Quickies: “If This Goes On”

     A number of bien-pensants have written to upbraid me for the nightmare scenario in this piece. They appear to assume that I actually hope for that outcome...which I don’t, as I made abundantly clear. I dislike the spilling of blood, especially innocent blood, and quite a lot of innocent blood would be spilled in the course of a forcible separation of the races.

     Interestingly and most appositely, a number of persons have commented negatively on Donald Trump’s insistence that the immigration and port-of-entry laws be enforced. Most notable among them has been the detestable Hillary Clinton, who compared Trump’s position to the Nazis’ method of rounding up European Jews and shipping them to concentration camps. In effect, Mrs. Clinton, perhaps the most dishonest figure ever to run for the presidency, is saying that those laws should not be enforced. Has anyone dared to ask her if she favors repealing them? If so, did he get a straight answer?

     “A house divided against itself cannot stand,” said Abraham Lincoln. The American house has become so internally divided – whites, blacks, Hispanics, Muslims, radfems, “sanctuary cities,” Occupy types, et alii -- that it’s questionable whether we share a single polity in any sense. The U.K., France, and the Scandinavian nations should serve as warnings about what happens when that trend reaches critical mass. Given the proliferation of black urban communities where there’s no law worth mentioning, and Hispanic and Muslim exclaves in various parts of our country, we should already have a sense for it.

     The reality of the human condition is that, just as we are not all equal, we are not infinitely miscible. Rudyard Kipling knew it:

The Stranger within my gate,
He may be true or kind,
But he does not talk my talk--
I cannot feel his mind.
I see the face and the eyes and the mouth,
But not the soul behind.

The men of my own stock,
They may do ill or well,
But they tell the lies I am wonted to,
They are used to the lies I tell;
And we do not need interpreters
When we go to buy or sell.

The Stranger within my gates,
He may be evil or good,
But I cannot tell what powers control--
What reasons sway his mood;
Nor when the Gods of his far-off land
Shall repossess his blood.

The men of my own stock,
Bitter bad they may be,
But, at least, they hear the things I hear,
And see the things I see;
And whatever I think of them and their likes
They think of the likes of me.

This was my father's belief
And this is also mine:
Let the corn be all one sheaf--
And the grapes be all one vine,
Ere our children's teeth are set on edge
By bitter bread and wine.

     Not everyone can become an American. Some can’t or won’t assimilate; others reject the gift as contrary to their agendas. If there is no reconciliation, there must be a separation: preferably a voluntary one, as an involuntary one would look no better than my dark imagining. If we continue to insist otherwise, blood will surely spill...just as it already has in the cases I’ve enumerated.