The Cost of
Multiculturalism in Toronto
Hope you're enjoying
your Christmas season. Here's a little something to think about as you're
spending your money for presents, courtesy of Toronto Mayor David Miller:
"By 2011, the police budget in Toronto will be a billion dollars."
Quoted in the December
19 National Post, our dear mayor just laid bare the trouble of policing and
paying for policing in a city whose motto, both postered and
practice, is "Diversity is our strength. Anyone who has even so much as
visited any major American city knows how incompatible multiculturalism and
a healthy, safe metropolis is. Ever since the doors were flung open to the
world just a few decades ago, Canada, and its major cities in particular,
have experienced a surge in violence in many cases, much quicker and just as
horrible as major American urban centers. Apparently, our mayor has a
problem with the idea of spending a billion a year on policing, just to try
to keep the streets safe; Toronto's finest just won a raise of nearly 10
percent over three years, this past week more great news as our economy
crashes and fries. It's just insanity to be tossing money away on
non-services and idiotic internationalist projects like AIDS clinics in
Botswana (that's a federal concern, and even that calls into question
billions in foreign aid while Canadians and Torontonians sleep in their cars
and on top of gratings).
It's time we shut down
all our foreign offices and use the money saved to fix things and broken
lives here. All we've gotten over the years for what must be trillions spent
on foreign aid, misplaced humanitarianism, multicult and immigration are
people who have usurped our Canadian/European heritage, our
Canadian/European way of doing things and our Canadian/European sense of
order with mayhem, medical and health care chaos. Oh yeah, and the crime.
Right now, with a 70%
clearance rate for serious crime, our police will soon be pricing themselves
out of the law enforcement business to the point one day where this city
will choose to keep order by hiring out to private contractors.
Don't laugh. The US
tried it in Iraq and look what happened (one-word clue: Blackwater). Instead
of begging for more like Oliver Twist the cops in charge should
be pointing fingers at the real causers of violent crime the non-white
thugs and gangs, and do something effective (in other words, their jobs).
Now that police are about to become a third army in urban areas, maybe
Ottawa should finally start kicking in some millions after all, they
literally brought the problem here years ago and pretended what a great
thing multiculturalism was before Barry Cobby and Jane Creba became two of
the many victims of "diversity. Hey, just call it a failed experiment and
shut it down.
Less immigrants, more
money spent to bring them here, and spending our money on worthwhile
projects and necessary services (infrastructure, snow and garbage removal,
instead of midnight B-ball, multilingual programs, sensitivity seminars, and
federal funds spent to fix our cities instead of destroying those of foreign
lands. Spend it revitalizing our city centers; the US experience has seen
non-white crime flourish and neglect in major American cities coast-to-coast
as they crumble, wither and die. Will that be Toronto's fate? or Montreal's?
Vancouver's? In many aspects, it is now. Let's put your money to work to
stop it. Charity begins at home.
Highway of Zeroes
Again it happened-- for no good reason, As Canadian news channels covered
the homecoming and burial of a Canadian soldier, news broke that three more
young Canadian lives were extinguished in this nation's latest insane
mercenary adventure known as " The Afghanistan Mission."
Where to begin: In the first place, I do extend my sympathies to the
families. Each of those who died had their own story.
One soldier, Cpl.James Hamilton -- "Hammy" to family and friends, was from
Nova Scotia , enjoyed the outdoors and had a noticeable smile that won him
many friends, while Private. Justin Jones worked as a youth advocate before
his military career, and the third, Private. John Curwin, married his
childhood sweetheart and had a son whom he played hockey with. In a way,
when your bodies were returned, there was this macabre ritual that just adds
to the needlessness of your death and the insanity of what you fought and
It is this ritual of the bureaucratic corpse run, beginning with the death
of the soldier and the medical examination to formalize the cause of death,
just like on "CSI," followed by the ritualistic carrying and transport of
the soldier's coffin to its final resting place and the new ceremony down
the "Highway of Heroes" as the sad and stoic faces gathered on a bridge say
prayers and a final goodbye to another life or two or three lost needlessly.
World War I, the military lost between 10-20,000 in one afternoon of
combat--that was the so-called war to end all wars. Today, we have the
spectacle of mangled veterans of the War Amps touring schools with their
"Never Again!" program, a peace project that somehow never made it to
Parliament Hill and the Defense Department or any of its ministers ever
since we stupidly involved ourselves in foreign adventures for the last
several decades. (Where were they in the seventies when this nation was
being invaded for cheap labour? And they keep on coming here, and they will
be here long after the last of these dying men from wars past have drank
their last Molson's. Thanks for keeping us safe, guys.
Three wasted lives out of over a hundred, all engaged in a war that a man
who lost his nephew in Afghanistan called "a war that can't be won." It begs
the question of what the blazes we are doing there, what of anything that
could remotely be a close to a good excuse are we doing there?
National interest? No. The people of Afghanistan just wish to be left alone.
So what if they want to live in another century? That is their right as
human beings, and neither we nor any other nation has any right to decide
"what's best" for them; so much for Bush's "so what" attitude toward his
Helping other people, introducing them to Western 'culture'? Yeah, like the
soldiers who we're just learning now were involved in the rape of Afghan
boys as young as 12 dressed up like girls and referred to as "bitches" while
their senior officers ( and chaplains, yes, supposed men of God) looked the
other way since at least 2007, according to an article in the
on December 14th.
Then there is the obscene amount of money made by war profiteers, and the
other obscene amount spent (both in the billions) by our government on
shells to kill shepherds and other innocents while so many in Canada go
without food, shelter and clothing and our economy follows that of America's
into the quicksand.
And there is the defense of it all, just like Bush defends his atrocities,
with the same weasel words and worn-out phrases like "support the troops"
all the hoopla and gung-ho displayed, most disgustingly by Canadian Forces
officers and media shills, along with the accelerated training of young
recruits into kill-bots seething with bloodlust; it reminds me of an old
martial arts movie where the fat sidekick of one of the in-shape fighters
says, "Hey! Leave some for me to kill! (there's a new motto for the Canadian
Forces; not as slick as "fight fear," but accurate).
All this, and what do we do about it? Spend money, effort and hand-wringing
in tears, and a so-called "Highway of Heroes" to "honor the fallen." Can you
in good conscience tell or explain to me what is so honorable or heroic
about invading a foreign country with high-tech and low-tech weapons, tanks,
copters, bombs, incendiaries and other ordinance, and people trained to
kill, just to keep our foot on their necks and "protect" them from a
demonized group of God-believers, maybe plunder their resources help
ourselves to their women and children? Can you name any act of terror
committed on Canadian soil that can even serve as a lame excuse for even
considering sending one young life after another to their doom?
At my house, we proudly fly the Canadian flag, but not for, or at the
service of military alliances like NATO or sovereign-stripping
internationalist enforcers like the United Nation. Our dirty deeds at the
behest of them and others is a blot on our nation's history and reputation
Mr. Harper, or Mr. Ignatieff or whoever ends up in charge of this nation
after the current Parliamentary imbroglio is decided, I have six simple
words for you: Get Canada Out of Afghanistan. Now. Put our soldiers to work
here on public works, repairing the infrastructure of our roads and
buildings, helping out during natural disasters and as a standby force to
keep order in these turbulent times. It's a better was to spend your
military careers than copping the nasty, venomous Col. Blimp attitude of "If
you don't back the troops, feel free to stand in front of them."
Come home, troops, Leave people of other lands to lives their own lives and
solve their own problems. Come home to where you are truly needed and end
this disgrace, so that we may restore honor to the reputation of our
military and our country.
All That Doesn't Glitter:
Oscar's Own High School Musical
something all-too-familiar about awards shows, most especially the
grand-daddy of them all, the Academy Awards. And there's hardly a single
industry in America so full of self-congratulatory fluff and phoniness as
the entertainment industry.
The films that have been nominated for major and minor Oscars are the real
point every year. and aside from the over-the-top sex and violence, there's
more often than not some trendy political message (be tolerant; don't hassle
gays; Love can conquer age differences and Nazism, etc.) or just plain
creepy tale that gets promoted . This year, I personally have seen thrfcee of
the nominated flicks: Frost/Nixon
(Best Picture) The Dark Knight
(Best Supporting Actor); and Defiance
(Best Original Music), and for the first time in years, watched the entire
Oscars show. Now, it's dish, dish, dish...hope you have your antacid near
The whole sorry mess had the look and feel of an upscale high school
musical. Host Hugh Jackman had only two production numbers: the sloppy Best
Picture Medley that Billy Crystal did way funnier, and a pitiful ersatz "Puttin'
On My Top Hat" buck-and-wing that wasn't worth 75 cents. A slow curtain
opening 11 minutes in, a stumbling-words shtick about technical awards from
Will Smith, and a sloppily-presented segment for "Those Who Left Us" were
just the technical flubs.
As for the films, Slumdog Millionaire
cleaned up pretty nicely, its trophies included Best Picture and Best
Director as Hollywood gushed over the little film from India made for just a
few million dollars (FYI, a million rupees, when converted, adds up to
around $20,000), and the film withstood anger from many in India who weren't
fond of its raw portrayal of Mumbai's violence and poverty.
SM was just one flick that
celebrated romance this year, other prominent ones being The Reader and in
its own rite, the animated Wall-E had some robot-on-robot action. Not to be outdone,
gays got their chance to be romantic of sorts as a subplot of
Milk, for which rat-faced Sean
Penn got a Best Actor. Always gracious, Penn ragged on the anti-gay
protesters at the Kodak Theatre and pleaded again, "We've got to have equal
rights for everyone," in response to the brouhaha over gay marriage
Penelope Cruz, who copped a statue for Best Supporting Actress, whined about
how she couldn't get an Oscar in her home town. Presenter Daniel Craig
almost tripped over Sara Jessica Parker's gown. Mickey Rourke, who got
skunked out of an award for The Wrestler,
looked like a busboy just fired for drinking on the job. A sad, sad part of
the night was Jerry Lewis, looking like hell, to receive a humanitarian
award and full of maudlin thanks as the Academy praised his career and his
controversial association with young victims of Muscular Dystrophy.
There was only only lady who truly looked great, 75-year-old European legend
Sophia Loren, one of the Best Actress presenters. Looking radiant, she was
the only touch of class and only reminder of the real glamour of the
Hollywood of old. The rest were mostly scrawny, dewy-eyed young things with
Where have all the fathers
Day is coming up in Canada a celebration to my mind (or at least it should
be) of the traditional Canadian family. I was close to my dad he was the
kind of man you don't see much of these days: strong, he commanding of
respect and authority. Yet no dad could have loved his family more, and gone
through the sacrifices he made.
I think of him a lot when I watch the sharply-contrasting sitcom "fathers"
of the past few decades. from Ozzie Nelson, to Steve Douglas (My Three
Sons), Andy Griffith's Sheriff Taylor, Mike Brady, Archie Bunker (All
In The Family), Al Bundy (Married With Children), all the way to
those '80s losers Dan Conner (Roseanne) and Dr. Cliff Huxtable (The
Cosby Show), and today's animated Peter Griffin and Stan Smith TV's
dads have been portrayed and/or fallen into the following categories:
confused and dumb; terrified of the missus; bumbling, blowhard
'old-fashioned' or tyrannical dads, and conniving sex maniacs.
Starting with category one, we have Father Knows Best, where Jim
Anderson (Robert Young) was clueless about his kids and his relations with
his daughters, and refers to them with the creepy nicknames of "princess"
and "kitten." His wife however, is the real power behind the drone. On
Leave It to Beaver, papa Ward Cleaver never blew his top or punished
young Theodore; thwarted by his wife's "I'm worried about the Beaver, he
would gently sit in his den and remind his kids, "When you cheat on a test,
you're only cheating yourself." Another sweater-wearing "cool dad, widower
Steve Douglas of My Three Sons (Fred MacMurray) regularly deferred to
the older housekeepers Bub and Uncle Charley. These kinds of fathers weren't
limited to live-action comedies witness the ultra-right-wing CIA twerp
Stan Smith of American Dad, who hates "Muslim terrorists" yet all but
converts to Islam when his wife Francine gets too bossy. Oh yeah, his son is
a nerd and his daughter a spoiled libber-in-training. Or how about the
totally dumb Peter Griffin of Family Guy, with his whiny wife
Lois and whiny daughter Meg, dimwit son Chris and effeminate toddler Stewie?
Volcanic, neglectful neck-wringer ("Oh why does Marge constantly thwart
my occasional interest in my children?") Homer Simpson? Or the back-on-TV
"square" dad Harry Boyle of Wait 'Til Your Father Gets Home, whose
only advice about parenting came from the childless weekend vigilante Ralph
Kane? Or finally, there was chummy dad Mike Brady, who "ran" the '70's
wholesome Brady Bunch and continued to act here and there
until his death in 1992 of AIDS.
Wimps? We have Roseanne's 80s hubby Dan (John Goodman), a hulk of a
man terrified of his screeching harridan of a wife. On The Nanny, we
have a Manhattan widower with an ice-queen girlfriend who entrusts his kids
to a Queen's-raised hairdresser with no experience but a mouth the size of
Dads who are "whipped" are a staple of prime time and syndication. Bill
Cosby, the most popular TV dad of the 1980's, was regularly and totally put
down by his TV-lawyer don't-mess-with-me wife Phylicia Rashad. Yet, "Cos'"
still travels the USA berating black parents for not keeping the traditional
family unit together and letting generations of black punks rule the streets
with blood, murder and mayhem. For all his bluster and occasional
get-rich-quick schemes, Married With Children shoe salesman Al Bundy
is not the master of his domain. His retro-looking acid-tongued wife Peggy
spends every cent he makes, is constantly in need of pleasuring and can't
even cook. His kids are write-offs the perpetually horny Bud (who never
gets a girl) and his daughter Kelly, who acts and dresses like a cheap
teenage floozy. Al's idea of dad/son bonding is taking Bud to a nude bar on
his birthday and priming him with money to place you-know-where. Another
"dad" having parental troubles was Duckman. Voiced by Seinfeld's
Jason Alexander, this animated "private dick/family man" was a non-stop
drinking/swearing/skirt chaser who relegated his sons to the care of his
deceased wife's iron-pumping sister. The only TV dad louder than Duckman has
to be 1970's iconic TV bigot Archie Bunker
The idiot dad has been a TV staple for years now. Dick Van Dyke in his 60's
sitcom was hardly the kind of dad we'd like to have even taking any pack of
kids for a hike or fishing. On King of the Hill, there are not one,
but two idiot dads; the uptight Hank Hill, who has more of a passion for
selling propane than guiding his overweight comic wannabe son Bobby, and
conspiracy nut/exterminator Dale Gribble, who still hasn't figured out that
his American Indian "son" is actually the product of an affair between his
wife and local stud John Redcorn.
So what, you may ask? They're just figments of wimpy writers' and Jew TV
producers' imaginations. It's the images that are portrayed that too often
have crept into the ways that men are perceived to be. If we laugh at things
like neglectful, oafish and even brutish and violent dads, it's a little
easier to accept the opposite of the strong, positive leader that the male
head of a household used to be. Kids and wives want dads these days to be
tolerant, hip, cool, liberated and "progressive" a "Mr. Mom." There's no
room in the modern two-parent household for discipline, tough-love, and the
firm, steady hand of men who led their kith and kin, until women's lib and
the cult of political correctness took over.
If anyone needs any proof of the anti-man/anti-kids/anti-family agenda of
the other sector of society that is responsible for sitcom production
(queers), just flip on and count the number of currently-running sitcoms
past and present where there's nary a kid in sight, just hedonistic adults
looking for fun, fun fun: Friends, Rules of Engagement, Old
Christine, Seinfeld. The "half-man, the boy from Two-and-a-Half Men,
is being raised by his divorced father and his girl-chasing uncle.
It's time we all stood up and mouthed off against these unreal grotesques of
TV's heads of the house. It's rough enough for men just to raise a family
without the media's anti-family agenda muddying up perceptions of what a
father should be. And it's time we returned the family to its traditional
form and re-established the spirit of pater familias from the days of
ancient Rome: the man as the head authority of the house, worthy of respect
by all. Re-establishing the strong and wise head of the household is the
greatest legacy any man can give his family
Well, dad? What are you
Science Fiction's Race-mixing Propaganda
Who of us hasn't watched science fiction? Space monsters, guys like Buck Rogers, Captain Video, even the old kiddie shows like Thunderbirds, Space Ghost and grown-up fare like Outer Limits and Science Fiction Theater entertained us long before Gene Roddenberry gave us the UN in Space (a.k.a., Star Trek) and George Lucas slapped a German Nazi helmet and breathing mask on Darth Vader.
Today, I have to wonder about those sad dudes who have gone beyond just filling a few hours a week with reruns of shows that have long since aired their first respective years on TV networks and in syndication, and who do things like dress in pointy Vulcan ears, buy Klingon dictionaries and swarm like locusts to sci-fi conventions to see if Lt. Uhura still has nice legs. I don't doubt a few have even tried to marry and raise their kids the way, say, The Simpsons' Comic Book Guy would heaven help us all.
There is a big difference between the really smart of us and those whose very sense of self-worth is derived from the world of sci-fi: We grew up. Here in the real world, we look at science fiction films and TV shows over the past five decades, and the keen among us see the way sci-fi morphed from relatively harmless escapist fare to politically-charged and ZOG message-laden propaganda.
Let's start with Star Trek. Premiering on NBC in 1966 and seen in syndicated reruns, a slew of films (and at least five primetime shows all now in syndication); Paramount is about to reboot this most lucrative franchise this spring. Guided by producers and creative people such as its creator Southern Baptist-turned-humanist Gene Roddenberry and producers such as Rick Berman (Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, Enterprise), this show has been responsible more than any other televised series in the encouragement of miscegenation (i.e., date. mate and procreate with anyone or anything you want regardless of race, religion, color, planetary origin or number of tentacles). Its original premise, a sort of emissary/ exploratory ship whose "prime directive" is to not interfere in planetary cultures or societies, gets broken every week or so. Its iconic 'wise one," the half-human/half-Vulcan Mr. Spock (Leonard Nimoy) never shows emotion, prides himself on logic but can take you out with one pinch on your neck. Oh yeah, some of that show's most cherished episodes feature interfering in a space cultural tribal war (sound familiar?). playing nursemaid to an emotionally-unstable adolescent alien with the power to destroy everything in sight, and yup, even taking on some nasty space Nazis. It was a ground-breaker in another sense: it featured TV's first interracial kiss between Capt. James Kirk and Afro-American Lt, Uhura. The series, and its "United Federation of Planets" (a sort of galactic UN), has a simple message: If we Earthlings just put aside our revulsion to ugly and aggressive nasty aliens, we might find common ground enough to live as one.
It's a New World Order scenario retooled as a New Universal Order (just check out the UFP's logo and its similarity to the UN emblem). Even Star Trek's arch bad-guy alien tribe, the Klingons, eventually betray their race (on ST:TNG, a Klingon is their security chief), and a human "empath" named Deanna Troi is a future lady Dr. Phil who tries to get it on with any space creature with a pulse, including a man-sized naive android dildo named Data. On sister-series Deep Space Nine we have a shifty little alien bartender named Quark who always tries to outsmart DS9 alien cop Odo, while elsewhere on the space station, it's like The Cosby Show with the dad-and-son bonding of Afro-American station honcho Ben Sisko and his son Jake.
Moving on to another Roddenberry creation, Andromeda, this one was co-produced by Canada's Canwest Global TV (owned by the Winnipeg-based Asper family) and Jay Firestone's Fireworks Entertainment, Here we have a hunky Jim Kirk type (Kevin Sorbo) leading a multicult army against the future Nazi-like "Nietzscheans." Been there, saw that, yawned again.
Babylon 5, from Michael J. Straczynski, was billed as a more-adult-oriented Star Trek show with a similar multicultural-good-guy/bad-guy alien concept, except less soapy. Then we have Stargate (the motion picture) and its spin-offs Stargate SG-1 (created by Jonathan Glassner), Stargate Atlantis, and its own animated cartoon series. Here, mucking about with time and space through an alien technology called a "stargate" is A-OK (think how many civilizations you can monkey with it's a George Bush dream!). It still runs on the CTV-Globemedia-owned Space channel.
The world of science fiction truly has evolved from the days of B-movies with god-awful wires, cardboard sets and props and cheesy dialogue into a bizarre world that promotes dangerous morals, frightening images and deadly ideas that are the very opposite of promoting racial ecology and integrity. And the dreck goes on: In a few months, (actor's strike pending), we will learn the fate of the new primetime creepfests such as Fox's Fringe, and CBS' The Eleventh Hour (both deal with trying to stop mad-science conspiracies a la X-Files), along with more about shows in development and being prepared for this fall such as ABC's Eastwick (an adaptation of the film The Witches of Eastwick).
Marshall McLuhan once said that "the medium is the message."
Bayou of Pigs: Not Your Average Caribbean Cruise
We've all seen a good adventure movie from time to time, each with varying elements of action, intrigue, comedy and yep, sex. Very few are in my top ten of best pictures, but if someone would kindly acquire the film rights to Stewart Bell's new book Bayou of Pigs, I'll slap down a ten and risk a couple of hours in a dark theater.
"Bayou of Pigs" was the sobriquet given to the planned invasion of Dominica in the early 1980's, a small island that doesn't make the news very often, and the book that it is written about is a detailed, funny and somewhat poignant recap of a group of Canadians who got together to hatch a plot that involved members of the
white nationalist movement past and present (a number of whom I know quite well) and a group of Americans that included one right-out-of The Green Berets commando (who was working with the U.S. Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms), black communists and an anti-communist lady who ran Dominica. some gun-toting Rastafarians, an Irish lady who ended up in a Caribbean jail and a Brit who tried to come to her rescue.
Its author Stewart Bell, whom I also met, writes for the National Post and also wrote a magazine article, The Terrorist Next Door, which became a made-for-TV movie.
As I mentioned, I knew many of these people from Canada: I knew Steve Hammond, a lively British chap who was no slouch when it came to gettin' physical with the reds, and a relatively good conversationalist. He was the one went off to rescue the captured Marian McGuire after she was imprisoned in Dominica, just before stopping off at a Canadian Tire for rescue supplies (I'm not kidding I guess he read somewhere that's where Batman gets his utility belt gimmicks).I worked with Jim McQuirter, the only Canadian Klansman to become a Toronto Sun "Sunshine Boy" (we nicknamed him "Media Man," after a song by the 1980's band Flash in the Pan). I helped him run a private mailbox service with Armand Siksna, a proud Latvian who kept his nation in his heart and had less than zero tolerance for anything that gave off a whiff of socialism,
One of the main "reasons" for the invasion was to thwart the Establishment of another communist beach head in the Caribbean. The plan was ambitious, well-detailed and had a band of people you're unlikely to find in regular mixed company. How it turned out is a scenario worthy of a film or TV mini-series.
Crisply written, the work moves back and forth among its protagonists with a pace to rival Robert Ludlum or Tom Clancy, except with one difference 1t really happened. Its layered multi-plotted labyrinth will introduce you to adventurers and opportunists, romantics and rascals and an entire cast of characters from a number of nations who were involved directly and peripherally with one of the most amazing and under-reported stories of the last twenty years.
Bayou Of Pigs is a book that can be enjoyed by anyone, no matter what your political stripe. Pick up a copy, or order it from E-Bay or Amazon.Com. It's an easy read and it'll be the best time you ever spent learning how not to do your own version of Rambo.
[ Read Excerpts HERE ]
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