WITH each passing week, the water torture of Project Fear is destroying masculinity, transforming men into boys, and fathers into dim-witted conscripts serving under the post-Covid International Order’s new form of National Service – blind subservience to the State.
November 19 marked International Men’s Day, but in light of an unnerving lack of international condemnation of yet more harsh European lockdowns, universal vaccination mandates, overt Australasian despotism, and the creeping normalisation of medical apartheid, it may just as well have been Red Nose Day.
The only identifiable men within this pivotal moment in history are those on the streets of their towns and cities protesting against sinister and co-ordinated overreaches of State power, those withdrawing their consent to deranged Covid-19 protocols in whatever way they can, or those maintaining ajar the counter-narrative conversational door before it is slammed shut for ever. These are the men protecting their societies, defending democracy, and truly shielding their families.
All other so-called men remain where they have been since March 2020: As human mannequins promoting the global crushing of self-determination with their inanimate plastic mouths, and from within the heavily-branded shop windows of a fake emergency.
Engage a man on the topic of his work, his children, or his hobbies, and he will animatedly wax lyrical. Gently drop into the conversation the warning that medical apartheid could well put him out of business, divide his family and jeopardise the future of his offspring however, and his throat and eyes plasticise back over.
Emasculation is a very real pandemic many societies are struggling to contain, and in Britain, the valorous spirit of Captain Lawrence Oates risks being replaced wholesale by insouciance and defeatism.
According to accepted history, in 1912 a crippled Oates crawled out of his comrades’ tent and into Antarctica’s ferocious elements to meet his death; sacrificing himself so as no longer to burden Captain Robert Falcon Scott’s team during the return leg of their ill-fated journey to the South Pole. ‘I am just going outside, and may be some time’, he said, before squaring up to a certain demise.
Post-Covid man on the other hand, covers his face to buy groceries or while walking the High Street, terrified of contracting a virus which presents minuscule to no threat to him, and to which he likely enjoys a more robust immunity to than the so-called vaccinated: Who paradoxically, according to data, are therefore the real ‘anti-vaxxers’.
I suspect that if Captain Oates were alive today. he’d not only stroll into a supermarket unmasked but smoking his pipe, and once barred would likely spend his remaining years surviving on ship’s biscuits in protest. At the introduction of mandatory vaccination he’d set sail, never to be seen again, consequences be damned.
Our children are quietly witnessing the men they are supposed to hold in high regard – admire, respect, and aspire to become – behave not as tribal leaders, but slaves.
They look up and unconsciously see weakness all around. Their fathers look up to their own fathers and see that weakness reflected back at them, and we all look up and see the cowardly, spineless, poor excuses of the mostly men, penning the inexcusable narratives and policies of our increasingly infirm society from the enclave that is Westminster; whilst our Prime Minister wanders around the country scoffing Cornettos, wheezing, and blathering about Peppa Pig World.
Even the Dalai Lama – universal symbol of self-mastery and self-empowerment – has fallen foul of Project Fear: His supposed fortress of a mind penetrated even after 80 or so years of strict meditation on compassion, impermanence, the nature of suffering, and morality. ‘More people should have the courage to take this injection,’ he says. ‘Just observing social distancing has the potential to help many. I watch (daily) one or two hours of television.’
These are not the words of a courageous man steering his fate. The first two statements could easily have been made by Anthony Fauci, Boris Johnson, or Health Secretary Sajid Javid. Throw in the third and it may just as well be one’s terrified neighbour talking, not the spiritual leader of the Tibetans in exile.
Even a titan of insight such as His Holiness can be brainwashed by the Great Hoodwink, until he becomes just another marionette waltzing to the machine gun fire of a State-controlled mainstream media oppressor. Lounging on the sofa in front of the television, or sitting silent on the meditation cushion: Both as ineffectual as each other in the very tangible fight to restore the freedoms of the pre-Covid Order.
Masculinity isn’t holding one’s own on a stag do, bursting out of one’s shirt, carving another notch on the bedpost, or holding court over one’s peers. It is the protection of one’s tribe from the invasion of tyranny. It is performing the Haka outside Parliament, amassing to hold lights against the forces of darkness, rallying to resist apartheid, or gathering as a community to show your local council you shall not be cowed by Fisher-Price authoritarianism.
Much, much more than that, it is taking 15 minutes out of one’s day to take a peek at the truth behind the propagandist headlines. This is true masculinity, and if there were only more flesh-and-blood men than automatons in the world, then this stratagem alone would see the Covid-19 Humanitarian Intervention campaign collapse.
Real men don’t plug themselves into the television for two hours a day while the State delivers sledgehammer blow after blow to dignity and self-determination: They hold firm against its messaging. They expose themselves to the bitter maelstrom of reality, and in withdrawing their consent to deceitful interventions upon liberty, they shield their families and their tribe from peril.
If not enough men are willing to entertain even the briefest of conversations on the accelerating hostility of the State, then all the rest of us are doing is merely cataloguing the end of liberty, as if writing the next Encyclopaedia Britannica.
