• Daniel Ethan Finneran

What To The Woke Is The Fourth Of July?

July 2020


What to the Woke is the Fourth of July?


But another day, merely. Like that by which it was preceded, and that to which, with the setting of the sun, it too shall yield, the Fourth of July is just another twenty-four stretch of hours, a duration of time of which, in the sad history of this cruel and unjust land, each year absent a revolution has so intolerable an amount. For the impatient radical, indeed, the only kind of radical, whose uniquely restless character has no opposite type, such days can be interminable, such holidays a bore.


If the Fourth fails to arouse in the soul of the Woke the burning heat of his disdain, if it fails to bring to a boil the simmering bubbles of his agitation and vent, if, rather, it succeeds in evading the acuity of his tireless detection and his fervid pursuit, it might be neglected, it might be ignored, as though it were just any other day. It is meaningless, to this comrade of the Woke. He sees it not as a day to which any special import might be affixed, a day of which, as a ungrateful son or daughter of this land, he might, in some alternative world, be dutifully conscious. He sees it as nothing, or worse than nothing, if, upon its arrival, he sees it at all.


In some regard, detached from the founding mythology of which this particular day is symbolic, cast aside from the vital tradition or our birth of which it’s a reminder, I suppose it is but merely a day. As a day, that hour at whose arrival we declared our independence from the Empire of Britain and its Hanoverian king, that moment, as a nation, when we dared to free ourselves from that haughty reign under which, for centuries, we complacently toiled and suffered, is hardly distinguishable from the three-hundred and sixty-five others of which it’s a mean and contemptible copy, a calendar of a nation’s past and passing hours amongst which, with little left to redeem its fleeting significance, it quietly sits and rests. It is, I might say, a nihilistic approach to time, an unstructured blot of an ever-present now around which there’s little meaning.


Yet, unlike those above, many in the camp of the Woke won’t fail to perceive this day, and the invidious feelings of which, through the duration of these many years, it’s still sharply provocative. It’s a day over whose remembrance artificial blood is still drawn, about which bruises are still felt, a day forever puncturing the gossamer hide of the progressive spirit. Most of this camp’s devout and preening members, a group by whose political sapience and braying verve we gentle-spoken, simple-hearted people can’t help but be somewhat scandalized, agree that the Fourth of July is to be condemned. It is to be anathematized and rejected in the swell of the religious fervor of the woke-man’s wrath.


Doubtless, as every Woke congregant in this newfangled diocese of decorum will agree, the Fourth is not a day about whose summer advent we normal, slightly-conservative or moderately-liberal Americans ought to be even remotely jubilant. We must suppress our glee, stifle our cheer, incogitant and selfish souls that we are. We are apostates, having failed to baptize ourselves in the suffocating knowledge of the Woke. Not of droplets, this is s a baptism of complete immersion. Outside the walls of this socialist, secular church, unaware of the liturgical calendar by which the left counts its days, we don’t know that this is not a day to which, with the singing of our anthems, the visiting of our veterans, and the waving of our victory-laden, star-spangled flags, our frenzied veneration ought not to be extended. In fact, much diminished should be its esteem, and much greater the degradation to which we should all contribute a bludgeoning hand.


In the raging mind of the Woke, assuming—with the guiding hand of evolution’s soft touch—the intricacy of such neuronal circuitry actually exists (a notion of which, after viewing its arrant hypocrisy and listening to the vacuity of its public decrees, nothing less than a thorough MRI scan of the brain would be fully confirmative), the Fourth of July is not a day to which that exalted prefix of “holy” ought to be attached. So far as the leftist legions of the Woke are concerned, and concerned they most vociferously are, the Fourth of July should be stripped of that mighty epithet, that venerable title, to which, in their opinion, it has no further claim. There is, in their exasperated yet, so far as I can tell, feverishly misguided opinion, nothing at all “holy” about the Fourth of July. (Indeed, in the opinion of this Marxist and, by extension, anti-religious group, there’s very little in this world or, for that matter, that by which this one might be followed, that could be deemed “holy” at all. Perhaps, then, it’s no grave affront to strip the Fourth of this lofty designation?)


It is, in their opinion, a day to be desanctified and brought low, shorn of the numinous merit before which, for far too long, we ignorant and racist Americans have humbled ourselves and bowed. It is undeserving of our annual observation and the cheerful respect with which, come the first week of July, we’ve always happily received it. It is a day, like a sin, of which we should be purged.


To the Woke, its abolition—like that of the police forces for which, in the wake of the killing of George Floyd and others, they have nothing but reproach—would be a preferable treatment of this once holy, now evil day. It should be repudiated, re-written, if not forgotten wholesale. Infrequently, it might find its way into classroom instruction. Having long ago secured its grip on public education and the curricula to which its submissive, this is an inconvenience for which it’ll be fully prepared. When done so, it should be taught only in relation to America’s moral captivity to its systems of racial bias, genocide, and ethnic abuse. It’ll be used as further proof of America’s horrid cupidity, a desire for wealth atop which its Founders’ specious cries for independence and “self-evident” truths were conveniently draped. It should be considered with opprobrium, never approbation, and the students will be immunized to any distasteful version of the truth.


If the Woke gets its way, and, based on the list of its recent achievements, it should have no expectation that it would not, the Fourth of July must announce itself with the help of an asterisk, as if to question its very own legitimacy, of which, as previously stated, it clearly has none. It mustn’t attempt, on its own, to escape from the context in which, if one’s properly to become “educated” in the Democratic way, it must be placed. It should be found in the margins, never in the body of the text. That precious and copious space in which our national origin story is to be re-written, that tabula rasa of revolutionary ideals, is reserved for the scribblings of our specious new “1619” project. That, as opposed to fact, is the new, genuine “history” of the bien pensant. It’s the world according to the Woke with which, if we’re to preserve our social standing, we mustn’t dispute. The Founding as we know it, and the Fourth of which that totality of events is emblematic, should be abandoned in favor of a richer narrative with which the Woke’s half-baked historical fantasies better concur.


And so, I ask again: What to the Woke is the Fourth of July? A day, merely, though certainly not one to which the epithet of “holy” ought to be affixed. The day is rather demonic than democratic, evil than deserving of exaltation. It is abhorrent, not American, and we ought not to bother ourselves with its annual Julian celebration. We ought to think, instead, about our “original sin”, of whose originality we were but the most recent inheritors. Listen, and this mob of moral outrage and superficial virtue will tell you so. Listen, and it’ll shake the stolid resilience of your once indomitable national pride. Listen, and hear the fireworks of Independence Day dissipate in the wind.

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