fellow like myself not take the plunge?

          That stink wafting out of Washington’s barnyard hangs so heavy, now, some can't help reaching in with a sharp stick and stirring manure around. The younger black Jesse as might run, once he gets out of jail with his “street cred” magnified, just to keep Sharpton and Don King from poaching dad's territory, and those three dudes from "Predator" still angerin' up folks in California and other places, on talk radio and Russian TV, and with that Apollo Creed sequel. And, of course, the prospect of career politicians and political relatives, ambulance chasers and Hollywood pretty faces with potty mouths in the Jeb n' Hillary playpen, not to mention Anthony Weiner?  Elliot Spitzer?

          (Still not convinced? Waitin' for Silverado Neal Bush versus Roger Clinton in 2024?  I ain’t!)

          So I say people have the right... if not the obligation... to start third and fourth, even ninth parties because of the dismalicity of the status quo; shake Americans from their endless sleep and whip 'em... still yawning and rubbin' eyes, some... into a lean, mean fightin' machine. But, on the other hand, if the Tweedle-dumb and Tweedle-dumber parties are so rotted out from the inside, why not just march in and take ‘em over… that one of Lincoln and Teddy Roosevelt I leave to Austin, while I take that other of Jackson, Jefferson and the other Roosevelt back for us real Americans!

          Not to excuse or to imply concurrence with some as have borrowed from Freddy Nietzsche's philosophies in the past, but I can find encouragement that, against Entropy's will to nothingness, "a concealed Yes drives us, that is stronger than all our No's!"

 

 

CLICK the CATFISH to go to PAST and PRESENT EPISODES of "BLACK HELICOPTERS" and to OTHER JACK PARNELL COLUMNS

      ô