Jim Jones was a socialist cult leader in the 70’s. Harkening back to Karl Marx, he preached that “those who remain drugged with the opiate of religion have to be brought to enlightenment – socialism.”
He hobnobbed with politicians like Walter Mondale, Rosalyn Carter and Jerry Brown. To pursue socialism, he set up a commune in the jungle of a South American banana republic. He was in charge, naturally, and named it “Jonestown.” Assisted by endorsements from his politician friends, he persuaded some 900 American followers to emigrate to there.
He imported not just his followers to Jonestown, but also drugs. He replaced the opiate of religion with the opiate of socialism and the opiate of opiate. One of those drugs was cyanide.
The residents got high and watched Soviet propaganda films about America. Jones ranted over loudspeakers day and night about imperialism and capitalism. Much of the money for Jones’ anti-Americanism came from American taxpayers. The residents signed their welfare and Social Security checks over to him.
They obsessed over plans for mass suicide. When their utopia came crumbling down for the usual reasons, they put their plans to work. Over 900 people including 300 children drank cyanide-laced Kool-Aid and died agonizing deaths, some at gunpoint. Jones shot himself in the head.
Fast forward 42 years.
The opiate of the masses is still socialism, along with pot and, of course, opiates. When they’re not physiologically high, they’re emotionally high on promises of “equity” and “social justice,” self-medicating themselves into a delirium that sounds good in theory (once you swallow the big bitter pill that people deserve something different than what they earn) but never works in practice.
For the first time, in America anyway, the pushers of this druggy dream almost won this year. They almost nominated an avowed socialist for president. This guy admired the Castro regime and honeymooned in the Soviet Union. Like Jim Jones, he ranted about American capitalism and imperialism.
He didn’t win the nomination, but by his own account he pushed the Democrats far leftward toward socialism. If you’ll just lean far over that cliff to your left, he suggested, you can see the socialist utopia. Lean just a little farther. Don’t worry about falling, Big Government has your hand.
Like Jones, he promised to live communally – alone with his wife in his multiple houses – for economic, social and racial equality, with himself in charge. This time it would work. (I stand corrected. He never uses that word “work.”)
Who could oppose that? The Orange Man, that’s who. What a throwback. This swashbuckling Orange Man is more Groucho Marx than Karl. He has to go.
They almost had him so many times, with frivolous recounts, rogue Electoral College voters, Ukrainian witch hunts, pussy hats, Mitt Romney, fake pee-pee dossiers bought with laundered money from Hillary’s campaign, depictions of his beheading, imaginary Russian collusion and permanent impeachment investigations.
But he Houdini’d them every time.
Now the Orange Man looks to spoil the socialists’ utopian plans by getting re-elected. By those deplorable, gap-toothed, gun-toting, Chardonnay-disdaining, beer-guzzling, pickup-driving, empties-tossing, red-necking, tobacco-chewing rodents in that useless, miserable, unwashed, flyover wasteland between San Fran and New York that they call Middle America.
Now facing failure, the utopians want to do what failed utopians always want to do: Drink the cyanide-laced Kool-Aid. And as in Jonestown, force everyone else to drink it too.
Coincidentally, there’s an ample supply. Sort of.
It’s the Coronavirus. At first, it looked like the virus itself could be the cyanide. Media projections of a few million deaths looked promising. But America proved too strong. The projected deaths were slashed to a quarter million, then trimmed to a hundred thousand and then trimmed yet again.
Now, it looks to be about the same as a bad flu season, except that the typical patient is an obese 83-year-old man with underlying medical problems. Feverish utopians prayed for pestilence, hail, locusts and darkness on America. What America got instead was a bad case of the hiccups.
There’s one last hope. Call it suicide by shutdown.
Close the country, they say. Not the border, which of course they’ll leave open, but the economy. Drive unemployment to 30%. Imprison people in their houses and take their jobs away.
The closers want to do to groceries what was done to toilet paper. (On the plus side, if we have no groceries then at least we won’t need toilet paper.)
The reality, of course, is that people could go back to work. We could redouble our efforts to protect the few people who are especially vulnerable to the virus (and we should) while allowing the rest of the nation to work, play and live again.
But that wouldn’t be much of an apocalypse, would it? To get apocalyptic, they need to get apoplectic. It helps if they control the media, and they do. For a Jonestown apocalypse now, they need to terrify people. Censor people. Bully people. Arrest people. So they do. Besides, they enjoy doing those things anyway.
I doubt their murder/suicide pact will succeed, at least not without a fight. Do they expect to arrest 300 million of us?
On the other hand, who would have thought that Jim Jones could bully and drug 900 failed utopians into drinking cyanide?
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