Post by westvirginiarebel on Jan 26, 2016 10:30:12 GMT
There has been an update to the original classic over at AH.com, so I thought I'd add my own ideas if anyone might be able to cross-post them for me over there:
They're going wild, the call came in
At early morning predawn then
The followers of chaos, out of control
They're numbering the monkeys
The monkeys and the monkeys
The followers of chaos, out of control
The call came in to party central
A meeting of the green and simple
Trying to tell us something we don't know
They're meeting at the monument
The call came in, the monument
To liberty and honor under the honor roll
They've gathered up the cages
The cages and courageous
The followers of chaos, out of control
The call came in to party central
A meeting of the green and simple
Trying to tell us something we don't know
REM, "Disturbance at the Heron House"
It's my understanding that when Rumsfeld felt cornered, he would look for a quick and rapid response. But that was a military mind at work in a civilian administrative environment. Targets would seem to present themselves and he'd go after them like one of the malfunctioning missiles of his privatized air force. But when that missile boomeranged and came back at him, there was nowhere for him to run.
In the end, Rumsfeld was as much a victim of his own thinking as anyone else. Did he ever finally realize that he'd listened to the wrong people, as LBJ and Nixon had? The evidence shows that he really didn't believe in half the things he said and did. So why did he go along with them? Perhaps, because, like a cornered animal, he had no choice but to run or fight, even if that fight took everyone else down with him.
-Newt Gingrich, Rumsfeld: The Last Hunt
A Day In The Coalition
Reform Educational Center (formerly Athens High School)
Athens, Ohio, Christian Coalition
August, 1989
“All right, is everybody ready?” Joshua’s teacher looked up from his clipboard. He was a younger man, only in his thirties but looked older like most of the people around here. “Now, as we turn to our scripture, we will recite how the Lord’s army began the reconquest of God’s Country from the atheists...”
Josh already knew most of this, what they called “True History” from after the Holy Revolution, even though he knew that most of it wasn't, but he kept such thoughts to himself, to say otherwise could get you lashes or even worse, and his teacher-whom he actually liked-would also be punished for it. So, he went along with the rest of the class as they recited:
“In the year of the Holy Revolution, the Lord’s Army was victorious. God is good, let his will be done, in the name of America, amen...” It was a long recital, and they’d have to do it again for finals. Under state rules, they were supposed to be tending crops ready for harvest, but it had been cold during the past summer, since the “Sword of God” had been used against "atheists" in Cleveland. All of their fruits and vegetables-those allowed under the so-called “Faith menu”-had to be imported from the South, assuming they weren't hijacked by militias on the way, although a lot of people-like his parents-grew their own fruits and vegetables and Mom even made her own bread while Dad and his friends sometimes went hunting for deer meat.
The walk home was painful. Josh had accidentally coughed in class-it really hadn’t been his fault; half the class was sick with the latest strain of flu, but it had gotten him sent to detention, where he had to endure a Values Volunteer’s paddle. What traffic there was on this cold day moved slowly-mainly horse-drawn vehicles made out of salvaged automobiles, but he also saw a city bus, lurching under its own power. Typically only the military or CC officials had working automobiles and other transport, most of it from the 1970s although his Dad had an '81 Ford that he used when gas was available. Josh got on, grateful that the driver would accept local coins, since he didn’t have any CC currency with him. It was the end of a long week, and at least tomorrow was Sunday. At least you didn't have to worry about cancer or radiation sickness here, or Ebola.
When Josh got home, his parents were waiting for him. Dad was laid off from field work because of the weather, and as a woman Mom wasn’t allowed to work except for the local Church. Dad had been listening to the news on the radio-all of it local; what little information they got about the rest of the world, let alone the Coalition, came from occasional state “sermons,” although there were pirate radio stations broadcasting from ships out on the Great Lakes, and the Voice of America came in from the American Commonwealth in New England. At least it wasn’t religious music, which was usually the only other thing allowed on the air except for sports, although Dad had a collection of old rock albums from the Sixties that he’d secretly kept and allowed Josh to listen to in private.
“Got a call from school,” Dad said. “Heard you got a paddling.”
Josh winced. “I got sick in class,” he admitted.
Dad shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. But I have to go in on Monday to make amends. They want you to see the local pastor tomorrow after services, but he and I went to school together, so that shouldn’t be too bad. I’ll have Mom check at the pharmacy to see if they have any shots available.” Josh knew Dad was only trying to help, but he also knew that the pharmacy-let alone the former Ohio University-were unlikely to have anything that went against Church teachings.
Josh had been born in 1973. He remembered the "Old America," although like his parents kept his mouth shut about it at prayer meetings and during Revolution Day picnics. They even still quietly celebrated the Fourth of July at home, and Dad had an old American flag hidden away, waiting for the day when he might be able to fly it again. But they weren’t anti-Coalition rebels-everyone remembered what had happened to the “Godless” parts of the Coalition, although Josh also knew that their hold on power was tenuous at best and in many places nonexistent. He also hadn’t yet told his parents about his plans to try and make it to the West Coast after high school, even though he wouldn’t legally be an adult until he was 25 under Coalition law. Josh hated the idea of running away, but maybe with Dad’s help he wouldn’t have to. The West was free, he’d heard, and more like the old America. There were no Volunteers, no radiation zones, no militias. Maybe someday he’d make it there...
They're going wild, the call came in
At early morning predawn then
The followers of chaos, out of control
They're numbering the monkeys
The monkeys and the monkeys
The followers of chaos, out of control
The call came in to party central
A meeting of the green and simple
Trying to tell us something we don't know
They're meeting at the monument
The call came in, the monument
To liberty and honor under the honor roll
They've gathered up the cages
The cages and courageous
The followers of chaos, out of control
The call came in to party central
A meeting of the green and simple
Trying to tell us something we don't know
REM, "Disturbance at the Heron House"
It's my understanding that when Rumsfeld felt cornered, he would look for a quick and rapid response. But that was a military mind at work in a civilian administrative environment. Targets would seem to present themselves and he'd go after them like one of the malfunctioning missiles of his privatized air force. But when that missile boomeranged and came back at him, there was nowhere for him to run.
In the end, Rumsfeld was as much a victim of his own thinking as anyone else. Did he ever finally realize that he'd listened to the wrong people, as LBJ and Nixon had? The evidence shows that he really didn't believe in half the things he said and did. So why did he go along with them? Perhaps, because, like a cornered animal, he had no choice but to run or fight, even if that fight took everyone else down with him.
-Newt Gingrich, Rumsfeld: The Last Hunt
A Day In The Coalition
Reform Educational Center (formerly Athens High School)
Athens, Ohio, Christian Coalition
August, 1989
“All right, is everybody ready?” Joshua’s teacher looked up from his clipboard. He was a younger man, only in his thirties but looked older like most of the people around here. “Now, as we turn to our scripture, we will recite how the Lord’s army began the reconquest of God’s Country from the atheists...”
Josh already knew most of this, what they called “True History” from after the Holy Revolution, even though he knew that most of it wasn't, but he kept such thoughts to himself, to say otherwise could get you lashes or even worse, and his teacher-whom he actually liked-would also be punished for it. So, he went along with the rest of the class as they recited:
“In the year of the Holy Revolution, the Lord’s Army was victorious. God is good, let his will be done, in the name of America, amen...” It was a long recital, and they’d have to do it again for finals. Under state rules, they were supposed to be tending crops ready for harvest, but it had been cold during the past summer, since the “Sword of God” had been used against "atheists" in Cleveland. All of their fruits and vegetables-those allowed under the so-called “Faith menu”-had to be imported from the South, assuming they weren't hijacked by militias on the way, although a lot of people-like his parents-grew their own fruits and vegetables and Mom even made her own bread while Dad and his friends sometimes went hunting for deer meat.
The walk home was painful. Josh had accidentally coughed in class-it really hadn’t been his fault; half the class was sick with the latest strain of flu, but it had gotten him sent to detention, where he had to endure a Values Volunteer’s paddle. What traffic there was on this cold day moved slowly-mainly horse-drawn vehicles made out of salvaged automobiles, but he also saw a city bus, lurching under its own power. Typically only the military or CC officials had working automobiles and other transport, most of it from the 1970s although his Dad had an '81 Ford that he used when gas was available. Josh got on, grateful that the driver would accept local coins, since he didn’t have any CC currency with him. It was the end of a long week, and at least tomorrow was Sunday. At least you didn't have to worry about cancer or radiation sickness here, or Ebola.
When Josh got home, his parents were waiting for him. Dad was laid off from field work because of the weather, and as a woman Mom wasn’t allowed to work except for the local Church. Dad had been listening to the news on the radio-all of it local; what little information they got about the rest of the world, let alone the Coalition, came from occasional state “sermons,” although there were pirate radio stations broadcasting from ships out on the Great Lakes, and the Voice of America came in from the American Commonwealth in New England. At least it wasn’t religious music, which was usually the only other thing allowed on the air except for sports, although Dad had a collection of old rock albums from the Sixties that he’d secretly kept and allowed Josh to listen to in private.
“Got a call from school,” Dad said. “Heard you got a paddling.”
Josh winced. “I got sick in class,” he admitted.
Dad shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. But I have to go in on Monday to make amends. They want you to see the local pastor tomorrow after services, but he and I went to school together, so that shouldn’t be too bad. I’ll have Mom check at the pharmacy to see if they have any shots available.” Josh knew Dad was only trying to help, but he also knew that the pharmacy-let alone the former Ohio University-were unlikely to have anything that went against Church teachings.
Josh had been born in 1973. He remembered the "Old America," although like his parents kept his mouth shut about it at prayer meetings and during Revolution Day picnics. They even still quietly celebrated the Fourth of July at home, and Dad had an old American flag hidden away, waiting for the day when he might be able to fly it again. But they weren’t anti-Coalition rebels-everyone remembered what had happened to the “Godless” parts of the Coalition, although Josh also knew that their hold on power was tenuous at best and in many places nonexistent. He also hadn’t yet told his parents about his plans to try and make it to the West Coast after high school, even though he wouldn’t legally be an adult until he was 25 under Coalition law. Josh hated the idea of running away, but maybe with Dad’s help he wouldn’t have to. The West was free, he’d heard, and more like the old America. There were no Volunteers, no radiation zones, no militias. Maybe someday he’d make it there...
