How Did We Get Here?

12 September 2025

How Did We Get Here? - The Offensive Weapons Act of 1996

I did some online shopping to Reward Self this afternoon.  It’s been an extremely difficult two days for this American to process the sense of rage and grief over the assassination of Charlie Kirk.  I am grateful to not be alone in my profound sense of loss.  The outpouring of love for that young, gifted, brilliant, brave man has not been confined to the States.  Internationally, as well as nationally, Mr. Kirk was a man on a mission, from His Maker, in whose arms he now rests.

There are times when I am at work on translating THE DAWN into L’AUBE and the intersection of current events and history is not coincidental.  Such was the case this week with my dogged determination to finish the review of Chapter 46, which I dubbed the Hitler/Vichy Chapter.

I’d come to the last page on the evening of the 9th.  The Last Page is always powerful, at least for me, emotionally.  I do FINISH SRONG.  I therefore decided to work on the Final Page the next morning, Wednesday, 10 September.

I asked Dear Husband what our President was going to be doing for 9/11.  He informed me that Donald (and I still have a difficult time referring to our Commander-in-Chief by his first name) would be attending a Yankees Game.

“Oh, good,” I stated.  “We need to start celebrating life again, and move forward from that tragic day.  It’s not like we’ve been able to, in the midst of finding out how our own government has been betraying us, even before 9/11.”

It was late morning when I closed in on the final three paragraphs:

At this early stage of resistance, Guillaume felt impatience and intolerance toward any person who was not willing to revolt against the Occupation in some way.  He also felt revulsion toward anyone who was not aligned with the Free French, as well as repugnance for the attentistes.  In the midst of this antipathy, Guillaume also had an extremely weak stomach when it came to watching acts of desecration of France by the occupying enemy and by the Vichy regime.

In some ways, the heinous acts by the collaborationist puppet government were considered far worse by Guillaume than the atrocities of the occupying Germans.  All kinds of indecency, sins, and evil were to be expected of the Germans.  But for the Frenchmen of the deceased Third Republic to betray France, these wounds of shame, indignity, and dishonor never fully healed within Guillaume de Vallon.  His heart had already been torn and tattered by his treacherous, estranged wife.  To those inner scars were added the unhealed gashes from the Fall of France.  Within the heart of this man, these wounds festered.  Their toxins and trauma began to find release and healing through his deeds in this quest called the Liberation of France.

Guillaume was not unlike many other citizens of the fallen and conquered France.  The lacerations of anguish, the fissures of shame, and the contusions of numbness: those psychic injuries would remain with the French for far longer than even Guillaume secretly suspected.  Fatalism had cost this nation dearly.  Cynicism, and the defeatism which is the fruit of hopelessness, had brought to France a fate worse than even the fatalists had feared: the imminent death of the civilization of France, indeed of civilization itself.  The soul of France was in mortal danger.  Time thus ticked away perilously for the French resisters.  Guillaume, as one of them, added his own hair-trigger sensitivity toward liberty.

As is my wont, and as used to be my habit, during my online literary work, I check The Headline from time to time, typically at the end of the project.  Breitbart News is my choice of poison, and it was there, at about noon, that I learned that Charlie Kirk had been shot - near the neck — at Utah Valley University.

I prayed, and then I informed Dear Husband of the almost-surreal event.  He told me he’d find out more info, and I should proceed with final proofreading.  That task went swiftly out the window.  I looked at a few other news-aggregators, and found nothing of further fact.  I joined my spouse at the dining table, where he was busily scouring websites.

Ten minutes might have gone by, and something told me that Charlie is with the angels.

Since I’m a news-hound from way back, I looked at Real America’s Voice, where the Real Voice of the Real America had been making A Real Difference in helping to save our nation.  And, indeed, the body of Charles Kirk had succumbed to what must have been unspeakable horror.

Dear Husband didn’t fully believe my statement of this gut-wrenching truth, so I left the room.  I went upstairs to shower.  My morning routine when Translation Review is on the agenda is to wash up, brush my teeth, look as presentable as possible to my beloved mate, and eat breakfast.  My least favorite meal serves the purpose of preventing hypoglycemia with some toast, tea and a cup of orange juice.

An hour later, there was no doubt that Charlie Kirk had given his life to the sacred cause of liberty, free speech, and the America that he loved.

“We follow in his stead,” I vowed aloud.  “And we live the life he would have wanted us to live.  We do not give up, and we do not give in.  We make sure he has not died in vain,”

I therefore decided to start translation review of the next chapter, 47, Intro to Jean Moulin/De Gaulle/Pearl Harbor Chapter.  Martyrs come in many sizes.  Moulin was a big one.  Charlie Kirk is just as big, perhaps bigger.  The scope and scale of his life, and death, have not begun to be measured — because his assassination on 10 September 2025, the day before the 24th anniversary of 9/11 —- is, for me, the Pearl Harbor of attacks by the Barbarians Within upon We the Patriots.

Thousands, if not millions, of words have already been written in tribute to this young man who is about the age of my Dear Daughter.  I home-schooled her, and her older brother, my Dear Son, after having been insulted, mocked, vilified, and castigated In the Suburbs for daring to inculcate my children with such offensive matters as the Basics of the 3 R’s, saying the Pledge of Allegiance in the morning, reading a verse from the Bible as part of being a Christian.

Those unyielding stances were beyond the pale of those cowardly parents.  I informed them of their own spinelessness, of their despicable selfishness, and their narcissistic mangling of their children who are not theirs, but gifts from God.

I single-handedly, and successfully, helped to defeat yet another school-bond measure to build yet another elementary school — all the better to fill in with more educrats.  It took the California School Blob three tries — 3 Special Elections — before this worthless waste of taxpayer dollars was finally approved with a 2/3 vote.  By that year, I was packing my bags and heading for the hills, the foothills of the Sierra Nevada.  I still consider that tenacious undertaking against the greedy grabby Suburban Moms to be one of my premier accomplishments to waylay the noxious effects of what is currently known as the Chardonnay Haze of Suburbia.

The extended Day-Care of the U.S. College Campus of the 2010s has degenerated into an overpriced psychotic laboratory of drug-addled lunatics barely beyond adolescence, who believe they can kill whoever offends them.  The parents of these amoral punks are complicit in the maiming and murders of innocent young adults who go to a college for the purpose of getting that degree, and getting out of that cesspool without having been knifed, burned, bludgeoned or strafed with a gun.

How did we get here?

When did adult crime become kiddie-crime?

It started during those vulgarly materialistic 1990s, when God was tossed overboard for the hedonism of fast money, quick and easy results, and the type of corruption that now rots a person so quickly from within that no one seems to notice, or care.

We care, the silent majority cares.  And we’re fed up to our back teeth with the lawyered-up excuses for any individual not having to follow the law, play by the rules, and pay the price if he or she doesn’t do so.

This afternoon, as a reward to self for having parented my offspring so well, I purchased a symbol of my Scots-Irish heritage:  a beautiful Earn Dress Sgian Dubh (ski-en doo), in matte pewter, handcrafted in Scotland. to the highest standard.  This emblem is worn tucked into the top of my kilt hose.  I’ve neither kilt nor hose. I do have Scots blood flowing through my veins, and I go into battle only when prepared, and ready to win that fight.

The Sgian Dubh is supplied blunt from my favorite purveyor of fine fabric, garb, and jewellery, Lochcarron of Scotland.  This accessory is single-edged, and must be positioned so that only the top handle is visible — for that awesomely authentic Scottish look.

I have noted that the sgian dubh is supplied blunt.  My tongue, however, is supplied sharp.  It’s my preferred edged weapon of choice whenever I wage verbal battle.

Sgian Dubh is derived from Scottish Gaelic, which means “black knife” or “hidden knife”.  Legally, the wearing of the small knife as part of traditional Highland dress is permitted in Scotland, England, and Wales — but only under specific legislation — including the Criminal Law (Consolidation; Scotland) Act of 1995 and the Offensive Weapons Act of 1996.

The Offensive Weapons Act of 1996 has degenerated in Old Blighty to the appalling reality of a Scottish girl bearing a knife — to ward off attacks by Rapefugies:  The child gets arrested; the rapist gets a lavish suite in one of the Stately Homes of England, all expenses paid for by the British Serfs, aka the Citizenry.

In the UK, the fashion accessory may be banned in locations that have stupidly chosen to triumph and trumpet those “Zero-Tolerance Policies” at schools and what is termed a “high-security event”.

The Brits going-down the-pan may choose to continue to follow their road to ruin, but here, in the States, we’re just getting going on legally and civilly reclaiming our God-given rights from governments-gone-mad.

Charlie Kirk was Braveheart.  He rests in peace, which means We the Patriots shall not rest or have any peace until there is Justice for Charlie.