Why the Peaceful Majority is Irrelevant

I used to know a man whose family were German aristocracy prior to World War Two. They owned a number of large industries and estates. I asked him how many German people were true Nazis, and the answer he gave has stuck with me and guided my attitude toward fanaticism ever since.

“Very few people were true Nazis” he said, “but, many enjoyed the return of German pride, and many more were too busy to care. I was one of those who just thought the Nazis were a bunch of fools. So, the majority just sat back and let it all happen. Then, before we knew it, they owned us, and we had lost control, and the end of the world had come. My family lost everything. I ended up in a concentration camp and the Allies destroyed my factories.”

We are told again and again by “experts” and “talking heads” that Islam is the religion of peace, and that the vast majority of Muslims just want to live in peace. Although this unquantified assertion may be true, it is entirely irrelevant. It is meaningless fluff, meant to make us feel better, and meant to somehow diminish the specter of fanatics rampaging across the globe in the name of Islam. The fact is, that the fanatics rule Islam at this moment in history. It is the fanatics who march. It is the fanatics who wage any one of 50 shooting wars world wide. It is the fanatics who systematically slaughter Christian or tribal groups throughout Africa and are gradually taking over the entire continent in an Islamic wave. It is the fanatics who bomb, behead, murder, or honor kill. It is the fanatics who take over mosque after mosque. It is the fanatics who zealously spread the stoning and hanging of rape victims and homosexuals. The hard quantifiable fact is, that the “peaceful majority” is the “silent majority” and it is cowed and extraneous.

Communist Russia was comprised of Russians who just wanted to live in peace, yet the Russian Communists were responsible for the murder of about 20 million people. The peaceful majority were irrelevant. China’s huge population was peaceful as well, but Chinese Communists managed to kill a staggering 70 million people. The Average Japanese individual prior to World War 2 was not a war mongering sadist. Yet, Japan murdered and slaughtered its way across South East Asia in an orgy of Killing that included the systematic killing of 12 million Chinese civilians; most killed by sword, shovel, and bayonet. And, who can forget Rwanda, which collapsed into butchery. Could it not be said that the majority of Rwandans were “peace loving”.

History lessons are often incredibly simple and blunt, yet for all our powers of reason we often miss the most basic and uncomplicated of points. Peace-loving Muslims have been made irrelevant by the fanatics. Peace-loving Muslims have been made irrelevant by their silence. Peace-loving Muslims will become our enemy if they don’t speak up, because like my friend from Germany, they will awake one day and find that the fanatics own them, and the end of their world will have begun. Peace-loving Germans, Japanese, Chinese, Russians, Rwandans, Bosnians, Afghans, Iraqis, Palestinians, Somalis, Nigerians, Algerians, and many others, have died because the peaceful majority did not speak up until it was too late. As for us who watch it all unfold, we must pay attention to the only group that counts; the fanatics who threaten our way of life.

Pulp Fatwa

“Ok, so tell me again about the hash laws.”

“What do want to know?”

“Well, hash is illegal there, right?”

“Well, that depends. Here’s how it breaks down. Its illegal to own it, its illegal to sell it. Its illegal to carry it, but that don’t matter. Get this, if the cops stop you, they won’t search you.”

“What do you mean, they can’t search you?”

“No man, they’ll just start beating you right there. Just up and beat you to within an inch of your life!”

“And that’s if you don’t have the stuff on you???”

“Exactly. If you do have the hash, you’ll get a trial. That usually takes about 15 minutes, then you’ll probably find yourself hanging from a lamppost!”

“Oh man, fuck that, I ain’t goin, that’s all there is to it!”

“Yeah. But you know what the funniest thing about Arabia is?”

“What?”

“The little things. They got the same shit over there, just different.”

“Example.”

“Alright, well you can walk into a movie theater in Riyadh and there aren’t any women, anywhere. I mean, they’re there, but they’ve got their entire face covered in this veil thing. And you know what’s more fucked up?”

“What?”

“Women can’t leave their house without a man. I mean, how do you meet chicks?”

“That is fucked up man.”

“Yeah. Still, they’ve still got everything we’ve got. They’ve got more MacDonald’s than we do, but there are these little differences. You know what they call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese?”

“They don’t call it a Quarter Pounder with cheese?”

“No man, they’ve got the Arabic system, its all screwed up. They wouldn’t know what a Quarter Pounder is. They call it a ‘Intifada, with cheese’. And a Big Mac is a ‘Big Mustafa’.”

“What do they call a Bacon Burger?”

“Well, they ain’t too big on pig, but I think they call it a ‘Infidel Burger’. Guess what they’ve got instead of beef?”

“What?”

“Mutton. Every where you look, mutton. They’re drowning in that shit man. But listen, forget that, what happened to Marsellus Wahabi and his sister?”

“Well, Marsellus was out of town, right. He leaves Ahmed with Mia. Marsellus comes back early, and finds Ahmed giving Mia a foot massage.”

“Yeah. So what?”

“Get this, Marsellus just blows up.”

"What do mean, literally?"

"No man, fuck. No not literally. He gets mad. He gets so mad that he and Ahmed throw Mia off the balcony."

“Whoa whoa whoa! They throw Mia off the balcony? That’s fucked up man. Shouldn’t Marsellus throw Ahmed off the balcony?”

“Nah, their system is all fucked up and ass backwards. Its called 'honor killing'. Since Mia brought ‘dishonor’ to the family, it’s the right of the other family members to kill her.”

“Ah man, all of that over a foot massage!”

“Yep! Like I said, it is FUCKED up!”

Hobnobbing 3: Knobs Unleashed

I strode casually up the front steps of the enormous west coast villa. The mansion’s windows glowed warmly against the early evening sky. Inside the partygoers moved carelessly to and fro, their chat and chortle filtered outside into the pleasant evening air. Unconsciously I brushed down the front of my tux to make sure it was in order. Mentally I conjured up every bit of composure I had within. I would need it. Briskly stepping over an unconscious Lindsay Lohan who’d passed out on the front steps, and tossing out a quick “evening” to some partygoers who stood nearby, I wandered inside.

Before I’d made it three steps inside, a familiar voice hailed me.

“J! J! Hey man, what’s goin’ on?”

I immediately recognized the voice as belonging to the thicko Val Kilmer. Desperately searching around for an out, the only nearby familiar face I saw was Heath Ledger. Realizing instinctively that any conversation with him would probably end quite badly as I unleashed a torrent of gay jokes, I turned to Val and bit the bullet. Sure, I could have faked an epileptic fit to aid a getaway, but I felt that I rather owed Val since I’d convinced him to do “The Island of Dr. Moreau”. I mean, it was only an April Fool's joke, but somewhere along the line things went horribly astray, as anyone who has seen ‘The Island’ can attest.

“Hey Val, long time no see. Hope you're not working too hard there sporto.”

“Well I do what I can J, but you know that Hollywood is a tough business, and you’ve gotta work hard.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I can’t imagine how much work went into “Batman Forever”. Hey listen, rumor has it you hooked up with Paris Hilton, any truth to that?”

“Ah, well, a gentleman never tells J.”

“Indeed.” And, thank God. I hadn’t the stomach for that sort of imagery. “Well, I’m headed for the bar, catch you later Val.”

Halfway to the bar I found myself suddenly and quite uncontrollably keeling over. Slightly shaken by the fall, I looked back over my shoulder in search of whatever had tripped me up. Much to my surprise, two little oval eyes, sitting nearly at ground level, were starring back at me. My first thought was “what a peculiar place for children”. Before I even had time to stand up, the little fellow scurried off and joined a sibling who was in the corner hanging from a bit of ornamental foliage. Getting my bearings once again, I let my gaze wander across the room. Inexplicably the entire villa seemed to be overrun by the little guys.

Turning to nearby host George Clooney, I asked him what was going on.

“Oh, Angelina is here tonight!”

Of course, that explained it.

“Hey listen J,” George continued”, “if you’ve gotta use the phone, use a mobile. I’ll be damned if I let those wiretapping fascists spy on my place.”

“No phones, got it. But, ah, don’t use that mobile too much there George, heard they can give you brain cancer.”

Hmmm, Hollywood, cell phones, and brain cancer. Certainly a post unto itself. I made a mental note and continued my trek towards the bar. I was more mindful of the mini-Jolie obstacles and made it safely. Being a light drinker, I inexplicably ordered a triple shot of rum. Before I could indulge, I noticed Stephen Spielberg sitting beside me.

“Ah, nice to see you here J. Enjoying yourself?”

“Always do, Steve, always do! Hey listen, I’ve got a script for you, a real winner. Its called “Intifada Mountain”. Thought I’d give you first dibs like I did with “Jurassic Park” and “Schindler’s List”. If you want to run with this new one, feel free to give me a pseudonym again. You know me, I’m not in it for the credit, only the art.”

“I’ll definitely take a look J. Listen, have you seen Lucas around? He keeps bugging me about this stupid 4th Indiana Jones. I mean, what am I supposed to tell him? Harrison is practically in ‘walker’ country at this point, what am I supposed to do?”

“Hey hey now, leave me out of that one.”

Graciously I slipped away and casually began gaiting towards the exit. A thundering glass-shattering scream suddenly filled the air and sent me leaping. I’d seen Howard Dean earlier, and really I should have been expecting it. Still it took me by surprise. In my temporary horror, I accidentally knocked over Sheryl Crow. Fortunately, a gaggle of Cambodian orphans broke her fall. Apologizing profusely I helped her to her feet.

“Again I apologize Sheryl. Say, ah, where’s your hubby, I rather expected him to be here tonight. You know, I just cannot get enough of that party animal. Ahhh, what a guy. Really, he’s a total blast at these things. In fact, Lance is really the only reason I come. What a joker….. ‘Rachael Welch and the Pope in a lifeboat… those aren’t buoys’… aha ha ha ha ha ha hahahaha. Yeah, he’s a blast alright, and a true inspiration too. Just an all around great guy. Take my advice Sheryl, and don’t let go of that catch. He’s a trophy through and through.”

“Actually J, Lance and I split up….”

“Ah, too bad, that’s just too bad. But you know, these things happen for the better don’t they? And really, between you and me, I always thought all of the hype over Lance was a bit much. I mean, testicular cancer! Come on. If you ask me being a little lighter in that department is nothing but an unfair advantage when it comes to cycling. Am I right? Hahahaha. Yeah, you’re definitely better off without him, I’ll come straight out and tell you. That man was nothing but trouble. Really, he was a real waste of oxygen, a piece of human garbage if you ask me. Anyway, I’d best be off.”

I slipped away, rather smug at how craftily I'd avoided a big faux pas. Nearly at the exit, I was waylaid by the inseparable duo Noam Chomsky and Michael Moore.

“Ah, J, your arrival could not have been more timely. Indeed, of all of the fellows that might have appeared at this very moment, I dare say that you are the most agreeable. Since you have in fact arrived, just now, we have found ourselves in a most satisfying condition. We implore you for your wisdom.”

“Michael here, and myself, were just discussing recent the happenstance taking place in Her Majesty’s dominion of Canada. You, being Canadian, are in a most particular and valuable position to help us answer the vexing perplexity that has left us at an impasse. Michael here believes that the Conservative electoral victory is a giant step towards the NeoCon-ization of Canada, while I myself see the election results as a move toward the oppression of the working class. What say you of this matter?”

“Well, I’m certainly not of the intelligentsia, like you fellows, but for what my humble opinion is worth….have you even read the official agenda of the Canadian conservatives?”

“Read their manifesto, why on earth would we…..ah, oh, oh hahahaha, ah Junker you witty fellow you. Ah, I must say that I like thy wit well Junker. You really are a laugh. Ahahahahaha, ‘read the agenda’ says he. Oh hahaha!”

Dismissing myself amiably, I made a b-line for the exit. My mental constitution was iron strong, but thirty minutes in a place like this and it was starting to buckle. The walls seemed to close in around me, and I narrowly avoided a roving pod of little Cambodians scurrying past my feet. Finally the door was in front of me and I burst into the cool night air. Quickly my poise returned. It certainly hadn’t been an easy night, but nothing worth doing is ever easy. With yet another post ready to roll, I headed north, back home to Canada, and blogging.

Hobnobbing with the Stars

Hobnobbing II: Return of the Knobs