Now Is the Time...

by Marc Moran

I want you to know...

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago I raised my hand and took a pledge to defend my country against all enemies, foreign and domestic. It has been many years since I was an infantry squad leader, but I have never, not for a moment, forgotten what I pledged on that hot summer's day in 1980.

My story is by no means unique. I grew up in the same small town that my father grew up in, a town where my family has lived since before the War of Independence was fought over two hundred and twenty five years ago, a town where the Continental Army camped in the weeks before the Battle of Monmouth. In fact one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence, John Hart, lies buried less than two hundred yards from home where I now live, the same house that my father lived in when he was a boy. My roots are deep and to me those members of our family who served and died in conflicts both on our soil and abroad are not abstractions, but human beings, blood relations with whom I have much in common. On the walls of our rooms there are portraits; Syd Bergen, the rifleman who was killed at Fredericksburg and who was buried where he fell only days before his twenty-third birthday. There is a photograph of my great uncle Irvin, standing tall between his two sisters in his khakis, broadly smiling into the lens less than a month before his body was covered, for the last time, with a blanket of North African soil at the battle of Kaserine Pass.

There are more, many more who came back in one piece, more or less, from Yorktown, Bata an, Salerno, Mexico, the Marne, Pleiku and the Philippines. That is the history of the men in my family. Quiet men for the most part, but men of action when action was called for. They went, every last one of them including myself, of their own free will, as volunteers in the service of their country. Some fought those of other races and some fought their fellow countrymen, but every one of them fought until they saw victory or tasted death. There were no clerk-typists, not a mess hall cook among them. These were men who knew that the only solution to the conflict they faced was to be found at the business end of a rifle. And fought they did until they fell or they won. They were, every single one of them, infantrymen. They did what they were told to for those they left behind, for those they longed to return to, for home and hearth, kith and kin. I know how they felt and I feel that way still.

When the Berlin Wall came down I watched on the television in the day room of my barracks with the men in my platoon. We were unusually quiet and we believed at that time that we had just experienced a victory, a victory over not only the enemy, but over something bigger than that. We believed that the world was about to enter a new era, an era free from the totalitarian monsters that sought to enslave and control the world. I know that I thought at the time, that it was all worth the cost we had paid, not only as individuals, but as a nation as well.

And for a while it seemed to be true. Unfortunately the beast is stalking us, even now, though dressed in different clothes.

I registered to vote on the day I turned eighteen. I did it because I thought that was what you did if you wanted to participate in the governance of your country. I believed, at that time, that the government was truly, of the people, by the people and for the people. I never missed a chance to vote, whether in a presidential election or a school board referendum. To vote was to exercise my Constitutional rights, to voice my support or my discontent for whatever person or program happened to be on the ballot at the time. It meant something.

I have done a lot of maturing since then and even more reading; Roosevelt, Cicero, Churchill and Orwell. I have learned from them that there are certain Truths that will never change and that those who forget those Truths will suffer the consequences of their folly. I have watched as my country has slowly and inexorably drifted away from its moorings into a sea of change.

When I was born in 1960, this country was predominantly White. The schools and neighborhoods and even the cities were nearly homogenous in their complexion. English was the only language I ever heard spoken on the street and names like Washington, Jefferson and Franklin were instantly recognizable and universally respected. This is not a dream that I am recalling, this is the way that things were. There were Blacks too, although they were called Negroes at that time and not in a disrespectful way. They lived in my town and although they were different from us people didn't try and pretend that they weren't. They lived and played and worked together, just like they do today, but there was far less hostility on their part than I see on the street of my town these days. I have no idea what kind of troubles they experienced, but they didn't experience them at the hands of my family or neighbors. I know for a fact that I never heard a comment, not a word of disparagement about anyone based on nothing more than race. Never. I never, not once in the first eighteen years of my life, saw an outward display of homosexuality. Homosexuals may have been there all along, but like heterosexuals, they kept their private life private. I never heard the word homophobe until well after the time I saw them openly groping and pawing each other in the streets and mincing around in parades dressed as women, or cowboys, or whatever it is they are dressed up as these days.

When I was a child the only woman I knew who worked outside of the home was my own mother. In fact I may have been the original latchkey child because I remember wearing a brass key on a red shoelace hung round my neck. I do remember wishing, hoping and praying that my mother would be like they other moms in our neighborhood, at home when I came in at the end of the school day. In fact, it is the only unhappy memory of my childhood and when I speak of it my mother agrees with me.

"The only thing I ever really wanted to be was a mother and a housewife." My mother said recently. This from a woman who is a self-made millionaire. I can remember the first time I ever heard the word divorce and the painful wounds that act inflicted upon my family.

How quaint my memories are today.

Imagine, some would say, a world without the exciting mix of nationalities and religions and languages and gender orientations, all right here on our very own soil. Imagine a country where two lesbians couldn't adopt a child, or a man and a woman of different races couldn't marry, or a school where only one language or one history is taught. Imagine a world where a woman couldn't have an abortion if she wanted one or a fatherless child if that were her choice. Imagine a world where family was an instantly understood concept instead of a constantly changing, ever-morphing paradigm that requires government panels to "define." Imagine an army made up of nothing but physically fit males instead of overweight women and openly gay men. Imagine what it would be like if children found out about abstinence and monogamy from their parents instead of learning the joys of fisting and mutual masturbation from groups like Planned Parenthood and GLAAD. Imagine how limiting it would be to walk down to the corner grocer and not have a choice of pornographic magazines and videotapes, but instead find nothing but bread and milk and Popsicles.

What a boring world, they would say. How old fashioned. Yes, perhaps, but imagine.

What has happened, and I believe I can at least say this without fear of reprisal -- for the time being -- is that we have lost our way in an effort to find it.

Several years ago I met a young man through my father. He was bright and interesting and he suffered horribly in a car accident that left him disfigured. At that time I was a stand-up comic performing all over the country and appearing occasionally on television. All of my friends and acquaintances were involved in one way or another in the entertainment industry. This particular young man wanted very badly to break in to the same field and so he asked me to help him with a script he was working on. He had an idea that was not half bad and I told him that I would do whatever I could to help. I read his script, which was handwritten on scraps of paper. I agreed to rewrite it on my computer and to forward the results. He began to call me to talk about the business and to read what I had written, every single word, every single day. My wife had just given birth to our first child, a son. Since I was still traveling at the time, the hours I spent at home were spent with my wife and our baby, bonding. My family was supportive and they gave us our space and were there when we needed them, but this young man was different. He was completely unmoved by the needs of my wife, my child and myself. He called repeatedly, showed up unannounced, refused to take the hints that I dropped like bombs. He would go through my day-timer copying numbers and names and contacting people who didn't know him using my name as a reference. He all but abandoned his script, instructing me to write it as per his directions and demanded rewrites and updates on a regular basis. His presence soon became a constant annoyance to us, yet we remained civil, preparing meals to his dietary specifications whenever he showed up, making a bed for him and cleaning up after him when he left.

Never once did he chip in, and we were far from solvent at the time, depending in large part on the generosity of our landlord who farmed vegetables and gave us the remainder.

Never once did this young man help us with our needs nor did he offer. Eventually he made a new set of contacts in Los Angeles, moved out there and left us in peace. Occasionally I would hear from someone I knew who had run into this young man and they would tell me that he had said nothing but bad things about me -- how I wouldn't help him, how I tried to hold him back and that I wasn't really even funny.

I haven't heard from him since.

The people who have charted the course of our Nation's history in the past thirty years or more are very much like that young man. They may be earnest in what they want, but they are relentless in how they achieve those ends. It matters little to them who they use or how they affect the lives of those they exploit, as long as they get what they want. They feel no sense of obligation, no loyalty to those who have sacrificed to help them achieve their ends. No amount of aid is ever enough, no good deed is appreciated and no respect is returned. The only thing that matters is getting what they want, the rest of the world be damned. In fact, the more you sacrifice, the more you cave in to their demands the greater the demands become and the less they are acknowledged. In fact a strange thing begins to happen; resentment creeps in.

Left on his own, despite my help and friendship, my friend faltered. He didn't believe that it was any fault of his own. He hadn't learned to write comedy, because he had expected me to do that for him and so he was unequipped to do it himself when he went out on his own. He had no idea how to make connections, because he failed to observe that connections are made by those who have something to offer in return. He understood the taking part, but thought that it was independent of giving in return. The same thing happens every day in this country. Blacks riot, burn, loot and brutalize Whites in Cincinnati, Ohio and the response is to spend millions of dollars in taxpayer money to set up grievance committees and sensitivity training for police officers. We excuse the anti-social behavior of those who feel no responsibility of citizenship with their fellow American and punish those who struggle to uphold and enforce those same standards.

We acknowledge that homosexuals should not have their rights abrogated based on nothing more than their sexual orientation, and they demand that we either allow them unlimited access to teenage Boy Scouts on overnight campouts or they will fight to remove that venerable organization from the public sphere.

We not only allow our borders to remain unprotected, but we regularly reward those who violate the laws of this nation by granting blanket amnesty, all the while encouraging them to retain their language, culture and even foreign citizenship at the expense of the citizens of this country. On the very same day that 19 foreign hijackers inflicted the single greatest blow against Americans on U.S. soil, our own President scolded us that we were to show even more tolerance of those within our borders regardless of the very real threat that pose to our families, our cities and our country. No one mentioned that it was that very tolerant American behavior that allowed these people to flourish and carry out their diabolic plan within our very borders free from the interference of the very agencies designed to protect us.

I have taken the dangerous step of speaking about the disastrous effects of unchecked liberalism on this once great nation. I have further compromised my family, my standing in the community, perhaps even my physical safety by pointing a spotlight on the culprits behind this anti-American, anti-White, anti-human activity and trying in earnest to bring attention to what may, within a short time, become the last stand of civilization as we know it. I do not do it because it will make money. I care not at all for money. I do not do it for reasons of ego as I walked away from that very life to embrace this one. I do not do it because I hate anyone. I don't believe that if anyone searched that they would be able to locate anyone, Black, White, Yellow or Red who would have a bad thing to say about me. That will change, of this I am certain, but until this very day I have comported myself as a gentleman and have shown nothing but respect to those who come into my sphere.

I do this, because it is the Truth, and that more than any other thing in my life, that matters to me. I do this because the forces of Evil are all too real and they control the debate.

I want others to know that no amount of love, no degree of compassion, no level of aid will ever be enough to dissipate the rage, mollify the hatred, or eliminate the envy of those who want what they want, when they want it. I want people to know that when someone says they advocate tolerance, they don't mean for everyone, but rather for those who hold the exact same beliefs. I want White children to know that it was their ancestors who created civilization and certainly this Nation and that whatever the crimes of their ancestors may be, they can never add up to the gifts that we have given to the world. I want people who naturally gravitate to members of their own race to know that what they are doing is perfectly natural, not purposefully hateful. I want women to know that there is no greater accomplishment for them in the world than to be mothers to their children and wives to their husbands, rather than administrating an agency or sweeping the deck of an aircraft carrier, although they are free to pursue that dream if that is their heart's desire. I want men to know that there is nothing wrong with correcting a teenager who screams profanity in public, or helping a woman with her packages if they appear to be heavy. Such actions are not demeaning, authoritarian confrontations, but rather respectful and responsible acts of civility.

I want everyone to know that while I care not a whit what they may do in the privacy of their own bedroom, they will not enforce their behavioral standards on my culture without a fight. I want the people of the world of every hue, every creed, every persuasion to know that I honor their race, their religion, their culture and their beliefs as long as they remain on the continent of their birth and that they ought to respond with an equal level of racial, cultural and religious tolerance of their own. I want the enemy to know that whenever you slap a bogus label on someone such as racist, bigot, xenophobe, homophobe, hater, and chauvinist simply because they do not agree, they will have to accept the fact that I and others like me will come right back with proof of just who the hateful, destructive and intolerant bigots are. I want them to know that when they attempt to abridge my First Amendment rights, that I will fall back to my Second Amendment right and I will encourage those who hearts beat with the blood of patriots to join me.

I want those who are alien to this nation, who sneer at our laws and take advantage of our generosity and demean our children to return to where they have come from in peace. If they do not go I want them to know that when inevitable occurs, there will be no quarter given. I want those who are at the top of the power elite as well as those who work for them to understand that they are responsible for the violation of their oaths, the same oath that I took in front of a flag on a hot summer's day over twenty years ago. And I want them to know that I have not forgotten mine. I want all of my brothers and sisters, my friends and my neighbors, my countrymen and those of my race to understand, that whatever the outcome, it is only Truth that endures.

Anything else is just an illusion.


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