L. Neil Smith's
THE LIBERTARIAN ENTERPRISE
Number 217, March 31, 2003
CHANGE THE CODE!
History, The Vampire Killer
Special to TLE
"The capitalists will sell us the rope with which we hang them."
On Saturday, 22 March, I demonstrated, along with 20,000 other Edmontonians, against the Anglo-American Empire's (current) war against Iraq. These demonstrations are organised by a small number of socialists of various hues, and they do a pretty good job, for the most part. They seem to have an inability to notice that most of the demonstrators are not socialists, but they are basically good folks who still believe that social problems can and/or should be solved by The Almighty State.
As a Libertarian, however, I not only disagree with this idea, but I have recognised that the overwhelming majority of the people who attend the antiwar rallies are not socialist True Believers. As a matter of fact, my leaflet, "People and Profits", is well received at every rally, and my chant of "capitalists for peace!" attracts people to read it.
Some lefties politely refuse the proffered Libertarian explanation of the root cause of war (statism, you won't be surprised to learn, is the cause of all this mindless bloodshed), some giggle a bit, the odd one sneers, quite a few offer to read my capitalist propaganda if I'll read one of their socialist leaflets. No problema; I always am willing to read what someone has to say.
Saturday, however, one young dialectical materialist (that's "commie" in plain English) could only reply with, "F**k you." I pointed out that this was impolite, but he was not concerned. I then cautioned him that he had better be on his guard if that was how he spoke to people, he returned the same caution, and I wandered off. I wanted to smash the fool a good one in his foul mouth, (even though I would surely have lost the ensuing altercation, being an arthritic old gaffer), but it seemed a wee bit incongruous to get into a fight at a peace demonstration—to me, anyway. The commies had a sign saying, "No war but class war", which pretty well tells you how peaceful that lot are.
That is nothing new, of course. What was interesting to me is that a four letter word is the best rebuttal that a red can make to the fact that war is antithetical to a truly free market. This inability to debate is a function of the recent, long overdue, unlamented death of communism. [Communism, rejected by the proletarian masses of the entire world, has shuffled off this mortal coil, passed on, and gone on to its eternal reward. It's bleedin' snuffed it. It is a Norwegian blue ideology. All statements to the contrary are hereby declared inoperable.]
So Comrade Foulmouth and the rest of the Comintern is really quite dead (which explains the stench). He's not pinin' for the fjiords, he ain't restin'; he and his ideas are cadavers. That is why those rotting, stumbling corpses of political theory can do no more than squeak and bleat from the ash can of history to which reality and the working class have consigned them. They've run out of blood to drink from the living, as we are all holding up a cross to their parasitical faces. They are unable to feed off the healthy antiwar movement, for they are rejected and ignored by "the broad masses" as the historical irrelevancy that they are.
Like the one-armed vampire in the final scene of the movie, Buffy the Vampire Killer, however, commies are too laughably stupid to realise that they are finished; they writhe about clutching at the stake which history has driven into their cold, lifeless hearts, all the time moaning and kicking pathetically.
Just as in the case of the dying vampire, one feels no pity for them, only amusement and contempt. Communism is dead, and nobody is in mourning for "the inevitable victory of the modern industrial proletariat". Quite the contrary: the world rejoiced to see the end of communism's brief, parasitic life. That stupid theory could not withstand scrutiny in the light of day. The dawn of the Internet age has sent Marxism back to hell whence it came. It only remains for its adherents to follow it.
Speaking of the dawn, here comes the sun; have a nice day, comrades.