Vancouver: News From the War on Jihad I

Our intrepid reader Dag and his group each Thursday evening, 7-900 p.m, at the main public library in the atrium outside Blenz coffee bar to discuss current events regarding jihad and Left dhimmi fascism. If you are in the Vancouver area, you are welcome to join them. This is the first of what I'm hoping will be many reports of their activities.

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The Covenant

When we were attacked on 9/11 our world was changed fundamentally forever. To this day there is a confusion and a fear that many cannot grapple with and master. In this comment and the one to come next day I'll try to explain how I came to view this struggle against the eternal jihad and how I found myself, thanks to those who came to meet me, as part of a new covenant with my nation, with Humanity, and Beyond. This is a narrative of discovery I had no idea could take place in this life. I suggest such discovery can come to anyone. As I found out, gradually and with much resistance, this comes from faith.

Each Thursday evening for two and a half years I have met with like-minded people to discuss our reaction to 9/11 and to discuss our plans to counter it. Before I delve into the details of a meeting such as that of last evening, I would like to give a bit of background to make sense of what comes later, i.e. the creation of a Covenant Zone. If you can bear with me, I hope you too will wish to go forth at some time and create such a covenant yourself.

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Within days of 9/11 I found my visit to Canada unbearable. So, after a sojourn in the Middle East that had lasted a couple of years longer than I had originally planned, I aborted my visit and boarded the first available flight to Central America to flee the tension of the pervasive anti-Americanism in the country and wandered in the highland jungles and fetid swamps of a different kind of sick place. Buried in the aftermath of a death culture, the lands of lost civilizations and buried cities, of draining heat and death squads and vividly colored mud huts and exotic birds and lethal snakes of all sorts, a calming time, after a year of it I ventured home to see family unvisited for 10 or 15 years, to touch base and rekindle old relationships. However, such was not to be, and the road called again. Finally I ended up at a university teaching part time, till I was exposed as -- a conservative. There and then I knew that 9/11 was going to stay with me for all of my life and it would never go away, no matter where I went or what I did. I was a full-blown 9/11 man for the duration. The road had ended. There a new life began for me. I became a blogger. I became a 9/11 blogger, a blogger returned to America in the mind if not in the flesh. America became my life again, and my experience, and reification of it became the ethereal. I became an Internet American.

In those early days of traveling through the aether I explored ways and by-ways far and away stranger than anything I'd seen in Africa or Asia or the North or the South, the plains, the seas, the quiet, the dank and terrible. I ventured into the world of jihad and what in time I came to term as Left dhimmi fascism, violent, evil places of the darkest minds in our shared world, places I'd experienced in the real world in person over the many years I've been moving aimlessly through these various ways of the Human experience. The mind and the heart of Darkness became my constant abode. Motivated by hatred and the thirst for revenge, I sought out my enemies and raced from place to place looking for details and cracks to peer into for more that in time I might strike back with all the impact my fury demanded. As I searched for my enemies and those to target for revenge I found others on the same dispatch. Lights in the utter darkness of jihad and evil, I made friends in the aether. It was not enough. People are either real or they are not, and for all the good-will I have toward those who write, those who hunt as I hunt, I needed more from them, I needed, in short, them, people in the flesh to look over and judge and to be judged by. Thus I ended up sitting for a couple of years in a place my fellows here and I called the Fortress, a small business that allowed me time to gather up my tools to struggle for a genuine victory over those who attacked us and who would, who will, as I know too well, never stop till they are stopped. So I worked at the struggle as I knew best how. I wrote.

The jihad attacks us from all sides, from here and there, from outside and inside. I have pictures in the mind to put to the words they speak and the words they write; and I knew them deeply even then, better by far now. I know too that they will never cease the struggle to dominate, the wild Will of Islam pulsing through the life of every jihadi till he is laid down forever. And our nations, ruled by law and Reason, here we do not struggle in obscene and unremitting battles without recourse to mercy and pity. Our enemies do. Thus, I wrote, (to those who would read,) to move away from our collective civilizations to the farthest boundaries of our lands to meet and plot our victories to come. I wrote of us meeting in far away cities to plot. "Go to Sophia," I wrote, "and I'll meet you there." I felt sure thousands would arrive by every means, perhaps even on foot, to join the struggle that is now our life. "Americans, let us meet in Mexico City to plan the destruction of our enemies, us out of range of our governments. Where there is no American law, we will not break American law. I will meet you there beyond the law." I was full of confidence that ours would surge to the call to filibuster, to wage war on our eternal enemies. Such, of course, and such obviously, didn't and perhaps couldn't happen. Men of means do not rush off to distant mountain cities and cold urban poverty to plot outlawry and right justice. Men stay home and go to work every day, returning home to families and mortgages. The mercenary life of the middle aged man is not that of the average man at all. I didn't know, knowing few who live so settled that an attack on our nation could pass by unconsidered. My mistake. I'd lived a life sheltered from these harsh realities, the normal life of man hidden from me by jungles and deserts, endless plains, cities in ruin, and murder. I'd been away too long. I was a stranger in the world of my own people. There was no writhing mass of men raging to break free of settled home to wreck the world of our enemies. My mistake.

But I continued to write and to beg for men to join our fight, to struggle for victory and revenge and, dare I say it, to fight for glory. I haven't yet found such people. That time will come. It is not yet. Instead, I have something different, and something only the Guiding Hand could lead to.

After such a long preamble, I come to the point here that two and a half years ago, people heeded my call to meet me and to plan. I'll elaborate on this next day.

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Yalla, Dag

You can find Dag at no dhimmitude. And if you have a group that meets on a regular basis, I will post it's meetings here. The more we network, the more we gather to plan, to fight, the stronger we become. Our enemy thinks we are weak because we are scattered. That has to change and the time of change is now before it becomes illegal in the West to meet and talk.


Dag, I hope that you don't mind that I used your photo Dag, and you really do look like Jean-Paul Marat.