This one was too long coming, often thought but ne’er so formidably expressed. This is truth speaking to the entrenched liberal establishment, that is, the power of the late twentieth and early twenty-first century.
Who are the sexual abusers of our children asks Lisa Fabrizio, columnist in The American Spectator? She doesn’t name names – because there are too many of them – but she mercilessly blasts the hypocrisy of the pharisaic establishment feigning scandal at the atrocities which they themselves have been perpetrating while pointing condemning fingers by the new time.
The last time we saw someone raise their head above this parapet and suggest that the permissive culture of the ‘sixties and subsequent decades had anything to do with the increase in the abuse of children there were screams of outrage from the defenders of the spirit that particular age who saw in it a threat to their precious “freedom” to engage in whatever “consensual” aberration grabbed their fancy.
Fabrizio will have none of it and shouts “stop!” to the hue and cry in the wake of the Pennsylvania State mess and the revelations of the heinous abuse crimes of the university’s assistant football coach, Jerry Sandusky.
She writes: The unanimous war cry across the nation has been: ‘We have a moral responsibility to protect our kids; we must preserve the innocence of our children!’ Are they kidding? Can they be serious? How can our children be innocent or protected in a country that, rather than defining deviancy down, has defined deviancy up; up to the level of not only acceptance, but approval.
Penn States’ scandal is for her just another example of the putrefying infection that runs right through American culture. There are few of us who cannot also apply it to our own diverse cultures and societies. The price will be paid in millions of dollars by Penn State for its negligence – as the price has been paid by other institutions for their negligence. But how long are we going to have to wait for recognition of the responsibility of those driving the ideology of permissiveness for the corruption of the innocence of whole generations of children. When will they be confronted with the reality of the abuse they have perpetrated: the TV organisations, film producers, the entertainment industry, the political campaigners for so-called freedoms to indulge this, that or the other deviant behaviour – on the basis that no such category of behaviour exists.
Fabrizio asks: What are the messages that our culture daily delivers to our kids? That they don’t need fathers to nurture and raise them; the idea that males are essentially useless to the family unit has proven not only dangerous to society — it is no coincidence that Sandusky chose as his victims, boys with no fathers in their homes — but criminal. That any brothers and sisters they might have had are too expensive or inconvenient, and will either be chemically destroyed or murdered in the womb because in today’s America, the family budget prioritizes toys for adults over the desire and care for children.
How can innocence survive in any of our citizens — let alone the youngest and most vulnerable — when our very laws now define classes of people based solely on their sexual proclivities? No, the innocence of our children cannot be preserved until it is restored.
If we really cared about our children we would stop teaching filth and perversion in our public schools by brainwashing them to believe it is good for Heather to have anything other than one Mommy and one Daddy who are married to each other. We would stop promoting the idea that free and unfettered sex is beneficial for them in any way and stop glorifying it on TV, using children as straight men for any number of unfunny and repulsive sexual jokes.
Sandusky and others who physically assault the bodies of our children are indeed monsters, but as the lynching parties assemble, let them broaden their gaze to include those who wound the innate innocence of our children’s souls.
Until that happens, child protection in this or any other country will be little more than a sticking plaster on a hopelessly putrefying wound.