Phyllis Chessler: “The Jihadist is Always the Victim”

Having escaped herself from a Muslim marriage in Afghanistan, Ms. Chessler has the up-close personal experience to speak about these random Sudden Jihad Moments.

She says of her immediate reaction to learning about the Fort Hood massacre:

The moment I first heard about the mass murders at Fort Hood I knew in my bones that the shooter or shooters were Muslims.

Call me “Islamophobic,” call me “psychic,” call me what you will.

It now seems that there was only a single shooter: Major Malik Nidal Hasan, (or Nidal Malik Hasan), an American-born Muslim man of Palestinian/Jordanian descent, an American citizen who is an Army-trained physician-a psychiatrist to be exact, one who specializes in Disaster and Preventive Psychiatry. He is also a religious Muslim.

Ms. Chessler doesn’t do Leftist speak, an omission which makes the Leftists angry. She wrote this yesterday but was supposed to wait until her betters told her what to think. Instead, she said:

Jihadic literature raves about Muslims being attacked (not by other Muslims which is often the case) but by Jews, Americans, Zionists, Crusaders, infidels. Terrorist leaders talk about Muslim Holy lands being “occupied” by the invader. They therefore fly two planes into the World Trade Center and another into the Pentagon because Muslims are fed up with taking all that abuse lying down. (And that’s before America invaded Afghanistan and Iraq).

The attackers are really self-defenders. The jihadist is always the victim.

It seems to be the case that this psychiatrist was of Palestinian background. His brother still lives there. So he has an engraved, embossed Grievance License which gives him permission to hate unto death any infidel who dares to breathe the same air he does. When he gave all his possessions away prior to his Jihad Moment, I'll bet he kept his professional Grievance card.

And he’s not the only one. Ms. Chessler has more examples:

Ask any of the Muslim fathers who have honor murdered their daughters in America in cold blood. They’ll tell you the same thing. She attacked my honor. I had to defend myself. It was an act of pure self-defense. This is precisely what Zein Isa, another Palestinian, and a member of the Abu Nidal terrorist gang, said about killing his 16 year old daughter, Palestina (“Tina”) Isa in 1989 in St Louis, Missouri.

Male Muslim jihadic rage? That is equivalent to 4000 pounds-the weight of the car that Faleh AlMaleki drove over his daughter Noor who died of her profound injuries in Arizona. Ironically, AlMaleki has just been placed on a suicide watch in Arizona-and his compatriot in crime, Muzammil Hassan in Buffalo, is trying to plead temporary insanity (“extreme emotional disturbance”) to explain why he finally beheaded his wife Aasiya, whom he had continually battered.

So: The 4000 pound father in Arizona is really the victim, as is the Buffalo beheader.

Sudden Jihad Syndrome, Personal Jihad Syndrome, call it what you will-these terrible acts should not be psychiatrically diagnosed and excused. At the risk of being called a racist, allow me to suggest that we must connect the dots before it is too late. Islam now=jihad=hate propaganda=9/11=the tragedy at Ft. Hood.

And all the other mass killings that are to come, that will continue to arrive in our midst, under the aegis of Sudden Jihad. Sudden Jihad to be denied by the elites who would demand we lie to ourselves about the reality of what we are forced to witness.

Damn CAIR and those governmental suck-ups. Not all the propaganda in the world will convince us that you mean our country well. You are here to conquer. We know you. Your stripes are so evident after all these years of lies and dodges. We see your claws; your sharp teeth shine when you smile. We are not fooled anymore.
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Human beings are aggressive by nature. Male humans even more so. It has to do with the way we’re wired. Blame Darwin. Blame God.

In a healthy culture that aggression is channeled into competitive pursuits, at least it has been until the Leftists started ruling out normal competition as “unfair”.

Thus it is unfair to label some cultures as less adaptive and healthy than others. It is unfair to allow people to compete and to open businesses that succeed and to work hard to make room for others to work with them.

No, that’s not fairness. Fair is when everyone gets the same rewards whether they work or not. Fair is when I can sit in the corner and point my gun or my government at you and demand my share of what you have accumulated by your own initiative.

There is no room in the tribal culture of Islam to make your own way. Every year, every decade, every century, that shame-driven, threadbare culture gets left further and further behind. What have they created? Where are their inventions? Who has realistically demonstrated their genius?

They come empty-handed to show-and-tell? It must be the infidels’ fault. It must be the women who are to blame.

So when all the kuffar are dead and all the women have been stoned or run over, they’ll have to take to killing one another because responsibility never lies within the self. In Islam there is no ‘self’ but there is always Other, the Evil Other.

If we continue to allow this suicidal culture to proliferate among us, the greenie anarchists will know success. They’ll be dead, of course, so it will be a posthumous, Pyrrhic victory but their goal will have been realized: a world finally free of human beings.

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In today’s mail, my “Daily Poem” arrived (in reality, these things don’t come everyday. It’s kind of random, as poets tend to be anyway). Today’s choice was from Wilfred Owen, the World War I poet who died in battle shortly before the Armistice. It seems especially poignant when you discover that two of the dead at Fort Hood are a woman who was shot in the back and her unborn baby:

Anthem for Doomed Youth

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries for them; no prayers nor bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,

The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.