printLAST WEEK’S COLUMN was a reality check on American “freedoms,” in the context of Julian Assange’s travails.
It appeared on WND, Townhall.com, Unz Review, and the column’s new home: The New American. It is now available on IlanaMercer.com.
I thank all my editors for being such a pleasure to work with–especially my new, young, conservative friends, Rebecca, Rob and John. If only you lived closer to this state, WA—an exquisite place (what a joy it is to run outdoors in its lush beauty), but chock-full of the coldest, most alienating people (BC, before Covid). No amount of one-sided friendly love and good-will wins these Yankees over (as though by osmosis, the immigrants, too, assume the Yankee mien and “manners”). “Friends” here are what I’ll term calendar friends. They’ll text you once a year, and if lucky; pencil you in. After the agonies of 2020/21, such shallowness is not for me.
Thoughts about the heroic Julian Assange led to a stream-of-consciousness titled “On Being a Man.” Before the pronoun deconstruction, which all principled writers will blithely ignore, “man” also meant mankind. In other words, “On Being A Man” simply means on being a mensch, and applies equally to men and women and all entities between. To the “On Being A Man” thoughts I will add this: Brave men can FIGHT. But a man who picks fights—and feuds—with real friends is never brave. To the contrary.
It’s uncharacteristic to my writing, but as I age and as the anguish around me increases–I’ll endeavor to share with greater regularity personal insights gleaned, in case I can be of help to my readers—the young, especially. They inhabit an atomized, lonely world, where interpersonal pain is compounded by digital escapism (instead of real communication) and the evil strictures of the COVID cartel (especially pronounced in WA).
Other posts that might be of interest:
- “Ghislaine Maxwell: Not Evidence-Based Law, But MeToo, Sexual Moral Panic”
- “I Met Archbishop Desmond Tutu Twice: Con Inc. Should Just Hush Their Mouths About Him“
I’m so happy to be hosting Fred Reed’s column, “the Hunter Thompson of the right,” on my Barely A Blog. The man is an icon, or should be. In today’s America, alas, Mencken would be marginalized. https://barelyablog.com/category/fred-reed/ Fred and I certainly are.
It is no coincidence that it took a wonderful Irishman to invite me, after 22 years of prodigious writing, to “show-up” in person for in-depth chats. It’s never been my inclination, but it was important to push through the pathological shyness. As Clyde Wilson, another wonderful man, has observed, unless you fit a certain mold, America has no place for you. Shrug.
So, please support David Vance and me, two independents, by Subscribing.
https://rumble.com/c/HardTruthPodcast An independent is someone who does not live in a think tank or a political party; doesn’t appear on Fox News, or work for Prager U, or have the material wherewithal to hold a conference. Nevertheless, our last chat is pushing 10k views. We plan on hosting guests.
With all my heart I wish you a healing 2022,
ilana
It is worth reflecting further on the agonizing death of epistolary friendships. I despair of the millennials, and even more deeply of the so-called ‘Zoomers,’ many of whom may have never so much as picked up a pencil in their lives. Reared on the unrelieved pace of electronic communications and surrounded by ubiquitous screens, it should be no surprise that young are conditioned to treat relationships as just another ‘cool’ perk of digital media—disposable in like measure as they are easy to accumulate in the first place. They’re a feature of the algorithm; indeed, it may be better to say that humans themselves assume algorithmic status. It’s why, after being talked into it twice, I abandoned Facebook in disgust both times, now never to look back.
Anyway, those true friendships, in the full Aristotelean definition, are borne out not only by time, but by the care and discrimination required in their maintenance. Such are just several of the habits unknown to the youngest generation, never having enjoyed the mature fruits of any labor.
Let us hope the Fates are at least milder in this coming year. I look ever forward to your fresh insights.
Beautifully and profoundly put. Thank you.