Andrew Scheer has finally succumbed to the inevitable, resigning his leadership in the Conservative Party, and Boris Johnson has won his victory as Prime Minister of England. There is some level of tragedy to both: After a disastrous election, wherein he came across as milquetoast, vacillating and afraid of voicing his own beliefs, Scheer left under some cloud of suspicion, using Party funds to fund his five children’s private education. Of course, politicians would never taint their own children with broken, publicly funded education, staffed by socialist teachers putting in time – that is foisted on the rest of the hoi polloi, the great mass of the unwashed and undereducated.
No, it’s all private – and expensive – education for the elite. But Mr. Scheer could not even dig into his six-figure-and-then-some income to pay for the elite education himself, as the rest of us must – those few who could afford it, after being forced to pay state schools (there is no opting out, dear reader).
Whatever happens to Scheer, he has more or less won the lottery, for even should he now lose his seat, his pension will keep him going with income, benefits, retirement, perks few of us could ever dream of.
There is little chance the Conservatives will choose anyone more ‘conservative’, a term that is losing more of its cachet with each passing day. It’s Gay Pride all the way, marching with Trudeau, whose brand owns the culture, which is where the real battle lies.
And what of Johnson? He won, fortunately, against the avowed Marxist Jeremy Corbyn, who would have driven Britain right off the cliff, towards which it is headed at some point on the horizon, unless a major change in course get underway. Mr. Johnson is no conservative, and Britain will continue mired in its malaise. If a true and real Brexit is done – unlikely – the consequences are largely unforeseeable. For what economy does Britain have, besides some sort of fancy, global financial money laundering? Teacups and souvenirs? East Anglian wool? Jaguars and Austen-Martins?
Three anniversaries to remark today: On a more joyful, hopeful note, the first flight in a lighter-than-air balloon by the Montgolfier brothers, as they flew in 1782 for over 1.2 miles – or, as the Revolution a decade later would mandate, two kilometres. For the first time in known history, Man rose above the earth in a mobile craft.
In those curious coincidences, this is also the anniversary of the first attempted flight of the Wright brothers, in 1903 at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina.
And, finally and tragically, this is the anniversary of the Sandy Hook massacre, when Adam Lanza, suffering from what was then known as ‘Asperger’s’ – since subsumed into the autistic spectrum disorder – on this December day in 2012, shot his way into the eponymous elementary school and killed in cold blood 27 people, including many young children. Even reading the summary is difficult.
There is a fine line between evil and insanity, for what we do in the body, redounds in the soul, and vice versa. We will never know the full guilt of a disturbed man like Mr. Lanza, who had first murdered his own mother with four bullets at close range to the head – why four? – but evil is as evil does. Perhaps he was possessed – many of these killers display a coldness and automated behaviour consistent with such. Yet he seems to have been aware – when one young boy cried out ‘I don’t want to be here!’, the killer responded, ‘Too bad, you are‘. At the end of his rampage, as responders closed in, Mr. Lanza shot himself in the head, and so went to his Maker.
All we can do, in retrospect, is pray for the souls of the departed, and those affected, which must hit hard close to Christmas for all those families, whose children will never grow up.
Yet we must put such tragedies into context. Planned Parenthood plans to have fewer parents, as they plan to install – found? foist? – fifty of their ‘centres’ in Los Angeles, right in high schools, with parental notification, never mind permission, not required for the inevitable contraceptives and abortions. Children are children, no matter how small, and an unborn child murdered in his mother’s womb is a tragedy not unlike that of Sandy Hook, just more hidden, secret and hence insidious, painted with a thin, tawdry veneer of ‘compassion’ and ‘rights’.
But all is being made clear, and will continue, as we move towards the light, and the Light, when what is done in secret will be shouted from the housetops. So do what good you may, dear reader, embrace the cross, in all its variety, God has sent us, for only in its ‘thicket’, as Saint John of the Cross wrote, may we find salvation. And that salvific time, in some way, is always near at hand.