“Weird heroes and mould-breaking champions exist as living proof to those who need it that the tyranny of ‘the rat race’ is not yet final.” – Hunter S. Thompson
My wife’s eyes were caught in a strange dimension, torn between pointed lids of womanly amusement at the follies of men while simultaneously wide open in a look of unmitigated fear.
“Beautiful, innit? An improvement on the original, if there ever was one.” My hands traced the lines of the cold steel, the design the metal had been forged into holding totemic powers of a bygone age. If I pressed my ear to it I could almost hear-
“Are you really going to carry that around? Like, in public?”
“Well no, that’d be highly illegal. Not that I care but I just don’t want to be pinched by the pigs. But the important thing is that I could. You never know when you’ll need something like this, Boo, and if you don’t have one when that time comes you likely to wind up in a wooden overcoat. I mean just look at this thing.” I pushed the weapon into her hands. “This thing was designed to kill people. Not to hunt, not any of that crap, but literally designed from the ground up to be brutally effective at taking human life. This is a military grade assault weapon in the truest sense of the word.”
I took the knife from her hands and held it in the light.
“A Trench Knife, based on the 1918 model but actually improved. The blade is a full one rather then a mere sharpened screwdriver though it’s legal length instead of the ole’ 7 inches; it’s also foldable for easy concealment. The WW1 design is still intact though: pointed brass knuckles as the handle for extra grip and added effectiveness as well as a pointed pommel at the butt of the hilt affectionately referred to as a ‘skull splitter.’ This style of weapon saw action up and down the western front, homemade for most of the war by commandos who would cross into enemy trenches and fight the enemy hand to hand until governments caught on about how deadly these things really were.”
My wife seemed not to understand the sublime nature of the weapon’s history, nor it’s effectiveness. I continued, only increasing my fervor.
“Think about it! A war of proportions never seen before, stretching across nearly every continent, and for the first time even in the air, yet surrounded by combat familiar to the middle ages! Humans with melee weapons, grasping in the darkness, dexterity and force all that kept them from crossing across the veil. Battles won or lost not by divisions but by squads, victories measured in feet not miles! The gladiatorial arena, a prison knife fight, and gangland turf war all wrapped up into one, goaded on by the capitalist powers and extended over 440 fucking miles!”
The trench knife is quite poignant today. I’m beginning to notice that world of atavistic and primordial combat didn’t quite die in 1918.
As Americans become more sectarian and increasingly disillusioned with the political puppet show they’ve had pushed on them for decades people are beginning to take to the streets to achieve what the politicians cannot, and often violently so.
Most recently was the Battle of Sacramento, a planned mass rally for the Traditionalist Workers’ Party, the Golden State Skinheads, the KKK, various white supremacist gangs, and Neo-Nazi scum on the steps of the state capital. Matthew Heimbach, resident shithead-in-charge deduced “If the TWP can march in Sacramento, then they can hold a rally anywhere, since it is one of the most liberal parts of the United States.” The goal was a symbolic one: to prove that the New Right had enough strength to do what it wanted anywhere in the country, even in the depths of Bernie-Town USA. They had expected a small showing of Democrats who might have prayed in their general area and begged them to “have a dialogue.”
What they didn’t plan on was Anarchists, Communists, and radicals of all stripes refusing to allow this to happen. A massive call went out and it was answered just as massively.
On the morning of June 26th, under a warm California sun, the clouds themselves probably wearing a “coexist” necklace, the fascist mass assembled. Only it wasn’t a mass. The Über-rally of the “master race” was a drop of spittle, a shuffling 20 people struggling to ignore the fact that the planned march had failed worse then Hitler’s invasion of the Soviet Union. It was about that time that the AntiFa, the collection of revolutionary street warriors, came for their counter-demonstration.
Four hundred strong, beautifully varied in race, sex, and gender, yet unified in class.
And not about to take any bullshit.
What followed was a scene out of Gangs of New York.
The Nazis ended up stabbing nine people and forces on the ground have reported to me that police let the fascists leave not only with their weapons but without any arrests. The idea that the State couldn’t give a shit about radicals was confirmed, but so too was their ability to keep fascist scum out of their neighborhoods. All the more reason for such actions to continue.
Sacramento was not a one off incident. While the forces of the right have been slowly arming themselves and infiltrating institutions(even paganism) since Clinton, Anarchists and other “subversives” have been stuck toting the Democrat line: mostly peaceful, 1960’s style protest but without the acid and without the true belief that merely shouting in an open space will change anything. When not holding signs and furthering some invisible, spook-riddled, non-existent argument, they’ve been pandered to by the slightly less disgusting capitalists who assure them change is right around the corner as long as they vote the right way.
God help you if you offered anything more militant. Afterall, this stuff had a proven record, or at least that’s what we were told. “Simmer down little Anarchist,” they’d counsel from lobster-red eyes, “no need for violence, man. They can’t ignore the will of the people.”
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