Peter Hitchens, national treasure of England

Peter Hitchens, national treasure of England

A period of crisis always seem to expose, like nothing else ever could, the true inner nature and beliefs of a person. When civilization itself appears to be at stake, when the propaganda is blotting out the sun, when emotions are high and rational thought is found wanting, you find out what sort of a person someone is. Regardless of whether they’re a brilliant mind, in possession of a superhuman ability to write and entertain, or are known for their independent and fiery wit, it’s the epochal, civilization-transforming crisis that reveals the content of their soul, and whether it’s composed of steel or tinfoil. Sadly, I’ve lost respect for a great many writers, whom I’d naively believed that, because they were so talented with words, they held correct opinions. I won’t name them, I just don’t bother to read them anymore. In fact, I’ve lost the taste for using uncommonly clever and clear writing as a benchmark with which to judge someone as a thinker. I won’t name the names of these talented writers who succumbed almost immediately to the virus propaganda, and who have assimilated themselves into the pandemic collective, and perversely offering up their talents in service to the pandemic police state.

I will, however, name one writer whom everyone with any shred of dignity remaining should immediately begin reading: Peter Hitchens, brother of the late Christopher Hitchens, and easily his equal in intelligence and literary talent. His virulent and eloquent opposition to the stampeding hypochondriac fundamentalism is heroic, and his columns are strident in their denunciations of the mindless self-suffocating herd.

Here is one of his latest columns: Face masks turns us into voiceless submissives—and it’s not science forcing us to wear them, it’s politics:

”Look at the muzzled multitudes, their wide eyes peering out anxiously from above the hideous gag which obscures half their faces and turns them from normal human beings into mouthless, obedient submissives.

The psychological effect of these garments, on those who wear them, is huge.
And it also has another nasty result for society as a whole.

Dissenters, who prefer not to muzzle themselves, are made to stand out from the surrendered majority, who then become quite keen on pressuring the non-conformists to do as they are told, and on informing against them.
I predicted the same outcome during the House Arrest period in April, and was mocked for it, but it came true.

When all this began, I felt fear. But it was not fear of the disease, which was clearly overstated from the start.

It was fear of exactly what is happening to us, the final closing down of centuries of human liberty and the transformation of one of the freest countries on Earth into a regimented, conformist society, under perpetual surveillance, in which a subservient people scurries about beneath the stern gaze of authority.

It is my view that, if you don that muzzle, you are giving your assent to that change.“

It’s better just to read the rest in it’s entirety. It’s the voice of a true citizen of the West, a voice of an individual refusing to bow down before the primitive golden calf of authoritarianism, one refusing to allow liberty and Western civilization commit suicide without at least one resounding objection. Most importantly, it’s the voice of the individual refusing to surrender something so precious as liberty, even as everyone around him gives it up without so much as a thought. It’s the voice of a person who understands that to trade your liberty is to sell your soul.

Author: S. Smith