The Trouble with Normal
Person in the street shrugs: "Security comes first"
But the trouble with normal is it always gets worse - Bruce Cockburn
So DailyKos has conducted a "mass banning" of those who had been "perpetuating a series of bizarre, off-the-wall, unsupported and frankly embarassing conspiracy theories." I hope no one is terribly surprised by this development. From the darlings of alternative media, purges usually follow their contributors' binges of unproscribed spelunking into the deep politics of a mass event. If someone like Kos doesn't distance himself from inquiries that offend mainstream sensibilities he risks the loss of the honourary privileges extended to the pacified blogosphere, and where is he then? Just another former Republican who has a problem with women. And since inquiry isn't his strong suit - Kos regards the theft of the 2004 election as just another "conspiracy theory" and can write with a Bushian lack of irony that he has a "high tolerance level for material I deem appropriate" - making it a sacrificial offering to the incurious middle couldn't have been a tough call.
More than truth, such people crave respectability, which they call "credibility" because it conforms to the conventional wisdom of those whose approval they seek. This becomes the capital they believe they trade for "influence," which is nothing more than their place in punditry's pecking order.
They want, dear God, to be normal. That was never much to which to aspire, and it ain't what it used to be.
If we want to uncover hidden truths then we have to go deep, and when we go deep we have to get our freak on, because the truths we dredge up transgress the assumptions of respectable society.
Those who choose the course of bobble-headed agreement with their "betters" in hope of finding favour, may very well find it. As far as the mainstream consenus is concerned, it's the only avenue of reward. But the truth will be closer to the freaks who don't worry about getting down and dirty.
Naturally, the trigger for this latest round of house cleaning was the attack on London. And, as usual on such occasions, the hammer came down just as things are getting interesting.
Even though all speculation at this early stage is conspiracy theory, only some speculation is expected to wear that demeaning epithet like a dunce cap. A "senior US counterterrorism official" can say, anonymously and without support, that he worries it may have been the work of al-Zarqawi. And reporters, rather than convulse in spit-takes or consider why it serves US interests to float such a preposterous allegation, write it all down as though he were serious. Such figures are considered, by default, to be "informed" sources, even though they are actually the worst kind of conspiracy theorists: they don't respect their theory enough to back up their baseless assertion, which they make only because they are pushing an agenda.
Regardless of how informed our speculations may be, we should know by now they will never be respectable so long as the conventions that protect the criminals in high places remain assumed by the Gatekeepers, and uninformed argument-by-ridicule is sufficient to silence critics beyond the gate.
You may by now have read the report that - shades of 9/11 - there were there were simultaneous exercises in the London subway, at the identical stations, at the exact time of the blasts. You may not have had the chance to read it on Democratic Undergound, because though the original source is an audio clip and transcript from the BBC, it's the polarizing Alex Jones who brought it to our attention. So in the dumper it goes. How lucky for some. (And it's not just Alex Jones. "Did I just post an article here two minutes ago? 'False Flag Over London'? And now it's gone?" asked one of several confused DUers who tried posting the piece by John Leonard.)
America's had trouble with normal since the day it watched a police narcotics informant silence a self-described patsy on live television. It's degraded to the point at which it needed rebranding as the "New Normal" to still be recognizable to most Americans, who aren't sheep so much as lobsters who believe it's supposed to be this hot. And since at least the disclosure of Operation Gladio, and the revelations of connivance of Western military intelligence with fascists, gangsters and secret societies to wage false flag terror to discredit Europe's democratic Left, no speculation should be discounted out of hand, and nothing should be taken at face value. As Gladio agent Vincenzo Vinciguerra testified, "You had to attack civilians, the people, women, children, innocent people, unknown people far removed from any political game. The reason was quite simple: to force...the public to turn to the state to ask for greater security." Person in the street shrugs: "Security comes first...."
Those who would silence inquiry with ridicule either don't know this history (this living history, as Italy is rocked by disclosure of a Gladio-like, ultra-right secret team conducting parallel "counter-terrorism"), or do, and don't want us to know it.
For the most part, "progressive" and "alternative" forums are full of preening, ignorant bullshitters with little grasp of the evidence and no appreciation for parapolitics, who contentedly squeeze greasy farts in the faces of researchers and activists who know what time it is. (It's a bitter irony that activist Andy Stephenson died last week, whose "tinfoil hat" is being refashioned as a halo by the same, facile piss artists of the "moderate left" who perpetually misrepresented his contributions as conspiracy crap that makes us look bad.)
So we're outside the gate, thank God. And if we want to do good work, that's where we'll stay. Because the walls need to be breached, and the gate that beckons us to normalcy is part of the problem.
Rome never looks where she treads.
Always her heavy hooves fall
On our stomachs, our hearts or our heads;
And Rome never heeds when we bawl.
Her sentries pass on - that is all,
And we gather behind them in hordes,
And plot to reconquer the Wall,
With only our tongues for our swords - Rudyard Kipling, "A Pict Song"