Friday, January 20, 2017

President Trump, Preserve Our American Exceptionalism

Photo credit: NBC
The Trump Mobile made by Finnish couple from Florida
The sun rose today, January 20, 2017, on a cloudy and rainy day but I was dancing of joy inside. I cried and felt as if a heavy burden was lifted off my chest, the crumbling stone of anti-Americanism and communism.

There is a new Sheriff in town and he loves our country. He is glowing, almost giddy with pride and bliss, knowing that he is going to lead our nation and, indirectly the world, on the right path of economic success.

President Trump will begin to put back together the scattered pieces of the fine-tuned watch called America that the previous occupant of the White House had dismantled piece by piece, never knowing how or having any desire to put it back together again. The more mayhem he created, the happier he seemed to be. His legacy will live in infamy. History will not be kind to President Barack Hussein Obama.

I have devoted the last eight years of my life to explain publicly and to write pro bono about the specter and evils of communism that was encroaching our country and the American spirit every day. The fact that this man from Hawaii was able to get away with so much without a whimper from the American people who had been duped into voting twice for the man with the golden and mesmerizing voice, the man who criticized our country non-stop to our friends and enemies alike, to anybody who was willing to listen, spoke volumes about the targeted transformation of the American psyche.

We must now reverse that brainwashing. Whether the hearts and minds of the American people can be put back in their proper place through accurate American education, history and civics, remains to be seen. The globalists, schools, hateful and communist Hollywood, and the socialist main stream media have successfully shaped and created millions of global citizens in the United States, and billions around the world, who behave like selfish Snowflakes and welfare-dependent drones, people without a conscience.

I cried yesterday of joy and relief; a feeling of elation and completion filled my heart and soul. The communist and anti-American fog that had darkened our nation every day for the last eight years has lifted. The hateful and fearmongering fog that brought out the worst elements in our society has lifted. We must now scrub the thick mud and filth from the ranks of our corrupt and putridly-engorged government.

People seemed happier and kinder all around me; there was an air of excitement everywhere. Bikers arrived by the thousands in a thunderous cortege; people were displaying bumper stickers and American flags without fear of retribution, fear of being beaten up or their property destroyed. Bikers were wearing helmets and leather with symbols of patriotism, our flag, our bald eagle, second amendment signs, among a sea of red, white, and blue.

President Trump and Vice President Pence placed a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. They saluted our servicemen correctly, with respect and pride for those who guard the tomb and for those unknown soldiers who gave their lives for this country and for others around the globe.  President Trump will be a respected Commander-in-Chief and a leader of our armed forces that our enemies will fear and revere.

With his beautiful American family in tow, President Trump paid homage to God, country, police, and our military. God is smiling from above that his kingdom of faithful who outnumber the domestic enemies of America will worship again without fear of retribution, ridicule, and shame for their beliefs.

It is a great day in America today!  There is an American Sheriff in Town who loves our country. President Trump will lead us with grace and competence into higher levels of success and will unite again our wounded and divided spirit into one people, the American people, who are not ashamed of who we are, of our history, and who respect our forefathers who gave us our Constitution.

President Donald J. Trump, the 45th president of the United States, will reinstate and preserve our American Exceptionalism and our leading role in the world.

President Donald J. Trump is a man of God who honors who we are, our exceptionalism, our Christianity, and our vital role in leading and making the world a better place for everybody.

President Trump has Congress, a pen, and his Twitter account. Let’s hope and pray that he will use them wisely, for the benefit of all Americans, and that Congress and their lobbyists will not oppose him at every turn.


Monday, January 16, 2017

Progressive Justice and the Communist Diet

Wikipedia Commons:  Iosif Berman, Bucuresti covrigi
Under communism we had all types of justice you progressive drones are demanding during your violent riots: gender, environmental, social, reproductive, and food justice, long before the millennial snowflakes started asking for safe spaces, crayons, and animals to pet because they are afraid of reality, and long before the regressive left started inventing new ways and outrageous euphemisms, such as “white privilege,” to claim and steal other people’s money, goods, and services they have not earned.

For starters, we had food justice, one for the proletariat and one for the communist elitist apparatchiks. It was not the kind of food justice you are demanding, free and fresh food from the government.

The proletariat was equally poor, miserable, and hungry. We were on the Ceausescu’s communist diet so we were all equally thin and gaunt. Were we healthier? If you consider that our food was not very nourishing and vitamin supplements were not easy to find, the answer would be no. We did not have the sugar problem the U.S. has because sweets were not available and not largely part of the diet; sugar was not an additive to every food item sold in grocery stores. Sweets were special treats on birthdays and were expensive.

We ate well on Christmas, Easter, birthdays, baptisms, weddings, and funerals. It was customary to prepare a feast for every momentous occasion and to indulge in alcohol, including spilling some on the ground in the memory of the deceased who were no longer there to partake in the revelries.

Women were slender and waif-like as a result of Ceausescu’s diet. Each person could only consume so many calories per day and only 2.5 kg of meat per month. Calling it meat was a stretch, it more resembled a mass of bones covered in some greyish/purplish paste and a few blood stains.

To this day, I am not a fan of vegetables because they were a staple of our diet mostly in summer time, during the growing season – peas, corn, green beans, lettuce, tomatoes, eggplants, okra, potatoes, and green peppers. In wintertime we had potatoes; we were hard-pressed to find canned vegetables and frozen food was unheard of because nobody had freezers. And we seldom ate beef, as cows were more valuable as sources of milk, butter, and cheese.

Canning our own jars was impossible – the commie stores did not sell mason jars with lids that could be sealed. Grandma attempted a crude way of canning in jelly jars by using Grandpa Cristache’s tar, paper, and string sealing system which often cracked the jars.

Wax was used for candles to light up homes when the incompetents in charge of our electricity delivery would shut it off for hours each day either on purpose, to keep us compliant, or because they were running low and needed to ration it. They would not dare leave their commie bosses without electricity! They were hooked up to a special network. Rationing everything became law eventually and rationing coupons were distributed to every household.

Barely half or less of the population could afford a refrigerator to store food. In summer time, when the soup started to smell spoiled, mom would boil it again to destroy some of the bacteria and make it edible again. She refried smelly chicken or rancid pork and we ate it because we were really hungry. We could not afford to throw away any food.

Our cold storage in summer time was the cellar, for those living in the country, and in winter the window sill for those living in Ceausescu high rise cinder block apartments. Crows learned to be crafty and pecked out our packages to get to the food as we did not have plastic containers and Tupperware had not made it to Eastern Europe.

When bread was short and grandma had no flour to bake it, we resorted to Grandpa’s stash of “covrigi,” a circular hard white bread pretzel that was strung on a rope and hardened to the consistency of a rock a few hours after it was baked. However, when toasted briefly on a cast iron stove top, it would become soft again and edible-delicious by itself or with thin soup. “Covrigi” were such a lifesaver and treat for humans and rats alike, Grandpa tried to hang a big bunch strung up high in the air. Somehow mice and rats leaned how to jump and dangle on the strung covrigi, close to the ceiling, while chewing on our food.

We even had a saying in Romanian, “ciini cu covrigi in coada” (dogs with pretzels on their tails), implying that it was an unlikely scenario to find something prized, as unlikely as finding dogs running around with pretzels strung on their tails.

Our environmental justice meant that all of us breathed in equally polluted air, bathed in contaminated water, drank things that would make a westerner sick, and wore clothes dried on clothes lines, exposed to dirty air from the nearby factories that often turned white shirts into greys and yellows when hung on the balcony. No washers and dryers for us. Our hands struggled to keep our few clothes clean, washed in the tub with detergent so caustic that left red blotches on our palms and fingers.

The gender justice meant that we all wallowed in the same mud and terrible working conditions regardless of gender, and all of us were paid equally low wages, regardless of gender, qualification, or education.

Reproductive justice  was not your brand of gay fascism, it was a law which forbade any abortion on any ground and contraceptives were not sold on the market. When contraceptives were found on the black market, women took one tablet each time they had sex and still got pregnant.

If and when women became pregnant and tried to kill their babies, failed, but caused infections or bleeding in the process, they were refused medical treatment until they revealed who helped them, and, if they survived, they were jailed along with the doctor or the person who performed the successful or botched abortion. Some died from untreated septic infections.

Even women who had natural miscarriages came under suspicion and were investigated. In some instances, young women were forced to have dehumanizing gynecological exams with the doctor at work to determine if they were pregnant again or not.

Ceausescu wanted to increase the declining population at all costs and he succeeded. A lot of babies born during this time were abandoned by their parents at orphanages, resulting in a crisis and neglect of thousands of babies, a crime that was so vividly exposed by the western media on television. These babies, who grew up rocking themselves nonstop, unable to speak for lack of verbal interaction with their cruel caretakers, and untouched by humans, wallowing in their own filth, were never psychologically normal and few recovered.

Social justice is a term attributed to Luigi Taparelli, a Jesuit priest, but was used more since the 1840s in a progressive vein. The community organizers of today demand safety nets and economic justice, the transfer of wealth from the haves and from those who work hard, to the have nots and slackers or those who choose to live on generational welfare. The current use of the term social justice focuses on redistribution of wealth around the globe, equality of outcome regardless of a person’s ability and participation, and regardless of a person’s bad choices when posed with equal opportunity.

Under the communist social justice system I experienced, the individual citizen’s wealth was confiscated and redistributed to all communist party members, scaled according to their role and position in the Ponzi scheme called communism.

People were socially engineered by force and moved from the country into cinder block apartments in the city while their homes were either spared and given to someone else or bulldozed to make room for the co-operative farms owned by the communist party and run by the collective work of former landowners who received a meager part of the crop while the communist party received the lion’s share.

Those who objected too vociferously were dragged to jail for a long time. A doctor friend I met years later in Philadelphia, Dr. Petrasovich, had served a seventeen year jail term in a lead mine. I am not sure how this man survived such hard labor. When he was released, he immigrated to the United States and practiced medicine for a while, then retired, inspiring crowds with his stories, and eventually passing away in his eighties. The hotel he owned in Sinaia was returned to his rightful heirs.

Others, like my mom’s uncle Paulica, were beaten severely for being successful in his small grocery store business and for having too much land, and thrown in jail for seven years. His wife went into mourning for the duration, became severely depressed, seldom left her bed, and died, leaving behind a beautiful neoclassical villa which was promptly occupied by a communist apparatchik’s family who was given the deed to the house immediately.

When the EU forced the government after Ceausescu to return properties to their rightful owners, it was hard to find heirs immediately, the system was corrupt, overwhelmed, and beautiful “nobody’s” buildings were waiting, decayed beyond belief, to be claimed and restored. When an heir was found, money was often not available for restoration, and the property had to be sold with little gains to the owner after taxes were paid.

The biggest injustice that was perpetrated on people, tricked or forced to accept communism, was the destruction of the human spirit, the terror, torture, and brutal beatings people had to endure in the name of social justice, the utopian pie in the sky community organizers promised to hapless and uninformed listeners. And it seems that history is repeating itself now.

Friday, January 13, 2017

Mayhem and Leftist Mob Rule

Cartoon by Ben Garrison
A widely circulated email from the IAC Solidarity Center action alerts described in great detail how the radical left is going to disrupt President Trump’s inauguration and potentially his entire administration. Calling themselves #J20RESIST, with the mantra of “WE REFUSE! NO PASARAN!” (Spanish for “You will not pass”), they want to “shut down Trump’s inauguration” and disobey future law and order.

The leftist group has initiated “buses and carpools from over 15 cities” to protest in D.C., and “for actions across the U.S.” They also “launched a call for global action against Trump on January 20th.”

In order to disrupt law and order, they have applied for rally permits and “have planned a march on the White House during Trump’s parade.”

Just in case there are clashes with the police, which often happen when the violent left marches “peacefully,” they have “plans in place for legal observers, jail solidarity teams, if there are any arrests during J20, medical teams, mass housing at local churches and working with the press the best we can to get our revolutionary message out.”

If there was ever any doubt that churches are aiding and abetting the violent and anti-American activities of the left, this mass email makes it very clear.

Their plans are to gather at Union Station, at the “Anti” Columbus Circle at 6 a.m. (here we go again with the vilification of Christopher Columbus) and to march at 10 a.m. to the White House with a planned rally in McPherson Square, a block from the White House.

Their go-fund-me website is asking the rabble-rousing anti-Americans from across the nation to donate $25 to get an extra seat on the bus from New York to Philadelphia or a  $60 donation to “mobilize” (an oft-used word by communist community organizers) people from North Carolina and Detroit.

J20Resist is “mobilizing” to “fight Trump and the whole capitalist system.” They hope the “Anti-Trump struggle grows into a struggle against the entire system of capitalism, white supremacy, LGBTQ bigotry, oppression of women, attacks on migrants, police terror, union-busting, and more!” In their bizarre and anti-American quest, they enumerate the following groups that assist them:

-          BAYAN Philippine coalition

-          Committee to Stop FBI Repression

-          DisruptJ20

-          Freedom Road Socialist Organization

-          International Action Center

-          Michigan Emergency Coalition Against War & Injustice

-          Moratorium Now

-          Pakistan USA Freedom Forum

-          Peoples Power Assembly

-          Philly Real Justice

-          Semidoun Palestine Prisoners Network

-          Solidarity Center

-          Solidarity Iran

-          Students for a Democratic Society (read anarchy and chaos)

-          Team Solidarity

-          United American Indians of New England

-          United National Antiwar Coalition

-          USW Local 8751 Boston School Bus Drivers Union

-          Why Accountability

-          Women’s Fightback Network

-          Workers World Party

Aside from the fact that these organizations are asking for anarchy, chaos, mob rule, socialism, and the disruption of the rule and law, they wish to transform this “rage against Trump,” (you lost the election, buttercup snowflakes, fair and square, multiple times) into a “stronger, pro-war stance against Russia.” This violent left wants war with Russia and demands “jobs, health care, education, justice for migrants and people of color, and an end to militarism and war.” It is pathologically insane to want war with Russia but to demand an end to war at the same time.

Last but not least, they don’t buy the fake news and lies created by their own leftist main stream media, which are distractions from this group’s stated real goal, “creating a revolution to end the rule of the two parties of capitalism.”



Monday, January 9, 2017

The Snow of My Childhood

Ploiesti buried under snow in 2017
Photo: Florentina A. 
The first snow of 2017 finally arrived; a couple of inches covered the ground early before sunrise, turning our world into a powdery-white winter wonderland. The woods were unusually quiet and the animals disappeared with the exception of the resident fox. She ran from the back bushes and left a trail of swirling dry snow disturbed by her bushy tail. My two squirrels were nowhere to be seen.

I was planning to go to an Epiphany celebration that morning and was not sure if I could drive on unplowed roads in our neighborhood. The main highways were clear; this time nothing was left to chance, plows and salt trucks were in position the night before. They were not going to repeat last year’s fiasco when a few inches of snow on untreated roads caused gridlock on all major highways and interstates for hours in northern Virginia. I was stuck on a hill top with many others for six hours before we were rescued.

I made it to my friend’s beautiful mansion, perched on the top of a hill and I parked on an incline without fear. The snow had stopped, how hard would it be to maneuver the car going home?

An hour and a half later, I did not like what I saw. The snow was coming down hard again, covering everything with a fresh, thick blanket.  As I looked out the window in the back yard at Denise’s two pink flamingos covered in inches of snow, my mind wondered to my childhood’s snow, a world away on the other side of the globe, in another time, another life, not so abundant as today.

Our winters were always very heavy, icy, and bitter cold. When it snowed, we stayed snowed in for months in the country unless God was merciful and temperatures rose for a few days. Then it snowed again on top of ice.  The city plowed the main roads for buses and trams, but side streets were always buried deeply. The main streets had snow piled up so high on the sides; we could not see the heads of the people walking between the mountains of snow. Boulevards and avenues were covered in dirty slush, splashed with vengeance onto everything.

I am not sure how much the many falls on sheer ice have affected the intense pain I have today, I just remember the constant bruises on my legs and butt. I was fortunate to have never broken a bone, but many of my friends were not so lucky.

To us kids, winter was a time of fun, sledding, building snow men, snow ball fights, and ice skating, but for adults it was a time of misery - walking, commuting, and working in bitter cold. For the elites, who had chauffeurs and their own cars, it was a time of skiing and partying in the beautiful mountainous lodges and expensive hotels of beautiful Sinaia resort.

Growing up with my grandparents in the country, snow was something entirely different than in the city. It created a lot of extra chores in order to survive. Nobody came to plow the roads and the bus arrived often only once a day if it did not get stuck on the way. Once in the village, even though it was only six miles away from the city, you were stuck for the winter.

We had to care for animals every day, feed them, water them, and make sure they did not freeze to death. My grandparents’ four bedroom house did not have heat, nor a bathroom, so they built a tiny adobe, mud and straw brick, three-room structure nearby and that is where we survived in winter.

The first room was where we cooked the meals on the cast iron stove which was fed with chopped wood and sent heat to the adjoining room where Grandma Elena and I slept. Grandpa Cristache’s bed was not far from the stove and as such, he got up every morning and restarted the fire which had died during the night. We did not freeze because we had really thick and heavy wool quilted comforters stuffed with cotton which kept us toasty warm. As soon as we stepped out of bed, it was very cold.

A third room had a separate entrance and was used as a summer kitchen and that is where we ate our meals as well. It was warmed by a butane gas stove on which grandma cooked our meals and the slop for the pig.

The wooden outhouse was located in the garden, as far away from the house as possible, and we had to trek through mud and snow to use it. It was just a wood shack over a hole in the ground. The toilet paper was pages from the main communist newspaper, Scinteia (the spark), with Ceausescu’s brain-numbing lying speeches. It gave adults a sort of perverse and guilty pleasure to use his printed face on our behinds.

Grandma felt sorry for me, a “city girl,” where we had indoor plumbing and a bathroom. But I spent more time with them growing up and on school vacations than in the city. Besides, the commies did not give us hot water often in winter and in summer they even cut off cold water in order to clean and maintain their holding containers of rust and minerals or to conserve resources. So Grandma brought in a bucket at night so I did not have to go to the outhouse to pee; she did not want me to trip in the dark and fall on ice or snow.

At night, she gave me a clean and warm flannel pajama, painfully washed by her ageing hands and dried on the line, clean but smelling like wet dog. We slept cozy warm until the fire in the stove died out and the crackling of burning wood stopped. As soon as we hit the sack, flees woke up and started biting but we were too tired and cold to care. Grandma always fed many flee-infested cats that slept in the attic, in hope that they would control the mouse population. We could hear the mice at night running through the tunnels they dug inside the adobe walls, probably going up to where hay and grain was stored. When we got up in the morning, bleary eyed and shivering, we waited for Grandpa to stoke the fire again before we crawled out of bed. Our pajamas and nightgowns bore bloody witnesses to the many flea bites we got during the night. Grandma tried to treat the cats with a flea powder, probably DDT, but fleas became hardy, they always came back.

Every morning we had to boil water to start the frozen pump outside which gave us water. It would freeze so hard, we had to boil a couple of pots before we could break the ice and start pumping water again for our own use and for the animals.

I remember thinking that I never wanted to be a farm girl, to live in the country, because life was too harsh, frigid, and miserable. And there were so many chores that a child like me could not understand.  Life was hard, no radio, no TV, and no electricity, we used a kerosene lamp with a wick and a fluted clear glass globe.

I can never understand to this day how my Grandfather bicycled to work nine kilometers each way in heavy snow for four decades. He was in good health but, when he developed a hernia and needed an operation, they nicked his colon during surgery. Ceausescu’s communist surgeons were ill prepared to care for the proletariat and nobody was concerned when most of them either died on the operating table or later from infection from a botched procedure. When I was seventeen, my beloved Grandpa, who taught me so much history, told me so many stories, and guided my first seven formative years of my life, died a horrible death from gangrene.

Village kids seldom had time to have fun in the snow – there were too many chores. But once in a while, around the holidays, they went from door to door, pulling a sleigh in the snow, decorated with a pine tree with colorful crepe paper garlands, singing about Father Frost and wishing the residents health and happiness in the New Year.

The snow turned red at Christmas with the blood of slaughtered pigs, a generational tradition passed for centuries. We were not allowed to eat meat unless we watched the animal being killed. I always hated that because domesticated animals were my pets. As I watered and fed them, I talked to them as if they were human and petted them. They responded in kind with affection, following me around the yard.

And here I am today, in this beautiful home, surrounded by freshly fallen powdery snow, so far away from where I came, wishing once more that I could travel back in time to my childhood snow, my grandparents, and my roots.

Florentina's Yard 2017

I regretfully left, struggling to control the car in the driving snow, and, when I got home, my cousin had sent some photos of the snow they got in my hometown of Ploiesti. It was just as I had remembered it. I gazed through teary eyes at the image of roads and fenced yards totally submerged by un-shoveled tall and pristine snow and I wished that I was an oblivious and blissful child again.
Note: A video of the 1966 winter in Bucharest.

Thursday, January 5, 2017

That's Right, You Stink, Go Home, Take Bath!

Years ago, in the mid-80s, as a foreign instructor at a southern college, I was assigned two summer classes nobody else wanted to teach because of the un-PC nature of the course. Even though I was an American citizen, I was still considered a foreigner in the southern culture, and as such, who else better suited to teach a bunch of foreign graduate teaching assistants who had already been hired and given assignments to teach introductory classes in the fall semester in various departments, business, economics, engineering, physics, chemistry, biology, generally science classes.

My job was to vet them and to make sure that they spoke English intelligibly and clearly enough to be understood by incoming freshmen. I was to teach them how to make a proper lesson plan, how to develop tests in their subject-area, and how to grade papers in our generous and highly inflated American grading system.

Somehow, I was to make it clear to them that the administration did not like to have parents call the Dean and complain that their progeny had been unfairly tested and graded by the very hard teacher who made Johnny cry when he got an F after a night of partying at the sorority house.

The teaching assistants were to prepare a lesson plan and teach a 15-minute lesson as part of their final exam during which time a panel of three veteran teachers was to grade them on content, delivery, and mastery.

Last, but not least, I was to tell them very diplomatically, without starting a riot in the classroom or on campus, how to bathe regularly and wash their clothes. The president of the college must have had a lot of faith in me, especially since we used to jog at the track together almost every day and talked some during my two miles.

How do I tell an assorted hodge-podge of Europeans, Africans, Middle Easterners, and Asians, most of whom came from backgrounds where soap and water were scarce and very expensive, that they must bathe regularly because body odor is offensive to other people around them, especially to Americans who have plenty of water, cheap soap, shampoo, washing machines, and access to laundromats? One of the first questions on this very delicate topic came from the front row, what is a laundromat?

The math and computer science departments already had a few malodorous foreigners with whom everybody refused to share an office or an elevator; they preferred to climb stairs or held office at the library in the reading rooms or in the stacks to avoid the unbearable gagging stench.

So I came up with the genial idea to say that offensive body odor is part of non-verbal communication and Americans respect each other's space by bathing, washing their hands, and laundering their clothes regularly. Problem solved! I was quite proud of myself and was looking forward to deliver my speech to the first class.

Here I was standing in front of the classroom, saying in the most crystalline voice I could muster, my prepared sentence. As soon as the last word resonated against the windows, silence. Everyone was squirming uncomfortably in their seats; few were looking up at me, increasing my discomfort by the second. Finally, a Palestinian on the back row, who was going to teach something in engineering, shot up, looked at me for the first time in almost thirty days, and said, "Are you saying that I need to go home and take a bath?"

A pregnant pause followed as I was weighing in my head a response and debating how I should say things to keep this from escalating. A jocular Chinese man, always wearing safari shorts with the hairiest legs I had ever seen, said with a large smile and booming voice, in his broken English, "That’s right, you stink, go home, take bath." The entire class erupted in laughter and the explosive moment was diffused.

I never agreed to teach this class again the following summer even though I could have used the remuneration.

Today such a class would be considered racist, bigoted, and xenophobic on any American campus which is kind of sad because some people do need proper hygiene lessons to prevent the spread of disease and to spare the noses of those around them.

I am glad that I am retired because today I would not last one day in the classroom. Everybody is offended by something daily and reality has been replaced by moral relativism.

Friday, December 30, 2016

"Useful Infidels" Vetting Refugees

During times of universal deceit, telling the truth becomes a revolutionary act.”  - George Orwell

When America was great
Photo: Wikipedia
When truth has been replaced with moral relativism and progressivism teaches our American children through high school programs such as the International Baccalaureate and Common Core standards that they are global citizens, love of one’s country is bad, proselytizing for Islam in school curricula at the expense of Christianity is good, and socialism and the Islamisation of Western civilization have become the norm, it is time to worry.  America is “harboring in New York its own worst enemy,” and financing it with taxpayer dollars. It is time to stand up to the U.N. and its forced globalization programs, including the “refugee” relocation.

“Progressivism is anarchy and spiritual disorder.  It is an ideology of the global left which is based on envy. If you have something and I don’t, you can’t have it, neither can I, and I will destroy it.” Brainwashing our children in schools in this vein is a form of psychological warfare, teaching them about non-existent white privilege in order to anger non-Caucasians and instigate hate and division.

Closer to home, the Virginia Refugee Resettlement Program “Provides services to all refugees without regard to race, religion, nationality, sex, or political opinion.” It is humane and Christian to help someone in temporary need but we have enough needy people in our own country, do we need to import the citizens and problems of other nations, and shouldn’t countries of the same religion that are much closer to the conflict zone offer refuge first?  Must they migrate across the globe?

And if we do offer services regardless of political opinion, would it not be important to our citizens’ safety to know which one of those admitted come here to destroy us because they despise our way of life and their holy book commands it?

Don’t we owe our own citizens a modicum of safety? Do we want to turn our country into a failed Europe, into Merkel’s Germany, an invaded country that has been deliberately flooded by its own liberal leaders in the name of pacifism and political correctness while Germans quietly accept their fate?

Should we not vet these people properly instead of saying that we do when in reality everybody knows that there is no known data base in their countries of origin that would flag problem refugees? And why are there most of them males with no skills or education who become wards of the state immediately, on the dole provided by hard-working Americans who are struggling to feed and support their own families?

If you were a newly arrived “refugee” who came from a poor part of the world, given to tribal strife and wars for two thousand years, would you not be elated to be cared for by American taxpayers’ generosity administered through the Refugee Assistance Program? In Virginia alone, newcomers become beneficiaries of the Refugee Cash Assistance Program (RCA) which is consistent with its Temporary Assistance to Needy Family Program (TANF).

“The Office of Newcomer Services collaborates with the Department of Social Services Division of Benefit Programs on the inclusion of cash, medical, employment, and support services for refugees in its Medicaid, SNAP, and TANF program guidance documents.” (p. 7)

The lofty goals stated are “durable economic self-sufficiency and social integration in Virginia’s communities.” Most of the areas where refugees have been inserted are conservative, small, and are unable to cope financially with a group in disarray, as the newcomers have no intention of integrating into orderly society or learn the language, they expect everything to be translated and conducted into the language of their countries, following their customs and Sharia Law which is antithetical to our Constitution and rejects American democracy.

Brian Sussman stated recently in a radio broadcast that we are vetting Syrian refugees incorrectly. We should not be vetting them for terrorism; we should vet them for “their acceptance of Sharia Law which will ultimately lead to terrorism.” Many who are settled into our small communities overnight, without local knowledge, are not even Syrian, they are Somalis or some other African Muslims.

Do we not care who comes into our country? Do we not care about the safety of our children and our families, of our fellow Americans? Do we not care if these migrants are not contributing to the betterment of America?

How are they going to improve our lives? Are they going to assimilate into our culture? Are they going to go back once this particular Shia/Sunni conflict ends in the Middle East and, will this tribal and religion-based millennial conflict ever end, especially when the flames are fanned by superpowers with industrial military complex interests?
We were told that we were involved in order to improve their lives over there, getting rid of their dictators, so they can live in peace and harmony, the Shia and the Sunni together, and now we are bringing them over here. It’s not enough that they have colonized Europe; they are now going to colonize us.

We spent money, treasure, trillions of dollars fighting wars in Iraq and Afghanistan to make a better country for them, a democracy like ours, our American men have died there or have lost their limbs and now they are all coming over here to take over our country under the guise of refugees. Why not bring in an equal number of Christian refugees? Thousands and thousands have been raped, tortured, and slaughtered by ISIS, and their Coptic Christian churches burned.

These “refugees” are never going to assimilate, it is neither their intent nor interest, they just want to occupy the country and transform it, they want to install Sharia Law; they don’t want to speak our language, nor respect our laws, they are violent and anti-American. They wait patiently for such a time when they can take over our country through demographics.  Each man can have four wives and thus fertility rate is high, while our western fertility rates are declining below replacement value. They are conquering us through the womb.
The Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), a U.N. program, helps people displaced by conflict. UNHCR “mandated to protect and support refugees at the request of a government or the UN itself, assisting in “their voluntary repatriation, local integration or resettlement to a third country. Headquartered in Geneva, Switzerland, this member organization of the United Nations Development Group was established at the end of WWII in order to address the millions of people displaced across Europe as a result of WW II. The Milanese Filippo Grandi is the 11th United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees who runs the agency.

Bruce Bawer wrote in his 2006 book, “While Europe Slept,” about the wave of immigrants spanning many decades as “refugees” and “asylum seekers,” migrating as “a consciously planned act of subversion,” no longer as guest workers.  He mentioned the “traditional Islamic division of the world into Dar al-Islam (the House of Islam) and Dar al-Harb (the non-Muslim House of War, so called because Muslims living in it are commanded to bring it under Islamic rule through jihad).” (pp. 28-29)

Since the recent conflicts in Libya, Egypt, and Syria, we can add other nationalities to the “refugees” migrating for the economic heaven of EU countries with generous welfare systems.
Bawer described in vivid detail the murder of the Dutch filmmaker, Theo Van Gogh, at the hands of Mohammed Bouyeri, the son of Moroccan parents and a member of a radical Muslim network. He pinned to Van Gogh’s chest with a knife a five-page letter addressed to Parliament member Ayaan Hirsi Ali:

“I know definitely that you, O America, will go down. I know definitely that you, O Europe, will go down. I know definitely that you, O Hirsi Ali, will go down.”  (Bruce Bawer, “While Europe Slept,” Broadway Books, New York, 2006)
Bruce Bawer wrote, quoting from the Jyllands-Posten, “There is only one answer to violence, threats, revenge killings, taking the law into one’s hands, blackmail, private justice, blood feuds, camel  economics and imams who have not understood what society and what century they live in: NO!” (p. 212)

Should we sleep like Europe and allow radical Islam to destroy the West from within? Should we not pay attention to the multicultural elite, the “useful infidels,” who promote the admission of even more improperly vetted “refugees” into our country? And for the Islamophiles who consider the rest of us racists and xenophobes because we question the sanity of this planned invasion, Islam is not a race.





Joe Keller's Story

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Ileana Johnson