Image Abrahams Sacrifice – Rembrandt
I came across this piece on the War in Ukraine by Jan Bennink yesterday, and it came home hard. Many thanks to Jan for agreeing to let us post it. I hope there is more to come from him, in any event you can find him at his own place of residence on the web so that you can follow him directly.
Tony Broomfield Snr Ed.
You can’t look away from the death of half a million boys
and expect to escape the dance yourself.
война на небесах есть – there is war in heaven
но битва ведется здесь! – but the battle is being fought here!
Поле боя? Земля. – Battlefield? Earth.
Ставка? наши души. – The Bid? Our souls.
What have we been concerned about lately in the Netherlands?
The suffering of snails with broken houses, blue tits that threaten to collapse their legs, worms in respiratory distress.
There was mourning in our House of Representatives for every arthropod, every invertebrate in our tear-soaked blubber polder. Woe to the wheezing, crawling and slime-trailing “victims” of a climate disaster conjured up by cynical power magicians.
In the meantime, hundreds of thousands of boys are being put through the meat grinders in Eastern Ukraine.
The very first Dutch tear has yet to be shed for them.
While our representatives worry about “nitrogen”, we literally let countless boys suffocate. In fact, we press the blood-soaked pillows a little harder over their mouths and noses.
While they are being pulled off the streets in Ukrainian provincial towns by burly executioners and dragged into unmarked vans to be kicked to the front like cannon fodder, with virtually no training or equipment, our Western leaders, grinning and wringing their hands, fatten the corrupt butchers and directors of the slaughterhouse awaiting their deals and their kick-backs.
The macabre count, as I look through my moist eyelashes, now stands at about 500,000 dead boys, just on the Ukrainian side.
Half a million dead or badly mutilated men, fathers. sons and brothers. About 40,000 Russian boys will be added. Boys who should have been their brothers, family and friends.
Boys who were affectionately called Volodja, Dima or Mischa by their mothers on both sides of the front.
More than half a million dead boys and men. Screaming for their mother in a muddy shithole, looking for their leg that was just there a moment ago.
500,000 boys slowly bleeding to death, with a view of an exploded Challenger II or Leopard Wunderwaffe, which, despite all the nice brochures, could not perform miracles for them.
Can you actually imagine it?
Can you imagine what we, yes we, actually finance? What do we participate in? What we give up all our weapons, Man Pads, Patriot missiles and patched up F16 fighter jets, those 42 coffins, for?
What hellfire do we stoke again and again with our tax money?
Perhaps it will become a bit clearer if I tell you that there are 800,000 young men between the ages of 18 and 25 living in the Netherlands.
Now imagine that almost three-quarters of them, today, would drop dead or have to continue living without legs, balls or arms.
I have one such boy and cry at the very idea of it.
The Russian reality poet Joe Steel put it so eloquently.
Смерть одного человека — трагедия, смерть миллионов — статистика.
THE DEATH OF ONE PERSON IS A TRAGEDY, THE DEATH OF MILLIONS IS A STATISTIC
500,000 Ukrainian boys and men, died for bankers, oligarchs, BlackRock, State Street, the Biden cabal and scum like Blinkin; the piece of shit who last week trampled the memory of these boys under his patent leather shoes, by mesmerizing that ‘things are going so damn well at the front’ from a brand new mega-cemetery in Berkovetske, of all places.
500,000 “boys” who are increasingly grandchildren and grandfathers or disabled people with epilepsy or a hunchback.
More and more often “boys” who are actually women, elderly people or children.
The Ukrainian men will soon be all used up.
So “used up” that the last of them are now being tracked down and pursued as far as Western Europe and threatened with prosecution if they do not immediately report for certain death at the front.
Those Ukrainian boys in the Netherlands……do they realize exactly where they fled to?
A country that will collectively get a stiff neck from looking away,while they too are taken away in blacked-out buses? Like Anne Frank 80 years ago?
500,000 dead boys. Already. They are certainly heroes, dead souls in the tradition of Gogol.
They gave their limbs and their lives. But for what?
Aren’t they the heroes of our press release?
Isn’t it so sick and so horribly cynical?
Aren’t they the heroes of appearances, of our good feelings? Our propaganda dream?
The heroes who, with their blood and guts, ensure that the Western media, despite all odds, can continue to write headlines about the success of what is in reality a disastrous war?
Heroes who ensure that NRC can continue to write that with the “capture” of Rabotyno – a hamlet with one stone building and a stray lame street dog as its last resident – a heavy blow has been dealt to the Russian army. And that the Sea of Azov is now getting very close?
Rabotyno. Yet another Kessel, yet another whirlpool of bones and skulls about 2668 kilometers from The Hague. A speck in Zaporizhia Oblast. where, in order to achieve the glorious victory, 90% of Ukraine’s elite troops will lose their lives, as the Telegraaf reported as if talking about bluebottle flies.
Elite troops that the Netherlands collectively shrugs at, heroes who, through their sacrifice, ensure that Radio 1 can write that “Ukraine is on the rise” and “that the Russians are trying to hold on to what they have.”
They do not mention this “advance”, this minuscule, temporary, and irrelevant for the further course of the war, or in the last paragraph, within spitting distance of the triumphant NPO propaganda headline.
Let me put it bluntly. I think everyone who participates in this horror fairytale has liters of blood on their manicured hands.
They are guilty of raising hell. Sprinkling kilos of sand in the dazed Western eyes, so that the meatgrinder can continue grinding until the very last Ukrainian boy is pulverized.
And does it end there?
Would the beast be satisfied if the last Ukrainian hero or heroine breathed his last?
Don’t we realize that we are in that same vortex and are slowly, almost unnoticed, drifting towards the black hole, in increasingly smaller circles?
Would the olive-green Moloch be satisfied once the entire population of Ukraine has been sacrificed? Or would it have just made him extra hungry?
Hungry for more.
Hungry for Sterre and Albert Jan?
Hunger for our own sons and daughters “who should also be fighting for our freedom in Ukraine, which has already made so many sacrifices for us.”
A devilish mantra that is sure to come.
Are we going to pay the price for our cowardice and our indifference with the blood of our own darlings?
“Why should Ukrainian heroes die for our freedom? And would we refuse that?”
The sick thing is that I don’t know the answer to that question, in this morbid post-realistic make-believe reality in which everything is twisted and distorted.
Who is to say that we are not already sliding slowly but unstoppably down the slippery slide in the playground of death that is called “This is also our war”?
It is high time that we realize what is really happening in the gigantic Eastern Ukrainian biomass power plant, before we ourselves are grabbed by the head and thrown into the same purgatory.
High time for a new, very vocal peace movement. But for the time being, apart from Thierry Baudet, Joost Niemoller and a few other voices in the desert, it remains eerily quiet.
It was horrible to write this piece. But it had to be done.
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