Parenthood: The Ultimate Antidote to Tyranny

Whether denigrating the nuclear family or smearing parents as domestic terrorists, proponents of the New World Order cannot help but reveal that which truly terrifies them.

Much like the satanic leaf gecko, the horny dung beetle, and the Ecuadorian rape gibbon, the millennial leftist is not typically a creature regarded as all that inviting of sympathy.

This is hardly without justification.

Ever since erupting out of college campuses and into the public consciousness – first in opposition to and then in hysterical protest of, the election of Donald J. Trump – this $30,000-per-semester neurosis has graduated from piously gasping at micro-aggressions and shrilly demanding gender parity, into hordes of gleeful arsonists, state-protected vigilantes, and ultimately, the most duteous foot soldiers for tyranny.

And frankly, I think I’m entitled to an I told you so. After all, while our baby-boomer parents were only too happy to wave us off to college, blithely dismissing little Madison’s new nose ring and sudden interest in lesbian separatism, it was us – the saner millennials – who were warning that this wasn’t just some passing fad. We heard what our professors said in class. We read the lunacy spewed over Twitter. Admittedly, most of us could not envisage, much less fully articulate, the aims behind such manufactured zealotry, and yet over the past two years, society hyperventilating over Covid and Ukraine in much the same way our peers did about patriarchy and white privilege, it has become only clearer that what our generation was subjected to, in an apparent dry run for the planet, was a heavily funded, relentlessly executed attempt at psychological subjugation.

Understand, dear reader, that I have no interest in blaming parents for their kid’s descent into leftism any more than I would absolve millennials for their brainless embrace of it. If you want to spend $25,000 mutilating your genitals, that, for better or worse, is your right. What I do contend, however, is that no matter how gaping the character defects in either your average feminist or her mincing little soyboy sidekick, these are, if not entirely artificial shortcomings, then at least cynically and grotesquely exacerbated.

And what could be more cynically grotesque than a concerted, establishment-wide effort to undermine the instinctive drive for a family? Of all the propagandistic tricks played on our generation, this to me seems the cruelest – the same talking heads who told us to accept the necessity of lockdowns and the suicidal altruism of unfettered immigration, now advising we remove ourselves from the gene pool in order to appease, among other things, the fickle gods of climate change.

These gods are a familiar bunch. Prior to their careers as global health gurus and cheerleaders for the war in Ukraine, Bill Gates, George Soros, and other allegedly benevolent oligarchs have long railed against fossil fuels and the perils of overpopulation, somehow always getting to finish their point without anyone inquiring, “… yeah but, who the fuck asked you?”

Mercifully, some people are beginning to. Unlike the more suggestible millennials, easily subdued by the right buzzwords and a few lines of inoffensive indie-pop, more of us are waking up everyday to the reality that what the west’s corporate aristocracy really wants to implement, alongside their bought-and-paid-for political enablers, is nothing short of a truly deranged, utterly egomaniacal system of control. I mean, seriously, check this psychopath out:

Herein lies the globalists’ hatred of the family. Aside from the fact that such a vision of the future is one bereft of all loyalty except loyalty to the algorithm, these soulless fuckers know that, if ever the world was to learn of their plans, it would be parents who would resist them most vigorously. Throughout all of human history, whether facing down a mountain lion or marauding army, no other bond has so frequently elevated individuals beyond that which they thought they could be - parenthood imbuing even the most ordinary people with the capacity for the most extraordinary acts of defiance.

Be that as it may, in the experience of your humble narrator, things have rarely been quite so cinematic. You might even say that, aside from a surprising stomach for diaper changes, the most appreciable aspect of my newly acquired superpower has been nothing more noteworthy than fatherhood’s knack for neutralizing the black pill.

And God knows, there’s been a lot of those going around. It would of course, be easy to blame this general despondency on the conflict in Ukraine or America’s eye-watering inflation. It would be easier still to blame a president who has somehow managed to combine the economic illiteracy of Jimmy Carter and the dementia-addled mind of Woodrow Wilson, with the mafioso-style dealings of the Clintons. It most certainly seems redundant to mention the son whose taxpayer-funded degeneracy dwarfs even that of Bugatti-collecting African warlords, and still we would not have gotten into all the stuff CNN insists is a conspiracy theory.

Truth be told, I cannot say that my outlook on any of these issues has radically changed since becoming a father. It sure as shit hasn’t gotten any rosier. Yes, there’s been some tentative cause for optimism – the collapse of the Covid narrative and Biden’s plummeting poll numbers, news of Hunter’s laptop finally “confirmed” by the mainstream – and yet, all these are easily cast aside when you consider, despite this administration’s cavalcade of corrupt, incestuous incompetence, a third of Americans still live with their head diligently inserted in their asshole.

But maybe I digress. What I’m trying to convey, after all, is not that becoming a parent will miraculously transform Biden’s America into one which is capably governed anymore than it can a turn a sex slave-abusing crackhead into an internationally renowned artiste. What does ensure, however, is that the despair no longer overcomes you.

Worried about The Great Reset?

No one cares; kiss this ouchie better.

Enraged by the fact Epstein’s best clients are still running this shitshow?

So you should be, now sing pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake for three goddamned hours.

Oh, that hopelessness is still in there. Sometimes, after spotting an unvandalized Biden/Harris bumper sticker or listening to Fauci plug the latest bullshit variant, it takes just about everything you have to stop those black, devouring waters from again bubbling up. But you do stop them. What the hell else option do you have? Even amid the collapse of western civilization and most everyone’s abject obliviousness to it, still there remains booboos to attend to and garbage days to remember, bottles to heat up and sleep-deprived wives to console - tasks made all the more endurable when your little one wraps a hand around your finger and squeals just because you’re home.

And let me tell you, just as any parent in the video above would, that little squeeze is capable of turning you into a fucking juggernaut. In the wake of summer 2020, during which the MSM variously deified and downplayed the crimes of Black Lives Matter, these mothers and fathers, concerned with how their children were being educated, took to school boards first in protest of leftist gender ideology and CRT indoctrination, and later, against the growth-stunting mindlessness of mask mandates. Not that they expected the same fawning response. True, they probably didn’t foresee the DOJ labelling them domestic terrorists or being hit with the full force of the corporate propaganda machine, but even if they had, you can bet that every one of them would have pulled on some sensible shoes, made sure to leave the babysitter a tip, and marched off into battle anyway.

That much was clear from their speeches. Emerging during the darkest days of Covid tyranny, back when society appeared most lobotomized, it was footage of these meetings and the heartfelt testimonies of parents which ultimately convinced me, for the first time since this psychosis escaped Wuhan, that y’know what, maybe there was an argument for hope. I’m not ashamed to admit that a couple brought a lump to my throat. Some of these voices quivered with rage, others with rage and a clear aversion to public speaking. A few let their anger boil over while most remained measuredly indignant, all of them proof, when proof itself seemed unfathomable, that humanity wasn’t ready to roll over just yet.

Because what it really comes down to, whenever you set the pains of our time aside, is that this is how parenthood forces you to view yourself - as part of the human family. Without getting too Cats in the Cradle about it, there are times I am looking at my daughter and she is looking back at me, when it truly feels as though we occupy the center of eternity.

In a very real sense, we do.

Stretching off into her busy, infinitely curious little eyes is a future I will never see, while somewhere back within the recesses of mine - squinted googly for her amusement - is a past which extends every bit as far.

Needless to say, this revelation, like all good revelations, is one liable to make a person feel very small. Yet far from the adolescence nihilism and corrosive moral fecklessness which, for many millennials, still constitutes the high watermark of their philosophical thought, this newfound humility does not sap life of meaning. Instead, it renders even the most trivial act absolutely turgid with it.

Perhaps its just the oxytocin talking, but it very often strikes me, spent from another marathon peek-a-boo session, that it is only through the incalculable courage, brilliance, cooperation, compassion, and resolve of untold ancestors that I have been granted, not merely a glimpse of such transcendent beauty, but day after day after day of these tiny miracles. How could the gratitude not overwhelm you? Naturally, it is beyond any of us ever to thank those who made these sacrifices. What is not beyond us, however, is the willingness to make those same sacrifices for our descendants.

Please understand, those few indulgent readers still with me, that what I have sought to do throughout the course of this article, has not been to compare those of us who are parents and those of us who are not. It is perfectly possible – indeed, it is absolutely certain – that there exists many, many childless people who possess, in far greater measure than I ever will, the kind of attributes I have here tried to espouse, while so too are there are plenty of parents, having succumbed to the rot of progressivism, who are fundamentally undeserving of the title.

Neither have I tried to contrast the difference in the individual before and after having a child, however profound this change may be. Rather, what I have endeavored to articulate, in a way that will inevitably fall short, is the conviction implicit within parenthood that, no matter how bleak things may look, humanity is always worth the struggle. We have unequivocal proof, after all.

This proof will remain even when the grocery stores run bare and gas hits $15 a gallon. It will remain whether Ukraine is reduced to a nuclear hellscape or if Biden soils himself to the rapturous applause of congress. This proof, alongside the deepest yearnings of our blood, has been the force which has propelled our species forward throughout history - a force which could, if celebrated with the same vigor our enemies despise it, begin to claw civilization back to one we would wish to leave for our children.

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