Regular Atlas reader and great American, Rich, staged a counter protest yesterday in West Chester against the relentless "anti-war" moonbats that stage their drama year in and year out at the same stinkin' corner. Rich grew tired of seeing those same tired old hippies denigrating the honor of our troops and the greatness that is America. What started out as a three man protest grew to a movement...... of freedom lovers across the nation.
Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrich! Proud to know Rich, proud to call him a friend. Average Americans fighting for America against the leftist Islamic alliance. Check out the local coverage.
WEST CHESTER -- About 50 protesters gathered Saturday to share their views on the war in Iraq, and their views on protesting outside the Chester County Courthouse.
Blogger MidnightBlue was there and did this terrific blog post on the rally.
A crisp fall day greeted this band of citizens who gathered at the Chester County Courthouse to make it known that the protesting 'quakers' and students looking for an easy 'A' , do not speak for ALL Americans.
This display of Pro American/ Pro Victory support started out as a one-man operation. Rich at times faced agression by the gathered 'peace' protestors. He has been described by Karen Porter, director of the Chester County Peace Movement, as a war-monger who wanted to start trouble at their rally. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Rich responded to his encounters with the 'peace' protestors with respect and goodwill, behaviors rarely displayed by Karen and her followers. These are the same individuals who attempted to characterize a retired Veteran's dog as being agressive and a reason for them to call 911 during the protest if the dog was present.
More here, read it all. Wonderful pics too
There's a wonderful video of Rich speaking to the crowd. Rich, you rock!
Rich obviously unnerved (not hard to do) the lunatic fringe. Check out the newsletter batshit crazy Karen Porter, Director The Chester County Peace Movement sent out.
For five years, I've seen only peace and love on that corner at High and Market Streets. God has been with us every week when we gather there, a sacred place to us. It's been our church, our place for sending a positive, life-giving message to the world. Our way of saying, "No, we haven't ALL gone mad in this country, some of us are sane, some of us don't want to destroy mankind."
But God wasn't there today for me, and I can only hope He will return.
Instead, I saw raw hatred and death and destruction. I saw a glimpse of the coming end of the America I have loved all my life. I saw "Mad Max" in its destructive, tragic future. I'm not sure if God will come back there. He may be gone forever. Countries and empires fall, and I think this one has seen its best days long ago. But, of course, they're all "for the troops," and we aren't, don't you know?
What happened at that corner today was a grim and disgusting spectacle, a docudrama of the absurd I can only call "The End of America," a country wallowing in its growing hate and fear. A country self-destructing. My country dying. But, of course, they're all "for the troops," and we aren't, don't you know?
Click below to read the whole pathetic diatribe. It's unfathomable that this leftard sees evil in everything America does and assigns the same blame to those that love and defend her, but has no issue with honor killings, Islamic jihad, suicide bombers, 9/11 invaders, creeping sharia ...... yada yada yada.
UPDATE: Rich wrote me with his observations. I can't laud this man enough. Please check out his speech at the protest, video here.
Yesterday I held my 4th counter-protest against 2 Anti-War and Impeach Bush groups. I gave a speech and we had our largest turnout ever.
Their leader, Karen Porter, is upset because I am countering them. She has been used to no opposition for 5 years and when someone finally stands up to her, she has a fit.
Yesterdays counter protest included about 40-50 people on my side, about 10 of them were bikers from Gathering of Eagles and Rolling Thunder and Vietnam Veterans of America. They stood with me with honor and dignity, holding flags and signs I made.
Warms the cockles of my American heart, it does.
They had about 25 protestors on the other side. It was peaceful, legal, and ethical. No ugly confrontations, nothing. Many from both sides were seen having civil discussions - it was disagreement with decency.
Also in attendance were reporters and photographers from 3 newspapers.
I thought Karen Porter would be able to handle a little bit of opposition. I thought she would see how peaceful it was and be gracious and say so.
But much to my amazement, she posted an email on her newletter (here is a link: that blasted me and those who protested against her. She ended up judging the few bikers by how they looked, "like old men whose wet dreams are only fulfilled by sending young men off to die...". or this "Those grey-bearded men in their leather jackets and metal studs, with their phallic motorcycles with hideous roaring engines continue to send off young men to die"
and this: "so it's OK to sacrifice their young to keep alive their never-ending wet dreams."
She even criticized my college daughter who showed up for 5 minutes on her way her part-time job to give me a hug, for "not smiling" and said she will probable grow up to be a war monger.....
Anyone who was there has to be astounded at the remarks in her newsletter.
Much thanks to Tania from Midnight Blue. She took photos and videoed my speech and much of the total event.
Click below to read all of Porter's whiney 2 year old tantrum. Freedom of speech - for them. The devil cloaks herself in God.
UPDATE: RICH responds: A letter to a Peace Protester (click below);
I saw old (my age) men who are still living the wet dreams of youth, decked out in gray beards on those wrinkled faces and leather and metal and waving Old Glory like swords, not like flags. Men who should know better, who should be at better places in their lives, men who should be making positive contributions to our young folks' futures - but still searching to fulfill dreams that appear to be all they have left, vainly and desperately trying to relive the adventures of their youths. Tragically, those old men's wet dreams are now fulfilled only by sending off younger men to die. I am sad for them because they seem to have nothing better in their lives than feeding a hungry and hateful war machine, singing praises to tragedy and destruction, and feeding their young to the very jaws of hell. "In tie of peace, sons bury their fathers; but in war fathers bury their sons."--Croesus But, of course, they're all "for the troops," and we aren' t, don't you know? One of our group wasn't there this morning but came this afternoon. He had been at the military funeral of a soldier who had committed suicide in Iraq. (But, of course, they are all for the troops - we're not, don't you know?) Those grey-bearded men in their leather jackets and metal studs, with their phallic motorcycles with hideous roaring engines continue to send off young men to die like that, or to return, broken shells of themselves, with the rationalization that they have already "served their time, served their country," so it's OK to sacrifice their young to keep alive their never-ending wet dreams. It's OK, they say, to send off their young to "die for their country" for they seem to have no idea (or simply can't face the fact) that they are only pawns in a hideous game played by powerful entities that see them only as red meat, cannon fodder, targets, sinew and bones, body bags, graves, memories, economic factors of war production. But, of course, they're all "for the troops," and we aren't, don't you know? One of our most regular vigilers for the past five years has a son who's now in his second deployment to Iraq, and she lies awake at night and cries and cries and hopes and hopes - but, of course, they're all "for the troops," and we aren't, don't you know? Several of "our men" saw real combat in Vietnam and other "theaters" (I've always detested the use of the word, "theater" for war) - but, of course, they're all "for the troops," and we aren't, don't you know?
But, as sad and pitiful as those men are, the death-cheering women are always the most disturbing, the scariest, their hardened and wrinkled faces showing hatred that mothers and daughters just shouldn't show. I grew up with women like that, often wrinkled and wizzened by tobacco and alcohol and sun and poverty and despair in Appalachian coal country. They were my aunts and neighbors and cousins. Someone said to me, "Why do those women look so much more hateful even than the men? So much more disturbing than the men? So ugly with their hate?" It's like they purposely put on makeup that makes them hateful and ugly instead of what I think (stereotyping, I know) most women want to be - soft and loving and kind. I answered, "Have you ever seen films of KKK women? Same impression - they appear to be so much more hideous because women just aren't supposed to be that way." They're downright scary. Women are supposed to be motherly and loving and peaceful and all things nurturing and kind - not tools who gladly send off their young sons to die horrible deaths based on lies and deception. If women agree to this horror, what hope is there for the world? They feed their children, willingly, to an insatiable beast called war, to an insatiable beast that rapes them as they smile and takes everything they have, that robs them of their beauty and will send them to their graves in mass ignorance. On one level, I feel so very sorry for them. On another level, they are frightening as harbingers of the very worst mankind has to offer. But, of course, they're all "for the troops," and we aren't, don't you know?
Rich, your daughter appears to be potentially quite a lovely young woman, yet in the three weeks I've seen her, I've never seen her smile, and she never speaks - not once. She has a hardened expression, an incessantly unemotional expression painted on her young face like a mask. Are you really, as her father, content to let her age and become like the others - hard, time-worn faces, angry words, walking to the chant of "Kill, kill, kill; maim, murder, bomb, shoot!" Will she send her own son/s/daughter/s, your own grandson/s/daughter/s off to war "for the good of the country" to die to line rich men's purses? For oil or whatever else they need to sate themselves with the unholy goals of mammon? So rich men and women can just buy more, more, more? I feel so sad every time I see her young face because I wonder if she even has a chance. She's still young enough to avoid that fate, but only if someone shows her the way. But, of course, she's all "for the troops," and we aren't, don't you know? (Several people have posed the question, "Why aren't all those young women in Iraq?" They'll never give an answer to that question. But, of course, they're all "for the troops," and we aren't, don't you know?) Sometimes I lie awake late into the night, often thinking, "Oh, what do I care, anyway? This country's on a slippery slope to inevitable destruction, I can't change it, so who-the-hell cares?" My son once in a while, in a fit of his own discouragement, in a lapse of the eternal hope of his youth, will say, "Mom, the people in this country are so incredibly stupid, so ignorant - they just don't care. So stop killing yourself over it. You can't change it - they just won't listen. They don't want to know anything!" But, then, a short while later, he will plead with me, "But, Mom, please keep doing what you're doing. Please try to stop this madness - for us!" He sounds so desperate as he sees what lies ahead for this country. Unlike my generation, with such hope, this new generation has dwindling hope for this country. They have inherited one screwed-up America.
So I'll try to get some sleep, and I'll wake up again. And I'll wearily try to think about what to do next. How to hang in. How to pick up the pieces again. How to get God back into this picture (come on, God, can't ya come back?). I'll get up and realize that I have no choice but to keep on keepin' on. I'll read Gandhi, I'll read Martin Luther King, I'll read the Bible. And I'll try to forget the spectacle that took over that corner today, the forces of sheer death that came there. I'll try to forget the hardened faces looking out of those cars and their cheers for war and death and organized, legalized murder, their hatred of "Arabs" and "Muslims" and "jihad" and everything that's not them. I'll try to forget those men who don't want to grow old, who want to relive their youths through sending their own sons to die because they seem to have nothing else; oh, and I'll try to forget even more those women...those sad, sad women (and I'll thank God every day I didn't become one of them). But, of course, they're all "for the troops," and we aren't, don't you know? The woman with the t-shirt, "Proud to Support Bush," was particularly disturbing to me. I could overlook the women in the leather and metal and the down-home weariness of their faces. But proud to support a village idiot from Texas who never had to work for anything in his life, who would never even let her tie his shoelaces, who was his own father's acknowledged trouble-maker-son whom he had to hide to escape embarrassment, who grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth and a blank check in his hand, who fakes a down-home Texas demeanor when he's anything but down-home, who couldn't manage (or think) his way out of a paper bag,who is a dry drunk and real war criminal who should be in prison for all the death he has caused - and who would send, with no conscience, that woman's own loved ones off to die to enrich himself and his oil cro ny friends? Oh, what's wrong with that woman, anyway? How can she be so blind? How can she be so damned stupid? It's maddening. But I can't worry about her tonight. I spent years wondering "Where were all the good Germans? How did they let it happen?" Sadly, in the past five years, I have seen the enemy, and he is us. But, of course, they're all "for the troops," and we aren't, don't you know?
And I can't worry about the old guy with the white hair and the matching white t-shirt with "Hillary" and a hammer and sickle on it - probably the most flagrant showing of downright ignorance I saw all day yesterday. That ol' coot (I don't call him that with hatred, but with some amusement - he and I are both ol' coots) has no idea how wrong that shirt looks and is, how it has no basis in reality. And he'll never talk about it. He's probably a nice guy who's been totally brainwashed and will just "never know what hurts him." He'll never know the forces that control his life, wash his brain, chew up his heart, and spit it out. Has he ever read The Gulag Archipelago, has he ever actually read about Stalin? Has he ever really known what that hammer and sickle were all about? Does he know anything about the show trials, the Gre at Terror, glasnost, all that? Has he read the same numerous books I've read about the Soviet terror? Does he know anything about what that hammer and sickle truly mean and why a huge public allowed it to happen? Does he know that to compare Hillary Clinton and the Soveit disaster is beyond stupid? And does he even know the Soviet Union no longer exists? Does he know the Cold War is over? Does he even know anything about Hillary Clinton except what that highly paid, rich purveyor of all that is hate, Rush Limbaugh, spews on the radio day-in, day-out? Does he know anything about how nations become lemmings, jumping off cliffs following dictators (yes, dictators like George Bush), committing mass suicide? Does he have any notion that he's jumping off the same cliff? I don't think so. But, of course, he's all "for the troops," and we aren't, don't you know?
Both these people in their cutely sloganeered t-shirts are unwitting participants in the destruction of all we hold dear in this country. That spectacle had nothing to do with the West Chester I know, the West Chester we all hold dear. Most of them didn't raise their kids here, they don't go to our churches and synagogues and mosque and meetings, they don't go to our schools, they don't live in our neighborhoods. They swooped into this community like vultures with red-white-and-blue wings on roaring and bullying black steeds and then flew off leaving their message of violence and hatred. People I have known for years in this community drove by, stopping at the light, and looked at me with "What IS this?" looks - what's going on in OUR community? Who ARE these people? WHAT are they? I had no good answer f or them. Except, of course, they're all "for the troops," and we aren't, don't you know?
I need sleep.
And I need to be able to get up tomorrow and do the Groundhog-Day-movie routine, get up and do this all over again, as I have for five long years, day in and day out. I need to care enough to keep going.
So that one day my son can know that his mother never stopped trying to bring God back to that corner.
Rich responds:
Karen,
I am speechless, astounded really.
I too, am not a doormat. Please don't ever call me a trouble-maker or violent or war-monger ever again. You have a lot of nerve calling me a "name caller". Whenever you point a finger, there's 4 pointing back at you.
And how dare you insult my daughter! You know nothing about her, what's on her mind or whats happening in her day or life. She is doing 3 internships, full-time class schedule, part-time job, helping raise her neices, and other things. If you had taken a second to cross the street and say "Hello" to her, you would have been surprised how pleasant and nice she is. But instead, you sit and judge...
If I had seen your son show up, I would have crossed the street and said, "Hello, I've heard so many great things about you." But that's me.
When I showed up to counter you the 2nd time (it was just me and my stepdaughter Jamie) a woman came running up to us we were coming towards you screaming and yelling, "We're trying to save lives, you son of a bitch" he repeated the SOB, twice... I had to ask her to calm down.... All you have to do is ask your group this, and I'm sure they will confirm it -
Also, the first time, I was cussed and I was confronted aggressively by a few of you.. badgering me, not to mention I had to keep moving because your people kept trying to block my sign and me from being seen by drivers (I think it was the guy with the disfigured American Flag - with the peace symbol where the stars should be).
It's okay for him to wave his flag like crazy (it's on video, on Midnight Blue blog) but patriotic bikers are attacked by you for having flags....
I didn't make a big deal out of it out of the way some of your peace people treated me the first couple times. I didn't complain, or threaten to call the police - I'm tougher than that, but I was shocked that your group (not all, but a significant few), supposedly for peace and tolerance, could not control their emotions.
I thought to myself, "my goodness, they've been here every single week for years and someone shows up with a different sign and they can't handle it ?"..... I was surprised. And I was disappointed that no one stepped forward and said anything to calm them down.... - maybe you didn't notice?
I guess you're blind to any meaness or aggression coming from your side.
By the 3rd week, things seemed to settling - you still didn't like me being there (of course) but at least the civility was beginning. I was happy to talk to Peter Lane when he called me on my home phone, and I was happy to meet you Karen, I really thought we could set a great example.
But, I guess you are so blinded by your mission that you didn't see God there yesterday. I did.
I thought we were all assembled for over 4 hours total (minus lunchtime between protests) and yet there was no problem... instead of praising each side you were seething inside..... why? because we don't agree with you - you see no good in us at all.
You refuse to see any good in us - because we have the audacity to not think like you or like you want us too...
I've done my best to explain how I feel about what you say about me in your newsletter, you can mock my effort, and me, some more, if you want.
