World War Three?

The only protection the universe offers your children is you.

I’m heading home from a rally in Albury. Little Grace is driving and singing along with her Taiwanese twang to Bon Jovi and we are hills passing hills that knew and forgot the dinosaurs.

Out of greed for more grazing land, we have stripped these hills of their trees; the spoils of victory, but when we are gone the trees will return and not even their roots will bother holding on to the memory of us. A memory that perhaps no other future dominant species will be interested in remembering either. So, if beyond the limits of our time, nothing really matters, why then are we risking it all to fight for what to some is a concept, to others a myth and to many just a word. A dangerous word they’ve chosen not to pronounce anymore.

Despite being a young species, our slice of history is bathed in the blood of those who have perpetually fought to wrestle freedom from those who, out of a hunger for power, would oppress them. The eternal struggle between the elites, who know they are born to rule, the middle pawns who just want a tranquil life and this other tribe, who are publicly reviled in their own time but whose leaders often end up hanging on the walls of teenagers’ bedrooms, and on the t shirts of modern day protesters. Even if they lose. And they do lose.

A perfect example is Mel Gibson’s portrayal of William Wallace. A brave man, a wronged underdog, who, through determination, shook the very foundations of power, and is still remembered for it to this day. We admire him, but when the time calls for battle, do we want to be him? Or do we instead sulk into the lines of those he would have fought against, and never, ever rewatch Braveheart.

Many believe we are at War now. A new style of War. One against us. And not only is it being waged here, in this rich country, where we grew obese on peace, but all over the western world. Even as I write this it sounds ridiculous, but whenever I state it, so many agree. But a war against who? But then, do we ever really know?

When those first world war soldiers lay wounded in no man’s land, too far out of reach from help and dying slow, did they really believe that back behind their lines, far back, their Generals were grieving for all the young hopes and dreams that, because of their orders, were now seeping back into the mud. Or did some of these dying men finally comprehend that they had no idea who they were fighting for, or against, and that despite knowing that in their town a shrine would eventually have their name etched upon it, they also knew that the shrine should read, my end was so pointless that even butchered cattle in death end up having more purpose, for their flesh will be eaten, their hides turned into clothes and shoes, and their guts used to make jelly. If I had any personal dreams they were a shooting star burning across a world that prefers to be blind.

You may have a holiday house and drive a European car. You may have a PHD and read the Age like it was written just for you, and your children may have every new device and be trying to choose what gender they are, but do you really believe that in the eyes of whomever it is, these hidden architects, the source of the currents that carry along lives, that you are anything more than cannon fodder, in reserve?

Well perhaps you should ask yourself this, for if we are right then they are coming after your children. And the burden of their subjugation, and your voluntary defeat, will be you instructing them to start wearing a face mask at the age of four before, as the needle approaches, commencing their subscription freedom by telling them how brave they are for protecting the rest of the community by simply overriding the sovereignty of their own body. An explanation they won’t understand until they are old enough to realise that because you gave away their personal freedoms, that they are a slave, and the one that sold them, is you.

The only protection the universe offers your children is you. And if you hand over that responsibility to the government because you are scared of your Government, or a virus that their child has no chance of dying from, and you know that, then to that child, what is the value of your love?

We were born relatively free. We were grew up so free that we didn’t even know, for our freedoms were as abundant as the air. But that time has gone. Now it’s like we are at War. Is that it? Is this World War Three and is our Government on our side.

Listen to their language. They have become proficient at using divisive language. This is divide and conquer. And it’s working. Last Christmas it was as though they led an assault on all our families and many families succumbed and ostracised loved ones. They are also addicted to the word, “comply,” and you know that Freedom and Comply can’t fit into the same sentence without one cancelling out the other, unless of course the word you prefer is rigorously defended.

What if Covid was a Trojan Horse, used to slip through all our defences, before convincing us with the soldiers concealed within its slogans, “For Your Health,” and “Staying Apart Keeps Us Together,” to become the army that obediently began dismantling all of the freedoms we were gifted, and then, in an act of pure genius, they convinced you to see those who were trying to defend your Freedoms, your sisters and your brothers, your parents and your grandparents, your children, as the enemy.

If you are reading this and as yet have not inoculated your child, why not stop for a few minutes to think, or rather, to look deeper and feel.

There are long lines of people out there now, holding the hands of their children who are about to be inoculated against a virus that cannot hurt them. Their natural immunity is all they need. And these parents are doing this because they have been convinced that they are risking their child’s health to help protect old people. Old people who, if you asked them, would tell you they would rather die of Covid than risk your child’s health. Old people who know that your parental heart only has one purpose, and that is to protect your child.

And as I write this, in this car, I know these passing hills won’t care what we do, for they cannot care, and that is the difference between us. We can care. Do care. Who knows, perhaps being able to care, to the point of fighting and even dying to defend that that we care about it, is the gift of being briefly alive.  And if you do care about freedom then you are not alone.

All over the Western World Freedom Fighters are organising, and despite being reviled by the state and those who have bought the narrative, this mixed bag of souls are a dedicated people, a welcoming people warmed by the flames that bind them. Flames of hope fanned by our eternal hunger for freedom. They are your true brothers and sisters and they are not only waiting for you, but need you, and your gift for joining them, might be a life full of purpose. And all you have to do to reach them, is pull off  your master’s chain, also known as your mask.     

Michael Gray Giffith