Originally Published by the SCP on November 24, 2019
dedicated to my wife, who was mobbed and defamed for political gains
They’ve come before with pitchforks high,
With torches beaming off their knives.
This time they come instead with phones
To kill my queen and steal her throne.
No lynch mobs now or guillotine
Just accusations on a screen.
They change the meaning of our words,
Then backdate crimes, it’s so absurd.
Last time they called us bourgeoisie.
This time it could be anything.
“A rightist, witch, supremacist!”
Once they name you, you’re on a list
Of those who don’t deserve defense,
And no one cares if it makes sense.
Their hate comes first and truth comes last—
No concern for the new outcasts.
But names and words are all they know,
Devoid of meaning, all for show.
Ten good people they will destroy,
Their claims of virtue, just a ploy.
To cover up their true intent—
To ruin the world they resent.
“Yes, I’m the victim,” they proclaim,
While sucking blood from those they’ve named.
It matters not what song they sing
In Salem, Paris, or Beijing.
They only want to feed their hate,
To watch you burn upon their stake.
Sadistic wolves as lambs disguised,
Behind great words their malice hides.
So now we watch the mobs return,
Because it seems we never learn.
Capitulation never works.
It only ever makes things worse.
Each time that we apologize
For some imaginary crime,
Or fail our friends in moments meek,
We give these mobs the blood they seek,
And like young Kirsten Dunst they say,
“I want some more,” and more each day.
Saint Joan of Arc they burned alive—
So many Christians crucified.
Socrates they poisoned too.
See the pattern? I hope you do.
“A heretic!” the crowds will shout
At anyone who dares to doubt,
Or who has courage in spite of pain
To speak true words while Truth remains.
Should all beauty and words most wise
Be torn from books and branded lies?
Should all our reason be denied
In acquiescence to their chides?
These mobs just want more points to score
In pointless, aimless online wars.
Do not give in to empty threats.
You’ll die with nothing but regrets.
Beware attempts to rewrite our past—
To have traditions be recast.
We’ve learned so much through history—
So much of it in misery.
Forgotten are the lessons learned
Through many wars and prophets burned.
Divinity is all that saves
Humanity from being slaves.
Jared Pearman is a writer and producer in Calgary, Canada.
Well done, Jared. I would like to see political correctness named, but it doesn’t really matter what the cause or ideology of the mob may be. Galileo wasn’t opposed by political correctness, but he was opposed by the correctness of the day.
Lyle
We cannot just sit back and watch the show . We each of us big and small have to defend the truth and call out the lies . It’s everyone’s responsibility now . Thank you for speaking out.
I’m very sorry for what happened to your wife, I hope she is okay,
Spot on poem. I published a poem on a similar topic here on the site, but I fear it got buried as “and other poetry by”. It’s called “Give Us Barabbas!”:
https://classicalpoets.org/2018/03/07/the-day-the-poetry-died-and-other-poetry-by-steven-shaffer/
The sort of thing that was inflicted on Mrs. Pearman is going to happen with much more frequency in the near future. Look at the collected vermin who are competing for the Democratic Party nomination. They are totally in favor of this kind of abuse.
And it is abuse; I would further define it as electronic abuse. We almost no longer exist in three-dimensional bodily form, but image is all.
How often the resume defines the individual. Every area of life has been defiled in this way. Can’t say how often I have read a glowing review of creative work, only to then have to strain to try to see any relation between someone’s (usually the creator’s) idea of themselves and the work. I cannot understand why more people don’t see it.
In a word, Joe, right as usual,
Saying does not make it so and never has. No different than the Inquisition.Accuse, then torture in anonymity and go home to a good dinner.
We live in an ugly nightmare world, and cringe under the whips of the despicable.
I like your ideas, but your violations of form are legion. Get this under control and I will never again find cause to chastise you.
I’m interested to hear what you call violations. Everything has its purpose.
https://theline.substack.com/p/meaghie-champion-the-plot-to-hack
I think you’ll enjoy this piece.
Mr. Pearman’s poem would have come in handy when the fake news broke during Caylan Ford’s campaign in Alberta. And every time the witch hunt got hot she might have quoted from the poem; there are many parts to it that could be used in different situations. Like Mr. Anderson, I too noticed “violations of form”; but figures, as renowned as Mr. Sale and Mr. Salemi, have suggested in the past such discrepancies in meter are not worthy of mention.