Pike

Yankee Doodle came to terms,
Reading Martin Buber.
Stuck a Fuehrer in our back,
And called it Shicklegruber!
-- "Yankee Doodle Came To Terms" by the "All Fecal People's Chorus" from The Firesign Theatre Presents How Can You Be In Two Places At Once When You're Not Anywhere At All ? - The Firesign Theatre, July 1969.


"Lily-livered men"

Funny how when I get criticised by the "prags" this little ditty comes into my head. The latest prag pulse comes from the appropriately self-named Linoge (see post below). You may find it here.

Linoge's opinion of me is unimportant. The prags call us Three Percenters names because of what we represent -- we are Americans who have finally, after a "long train of abuses and usurpations," laid down a marker. Beyond this marker, we will not go. Prags, on the other hand, keep their markers firmly in their coin purses, and their purses firmly in their pockets, lest their ability to back up -- or to turn and run -- be compromised.

Mary Collins Powell (Michael Collins' sister) quotes a ballad of the time, 'which, no doubt, left a lasting impression on Michael's young mind':

Great faith I have in moral force
Great trust in thought and pen
I know the value of discourse
To sway the minds of men
But why should words my frenzy wet
Unless we are to strike
Our despot lords who fear no threat
But reverence the pike.

Oh, do be wise, leave moral force
The strength of thought and pen
And all value the discourse
To lily-livered men
But if you covet not to die
Of hunger in a dyke
If life we prize is liberty
A Pike -- A Pike -- A Pike.

In its own unsophisticated way that ballad . . . summed up the . . . arguments and policy he advocated throughout his short, turbulent life. The condition of Ireland could only be improved by the use of force." -- Michael Collins, Tim Pat Coogin, p. 13

The ballad, about the Irish Rising of 1798, illustrates the sad fact of Irish history -- the great success that the British had for centuries in denying Irishmen modern weapons. When the Fenians finally rose against their oppressors, they used pikes because they had been denied muskets by both the British and their poverty. Yet, so great was their desire for freedom that they determined to risk their lives carrying ancient weapons and using obsolete tactics, rather than submit. This is captured in another far more well-known Irish freedom song, The Rising of the Moon, penned originally by the Fenian poet, John Keegan Casey and sung with slight changes by Irish volunteers of every generation since.

"Put your pike upon your shoulder by the risin' o' the moon"

O then, tell me Sean O'Farrell, tell me why you hurry so?
Why your eyes are all aglisten, and your cheeks are all aglow?
"I bear orders from the captain:- get you ready quick and soon
For the pikes must be together at the rising of the moon"
By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon,
For the pikes must be together at the rising of the moon

"O then tell me Sean O'Farrell where the gath'rin is to be?"
"In the old spot by the river, right well known to you and me.
One more word for signal token:- whistle up a marchin' tune,
Put your pike upon your shoulder, by the rising of the moon."
By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
With your pike upon your shoulder, by the rising of the moon.

Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes were watching through the night,
Many a manly heart was beatin, for the coming morning light.
Murmurs ran along the valleys to the banshee's lonely croon
And a thousand pikes were flashing at the rising of the moon.
At the rising of the moon, at the rising of the moon.
And a thousand pikes were flashing at the rising of the moon.
At the rising of the moon, at the rising of the moon,
And a thousand pikes were flashing at the rising of the moon,

All along that singing river a dark mass of men were seen,
And among their shining weapons was their own beloved dream:
That to every poe and tinker who would strike a marchin' tune,
Let an army vie for freedom by the rising of the moon.
By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
Let an army vie for freedom by the rising of the moon.

Well they fought for poor old Ireland, and full bitter was their fate,
Oh what glorious pride and sorrow, fills the name of ninety-eight!
Yet, thank God, e'en still are beating hearts in manhood burning noon,
Who would follow in their footsteps, at the risin' of the moon.
At the rising of the moon, At the rising of the moon,
We will follow in their footsteps, at the risin' of the moon.

This is not a song that speaks to a prag's heart. It's sentiments are alien to his experience. For it is a song about putting down markers and living with the consequences of your beliefs. It is a song about daring, and losing. Yet it ends with the promise of a future generation's success. What the prags fail to see is that we are all Irishmen. We are all European Jews. We are all Cambodian peasants. We are all kulaks. We are all "enemies of the people." We are all potential victims whose lives, liberties and property are merely menu items on some tyrant's plate.

They are attempting to whistle past the graveyard of history without being noticed by the demons (the Legion, the Linoge) within. Good luck with that.

"Our despot lords who fear no threat, but reverence the pike."

The question they refuse to answer, the question that they fear, is "What will you do when the regime moves the line of the law behind where you now stand?" Back up? Or resist.

They may call us whatever names they like, they may seek to create straw men out of context to knock over in arguments in which they risk nothing, but they run in panic, screaming and waving their arms from answering the central question. What will you do when politics fails? As Billy Beck has observed:
You should begin to understand all this less as abstract metaphor, and take it all at face value. You are living in a gang war, now, thinly mediated only by political institutions which are less and less able every day to manage it.

All we Three Percenters have been trying to do is to warn the collectivists, the Fudds and the Prags of the unintended consequences of their own actions and/or inactions. We do this in an attempt to prevent conflict, not start one. It is the rattling of "Don't tread on me." It is, though they refuse to admit it, quintessentially AMERICAN. They are the "lily-livered men" who continue to try to use "the strength of thought and pen" on "despot lords who fear no threat, but reverence the pike."

Well, good luck with that. But whatever the prags do, we will still be here. Unyielding. Uncompromising. Not backing up. Making ourselves ready for whatever comes. We are the Three Percent. We will resist further encroachments on our liberties and our property. We will fight with pikes if necessary, but we WILL fight. And anyone who ignores that fact does so at their own peril.