The Real Clash of Civilizations

Here come the crusades, all over again!

George Bush used the term "Clash of Civilizations" in the course of describing his Iraq war, which was only Chapter One of War on Terror (9/11 being the preface and Desert Storm the front cover). Soon after we heard of Guantanamo and Abu Ghraib.  Over time we became content to believe that the clash of civilizations entailed stopping religious extremists operating from caves; it also had to do with exporting democracy and freedom around the globe, by unseating the oppressive tyrants of Rogue States. Who can argue with that?

Libya's 9/11 (2012), the murder of the American ambassador, ought to give us pause for thought. It is closely connected with and results from the release of "Innocence of Muslims" an anti-Islamic movie in the US. Elsewhere on the internet it is said to also be revenge for the similarly undignified killing of Gaddafi. Almost simultaneously, in Egypt, strikes have erupted as a result of the same anti-Islamic movie, and the US embassy is besieged; consequently the age-old diplomatic warmth traditionally shared between Egypt and US is threatened.

And ain't that funny? The Arab Spring eradicated Libya's Gaddafi and unseated Egypt's Mubarak; US celebrated, but now all they see is "Islamist fighting groups", jihadists and terrorists running haywire. (It was designed that way.)

Now the Clash of Civilizations exposes its real religious colors. It shouldn't have taken this long. Just a consideration of the term should have pointed to an intent more nefarious than smoking Osama bin Laden and his likes out of mountain caves.

Cue to extremist Christian preachers organizing Koran-burning events. In public. The anti-Islamic movie that is the cause of so much uproar is just some similar classic agent provocateur tactics at play. Now we can expect counterattacks in sacrilege and blood. Ignorant people all around the world will take up arms to kill innocents in the name of GOD. It's a damn shame to see Christians lured into the politics of Zionism; therein shall they fall, entangled with delusion into a fight not their own.

Here in Kenya, a recent eruption of violence at the Coast threatened to take on this sinister Muslim vs. Christian flavor, what with its al-Shabaab connections. Fortunately, we have a mature lot of politicians and religious leaders, who closed ranks across their various divides to stand in unity and denounce the goings on unequivocally. Also, to their credit, many Coast residents simply wouldn't allow the thing to sink into the miry depths.

But someone ask Nigeria how things got to be so tough with Boko Haram. Who can resist a raging craving for revenge? Who is above being manipulated to defend the honor of their GOD? These are tactics to "spread the blood," to ensure that all have blood on their hands, so that none can honestly take the higher moral ground. Still the truth remains: sow violence, reap violence - no matter what religion.

The Crusades are upon us, primed to fester into a gangrenous World War. Behind the scenes is a movement for religious unity, to be achieved by Hegelian Dialectic. That's just how the bones will break, ultimately.

Will you fall for the fool's gold of false religion for the sake of peace? FYI, there is no peace with antichrist.

Informer

One hot and stuffy afternoon, during time I should have been playing soccer, I consumed acres of literature instead. Skipping practice has always been a last resort, worst case scenario. That week, however, soccer fatigue had overwhelmed me. I stalled on a couch with literature.

Then I looked outside. Suddenly, or so it seemed, it had become late evening. I ventured off the couch towards the great outdoors; a walk would do me some good, an uneventful and utterly pointless stroll around the hood, for its own sake.

I hadn’t gone very far before things turned interesting. I met The Ex, apparently on her way home from work. As rock music fans like to say, I felt nothing. At first.

“You don’t look well,” she said, her eyes scanning mine.

“Football fever.” I wasn’t going to explain that. She knew me well enough to understand. “So we’re talking now?”

“I heard about you and Jennifer,” she accused, in her inimitable passive-aggressive manner.

That gave me a start, a rude shock. My heart long-jumped over a few beats, and then sprinted through the rest. “You weren’t supposed to hear,” was the best I could come up with.

“So it’s true! I thought she was making it up!” This exclamation of surprise accompanied the first manifestation of emotion on her face and tone.

“She’s the one who told you?!” I was as incredulous and as stunned she was.

She started to walk away, distractedly. From her studied expression, I could actually see in my mind’s eye millions of her mental cogs turning over the new information using a magnifying glass and a fine toothcomb. I discerned that this would be an optimal time to cushion the impact.

“Look, I’m sorry; I was angry and jealous. And I wanted revenge.”

As she turned to face me, there was more perplexity than anger in her face and voice as she replied. “You shouldn’t care, why should you care?” The finality with which she said that (while walking away I might add) essentially plugged my maw and made me think about it. Next I looked up, she was scratching her head as she turned a corner and vanished from sight.

I made a decision: the informer needed be answerable. Jennifer’s place was far, but I ran the distance. Incidentally, this helped to clear some of the lactic acid in my sore limbs. But we all know that was the least of my intentions for running. I hadn’t carried bus fare.

Luckily, I met her opening her door, just coming in from work. She considered me with a half-smile that I appraised to be merely diplomatic; on the basis of which analysis I replied her “Hi Antony” with “I can’t believe you told her.”

She looked like she was going to pretend to ask what I was raving about. And then she saw impatience hot on my face and looked like she thought better of it and made peace with the obvious. “Come in,” she offered.

“No.”

So she stood inside and I stood outside and we besieged the open door.

“It just came out, alright?”

“It was supposed to be a secret!”

“I know! I get it! But she’s my best friend, for goodness sake! I had to confess.”

My mouth opened, but I found I couldn’t argue with that, so I shut it.

“Okay,” I said, “Goodbye.”

And I jogged back home.

(The Ex was right: I shouldn’t care. I don’t even want to. But I can’t just seem to let this issue die a natural death before I hear the conclusion of it. As for feedback, I’m still waiting to see how things pan out.)

Thus Spake Sir Alexander Fraser Tytler

“A democracy cannot exist as a permanent form of government. It can only exist until the voters discover that they can vote themselves largess of the public treasury. From that time on the majority always votes for the candidates promising the most benefits from the public treasury, with the results that a democracy always collapses over loose fiscal policy, always followed by a dictatorship. The average age of the world's great civilizations has been 200 years. These nations have progressed through this sequence: From bondage to spiritual faith; from spiritual faith to great courage; from courage to liberty; from liberty to abundance; from abundance to selfishness; from selfishness to complacency; from complacency to apathy; from apathy to dependency; from dependency back again to bondage.”

from http://endrtimes.blogspot.com/

Revise history, quick!

I'm worked up as I write this. It's the newspaper's that's done it this time. I see deception and disinformation flying around and I get so mad.

History as taught is a heap of lies. Sure, there are facts in there to be crammed: dates, names and places, accurate ones too. But that's just data. The truth of history is much more important than its minutiae. And the truth of history is what mainstream academic "History" has never ventured to teach. Remember, also, that the victors are the ones who write official "history" and dispense "justice". The fittest survive to immortalize their heroes in dogmatic myths. Later generations recite it in their daily papers.

They say "if you repeat a lie often enough it becomes the truth." Well, it doesn't. Life in the 21st century is a continual bombardment of lies. We are drowning in it. Mass media beams it all day. "Education", so called, embeds it in our thinking. Corporates sustain the deception to profitably maintain relevance. Pop culture conforms the masses into the required psychological stances. (Chris Brown: "Don't wake me uuuuup!") It has reached a level that is one wanted to start fixing society's junk, one looks at the multifaceted problem, sees the multitudes of its adherents and vested interests, wonders where and how to start, gives up. The task is worse than Herculean, it overwhelms and tires merely by contemplating the sheer scale of its impossibility. This is the reason I'm worked up - tired as I am of heaps of lies incessantly being told even now.

Things simply have to make sense to me. But it's hardly ever that straightforward out here.

Example. Over the years, one learns that the innocent pay for the crimes of the guilty. It's a hard fact. However, facts are like prostitutes; they readily lend themselves to competing interpretations, without discrimination, especially if the price is right.

1. Paying for crimes is highly demoralizing, moreso paying for others' crimes. Rationality seems to suggest becoming guilty: as attested to by popular culture's disdain for "naive" people and their "inexperience."

2. OR be innocent anyway. Moral rectitude demands it.

The truth is oscured from view by "facts". All varieties of statistics can be made to mean something compelling, and reinforced by graphs and charts. In short, there is a distinction between "data" and "truth". Too bad how data has become the nerd's crowing glory.

There's every risk I'll burn myself out railing against the system like this. The world is fixed in its ways, and proud of it. I just ask anyone to show me where they are obligated to buy into its deceptions.

A Mighty Fortress - Martin Luther

A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing;
Our helper He, amid the flood of mortal ills prevailing:
For still our ancient foe doth seek to work us woe;
His craft and pow’r are great, and, armed with cruel hate,
On earth is not his equal.

Did we in our own strength confide, our striving would be losing,
Were not the right Man on our side, the Man of God’s own choosing:
Dost ask who that may be? Christ Jesus, it is He;
Lord Sabaoth, His Name, from age to age the same,
And He must win the battle.

And though this world, with devils filled, should threaten to undo us,
We will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us;
The Prince of Darkness grim, we tremble not for him;
His rage we can endure, for lo, his doom is sure,
One little word shall fell him.

That word above all earthly pow’rs, no thanks to them, abideth;
The Spirit and the gifts are ours through Him Who with us sideth;
Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also;
The body they may kill: God’s truth abideth still,
His kingdom is forever.

Sheeple = Who We Are

Alternative media has lately taken to using the term "sheeple" to reference the overwhelming mass of people. It is a play on the words sheep and people. The intent is fully derogatory, seeing how sheep are the foremost ambassadors of 'group think', and famous for being foolish. And people, as in, people.

I just wonder where alternative media journalists are standing when they exclude themselves from the sheeple they so like to deride. What superior stance can they claim? Is their inside knowledge of the social engineering that is being marshaled against the peoples of the world any basis for such intellectual snobbery?

On the contrary, I blog this here today to lure alternative media down off their high horse with the declaration that we are all sheeple together, every last one of us. I say this from the perspective of one who used to look with disdain upon the "ignorant" masses. Why can't the sheeple not see what is coming? I often wondered with great perplexity. How can people be content to be reduced to regularly sated consumers in such perilous times? The concerns remain valid, but in my cogitations, I was excluding myself from the sheeple, as so many of my blogosphere peers continue to do.

image from xkcd.com

Knowledge truly is useful in these critical end times. Yet it must be balanced with humility; which is really only a realistic realization of one's real position. I may know inside facts about the New World Order, secret societies, moral rot, Hollywood, pop cult-ure, economic collapse, military industrial complex and war, superviruses and superbugs, satellites in the sky, Big Brother surveillance, Lady Gaga and other dark sinister happenings. I might even know that the whole thing combines into a hell of an abominable demon-controlled principalities and powers of darkness enterprise. Knowing all this, humility is the only logical reaction to the question "What can I do about it?"

We are all sheeple together, upto and including humans coopted into this diabolical darkness. The only difference is which shepherd we listen to. If we were not sheeple, then how could we claim the promise oft recited in Psalm 23:1, "The LORD is my Shepherd; I shall not want"?

JOHN 10:1-5

1 Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that entereth not by the door into the sheepfold, but climbeth up some other way, the same is a thief and a robber.

² But he that entereth in by the door is the shepherd of the sheep.
³ To him the porter openeth; and the sheep hear his voice: and he calleth his own sheep by name, and leadeth them out.
⁴ And when he putteth forth his own sheep, he goeth before them, and the sheep follow him: for they know his voice.
⁵ And a stranger will they not follow, but will flee from him: for they know not the voice of strangers.

Progress? Where?

A blogger will tell you: sometimes blogging is purely therapeutic.

Writing an internet blog is often just like shouting into a black hole in the vacuum that is deep space. It screams futility; it reeks of pointlessness. I mean, the internet is chock-full of people seeking an audience, if we ignore all those guys copy-pasting their assignments at the last minute. It's like everyone is on stage with a mic - and the pews are empty. Speaking of which, my most visited blog post is entitled "Scramble and Partition of Africa," which makes me suspect it's only ever googled and visited by students researching assignments under that title. I wonder if my alternative views of history contribute positively to their grades. Perhaps? No.

Today I rant as always against the myth of progress. It's ridiculous. Everything from politics to economics is going to the dogs all across the world. Even the entertainment is demonically influenced; I mean, how bad can it get? Much worse, because, evidently, the shepherds of the flock are off feasting on the flock alongside the wolves. Unfortunately there's always be a zealous chap somewhere on an elevated podium, actively  propagating the dogma of progress, throwing in a Dark Ages reference for comparison.

But the progress-peddlers won't even allow you space to think, with their promises of change and highfalutin high ideals in manifestos. Sure, innovative inventions periodically enhance the convenience features in our eyesight-ruining health-depleting contraptions. Even so, the political social and economic conditions under which we live can not be called progress by any standard, however retarded the standard.

My heart breaks to hear Christian shurches and radio stations urging Christians to "vote wisely", contrary to increasing evidence that there is no more "oxymoronic" phrase in this day and age. Vote? Wisely? The political ballot is really no choice at all, so I won't be making it.

As it were, I'm in Limuru today and my hands are getting  too cold to type this rant comfortalby, so you're spared for today. BUT! I'll be back!

Quick conclusion: Trust GOD!

PS: It turns out blogging IS therapeutic! I was very angry when I started writing this but now... :)

Pearl. Again.

I was soaking in the nuances of a calm Nairobi Sunday evening when Pearl called. Her voice wavered with emotion, there were no greetings. The urgency of her sad tone struck a discordant chord against the big city’s psychotic buzz of indifference. That had to be fixed. She said she wanted to meet and talk. Such was the undercurrent in her voice that I agreed immediately. Ordinarily I would have hesitated and beat around the bush until she let me off in exasperation, but I owed her that talk anyway. So I instantly agreed to meet her the next day.

Next day
Following a road trip accompanied by reggae music, I was standing still in a busy Nakuru street, waiting for Pearl to show up. Impatience mounted as I beat away the insistent pestering of prospecting bodaboda operators. Stand around in Nakuru and the bodaboda fraternity will lay claim on your person. A mixed crowd of sundry souls walked to and fro past I whose arms were crossed in front of my chest with a bored expression on my absentminded face. At length, my back tired of heavy bags strapped to it. My patience died. My mood deteriorated. Where was she?

Presently, behold! she appears! Upon seeing her, my spirits soared, rocket-like, from ground zero to cumulonimbus nine and beyond. I smiled, against the tide of erstwhile prevailing inclination. The hug felt familiar. She apologized profusely for being late. No big deal, I claimed.

We sat down to talk over lunch at a nice restaurant with great ambience, fast service, nice wall art, and good food. (I would suck at restaurant reviews). It seemed to surprise Pearl that I had turned vegetarian. The last we’d met over lunch, we were finalizing our break-up, and I was ravenously devouring the fried corpse of a chicken. That had been a very long time ago, in my days of excess.

Now there she sat, across the table from me, ever the conversationalist. The ice broke under the weight of my humor; her streams of thought condensed seamlessly into chains of words. I permitted her the free rein to narrate from the abundance of her heart, only interrupting for the occasional clarifying question or comment. And I’m comfortable with that, seeing as talk is not among my big strengths; besides, my honest opinions are for blogging. (When my turn came to tell, I said “Same old me” and brief things to that effect.) But I can discuss abstract themes all day.

Hers was quite the rollercoaster narrative. There were highs and lows, there were laughs and there were almost tears. It nearly turned philosophical altogether, and then I'd have really talked. Unfortunately, we didn’t have much time to converse, as I had broken my homeward journey in half and was anxious to avoid spending the night in Nakuru. We parted at the ever-crowded bus park.

Ironically, for the hour we spent, I did not catch the faintest whiff of why she wanted to talk to me - why specifically me? I did not feature anywhere amidst all the legions of issues she had brought up. But we had a good time, a heart-to-heart, however one-sided it was, so :)

Emissary

Four pm.

I stepped out of the house for the first time that day, heading out to the highlight of my day: soccer practice. An impromptu meeting with Sister of The Ex interrupted my short journey to the bus stop.

“She has had enough time to decide what it is she really wants,” declared Sister of The Ex, without saying who ‘she’ is. I was supposed to get it automatically.

“If I had the choice I would choose her messenger instead.”

She averted her gaze. “You don’t have the choice.”

“Well played!”

“She wants to be friends. NOT pretend-friends.”

“The very fact that she sent you means she wants to be pretend friends.”

“Tony! Don’t be a hard man.”

“Me, a hard man? This is me giving her a break! She needs to take my break seriously.”

“You two are impossible. So? What do I tell her?”

“Let her tell me by herself.”

She paused reflectively. “You won’t even try, will you?”

“That depends. For you, maybe.”

“Please, do us all a favor? Never bring this up again.”

We laughed and parted ways.

I couldn’t help laughing quietly to myself throughout the whole journey to the soccer pitch. With her, it always feels like conversational chess.

Unconventional Tactics

As an amateur soccer player, I have some of my own insight into why Kenyan football has failed to progress on the international scene. It is because of a certain rigidity of tactics at the grassroots level. There is a tyranny of wrong attitude that can be summarized as “We don’t play like that here!” This reminder is always delivered by the resident style-of-play gatekeeper, who is typically the team captain, or one of his burlier inner crew members, if not the coach himself. “Your leg will be broken.” Thus warned, the talented upstart consequently conforms to the prevailing mechanical methods of play to remain relevant.

On the contrary, teams which have the guts to embrace new tactics reap hefty rewards in the league. (Gor Mahia FC by Logarusic? AFC Leopards' "Total Football" by Jan Koops? Yes, by all means yes.)

But I am a lowly amateur, don’t listen to me.

I used to play for my university soccer team (as a veteran benchwarmer for the most part.) Before the match began our team would warm up. Warm-up entailed a series of highly structured moves and sudden claps and noises intended to frighten the opponent into psychological tail-folding. Then we would troop into our half of the pitch, form a circle, briefly discuss tactics, pray quietly and then shout sharply to startle the opponent further. Then the substitutes and benchwarmers like myself would leave the pitch in the most intimidating, self-aggrandizing  manner possible. The match would then begin. When we scored a goal, we gathered at a corner and danced something irreverent, partly in order to also hammer a psychological blow against our opponents.

(Of course we did not hold the University League monopoly on psychological terrorism. A certain rival team loved to shout ALL their internal communications and in-game tactics - in Luo.)

In this post, I’m just trying to reveal that your opponent will not always limit the battle to the battlefield. They will try to defeat you in your mind first, before the battle even begins. Be aware of this; that once they jinx your mind with fear, your vision and execution of tactics is paralyzed by your own knocking knees.

Fear not. Fight the good fight.