Ann Coulter has a book concerning the mob mentality, which specifically addresses the Left’s penchant for addressing those with whom they disagree, in herd-like gatherings peppered with verbal attacks that are all too often intermingled with actual violence. The use of imagery is top on the herd-Left’s list in getting their ”masses” into action, as well as the use of simplistic words and sentences in their slogans that’s supposed to appeal to a wider audience.
That is what confronted Geert Wilders and the other heroes of the anti-Islamization movement on the streets of Malö Sweden. They are no more able to carry on a credible, intelligent conversation, let alone debate, than they are able to handle themselves as adults in the street, demonstrating a particular point. In that they have something greatly in common with the illiberal Muslim fundamentalists that they champion, and are too stupid not to notice the irony of it all.
NOTE: It’s not by accident that the supposed ”Arab Spring” greatly represents the French Revolution, which explains why the ”herd-Left” is greatly enthused by it.
Anti-Wilders Mob Goes Mad
The other day I wrote here about a Norwegian TV documentary – to use the term very loosely – in which Robert Spencer, the consummate Islam critic and expert, was expertly demonized. The program showed him in Stockholm last summer, addressing an outdoor audience from a platform. While he stood there in suit and tie, his demeanor entirely calm and reasonable, and delivered his talk – or tried to – a violent mob a few feet away spewed out its venom: “Fucking racists! No racists in our streets!”
Meanwhile a small army of riot police struggled to hold them back. It was not easy.
To look at those faces twisted with hatred – those human beings transformed into ferocious beasts, filled with savage indignation and, by all indications, prepared to tear their fellowman limb from limb – was to stare into the very heart of contemporary Europe’s darkness. It’s one thing to read about the history of Europe from the storming of the Bastille to the present day; it’s another thing to see the most cataclysmic, psychopathic turning points of the last couple of centuries vividly mirrored, as it were, before one’s eyes.
How different were those faces in Stockholm, after all, from the faces one might have seen in the streets of Paris during the Reign of Terror? This mob rage didn’t come from nowhere: it’s the product of history. Those rioters in Stockholm were the descendants of Robespierre and the enragés, the heirs to their unquenchable bloodthirstiness; and the rage in their eyes was testimony to the enduring destructive power of pure fanatical ideology, which, time and again since 1789, has turned Europe into a madhouse.
Looking into the eyes of those protesters, one could scarcely doubt that if they could push their way past those cops and get their hands on Spencer, they’d do as much harm to him as they could. And yet, remarkably, while Frode Nielsen, the “journalist” who made this “documentary,” didn’t try to hide these people’s violence from us, he didn’t breathe so much as a word in condemnation of it. On the contrary: if silence betokens approval, he approved. Indeed, even as we watched those rioters raging rabidly at Spencer, Nielsen took pains to spell out for us who the real extremist was – Spencer, naturally.