My name is Muriel Sluyter. For many years I was a controversial columnist, in other words, a conservative columnist publishing in an exceedingly liberal paper. Over the years I had many battles with the editors until the time finally came when they decided they no longer wanted a conservative columnist in their paper. So my columnist days were over. My daughter, Candace Salima, wants me to start publishing my columns through this blog so that everyone across the world is able to enjoy them. So here is my first foray into Blogland.

I became very popular as a social commentary columnist. With the 2008 Presidential Campaign season heating up, I thought it'd be fun to post some of my older columns on America.


Where is America Today?

Greetings Gentle Reader,

In the Southwest, there is a velvety, bright, red and black bug commonly called a cow-killer. It is in pastures and mangers where cows eat, and it has been said for many years to be able to kill a cow with a sting on the nose. The books say it can't kill, but can cause great pain. This bug is about one-half inch long and moves very quickly, so fast that it is hard to pin down. It has a fascinating trait that gives kids lots of fun. If you hold one down with a tiny stick (don't hurt it), and keep it from doing what it wants to do, it squeals. Now, remember the comparative size of this bug to the cow and the pain (death?) it can inflict. The cow is huge and placid and likes to eat, swat flies, chew its cud and sleep. The bug is tiny, fast, mean and noisy, when discovered and restrained, and yet, small as it is, it can injure a huge cow.

Most humans are like cows; they spend their lives tending to the basic needs and enjoyments of life. Some, unfortunately, are more like little red and black bugs; they are mean and few in number, but they are destroyers who are hard to catch in the act and, if you succeed in pinning one down, he screams foul at the top of his lungs.

Now, don't misunderstand. I am not referring to the ornery little banty rooster who picks fights with the bigger boys in the school yard. Oh, he has his moments, but he's more a royal pain than a danger. I am talking about the mean little bug who must be in control, and only feels in control when he is taking away another's freedoms. When this type is caught in the act and is held him down so that he cannot do as he wants, he squeals and cries foul so convincingly that, without fail, he fools many people. He always ends up with a following, those who, to their shame, are convinced of his innocence. Human history is filled with examples of this nasty little species.

America has probably never had, in all of its history, so many cow-killers in its activist ranks, people whose expressed goal is to destroy. Somehow, an opportunity to gain political power brings them out of the woodwork.

If they can make their aims sound noble enough, if they can target their audience successfully enough, they can be elected to offices with great power. Once they are firmly entrenched in those positions, they bring in many others who were not elected and appoint them to positions of authority. In this way, they can change the entire thrust of government to one which emphasizes control of the citizens. That is where America is today.

These little human bugs are mean, fast and elusive and when they are cornered they scream, but we had better watch them more closely because, although they are few, they are quietly changing rules and regulations in order to peel away our freedoms, one layer at a time. We citizens don't even know what they are doing until someone stands up, becomes visible and tries to stop them, at which time the invective hurled at that poor citizen's head is enough to convince the electorate that he is a fool at best and, at worst, a conniving, self-serving villain.

These cow-killers, both elected and unelected, are quietly depriving us of our freedoms. We can only stop them if we take personal responsibility for keeping our rights intact and stop paying attention to the squealing of those who would destroy us.


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