[Marxism] Sinn Fein Close The Circle

gary.maclennan at gmail.com gary.maclennan at gmail.com
Tue Jun 17 16:45:22 MDT 2008


> Is this what hundreds of men and women volunteers sacrificed their lives
>  and
> liberty for in a struggle for national liberation lasting 30 years? Bobby
> Sands and the other hunger strikers must be turning in their graves
>  tonight.
> Gary it is strange that the most trenchant cricisms of such behaviour often
> come from the Right as in

>  Was it for this the wild geese spread
>      The grey wing upon every tide;
>      For this that all that blood was shed,
>      For this Edward Fitzgerald died,
>      And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone,
>      All that delirium of the brave;
>      Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
>      It's with O'Leary in the grave.
> and/or

> He had only one criticism, he said, to make of Mr. Pilkington's excellent
> and neighbourly speech. Mr. Pilkington had referred throughout to 'Animal
> Farm.' He could not of course know — for he, Napoleon, was only now for the
> first time announcing it — that the name 'Animal Farm' had been abolished.
> Henceforward the farm was to be known as 'The Manor Farm' — which, he
> believed, was its correct and original name.
> 'Gentlemen,' concluded Napoleon, 'I will give you the same toast as before,
> but in a different form. Fill your glasses to the brim. Gentlemen, here is
> my toast: To the prosperity of The Manor Farm! '
> There was the same hearty cheering as before, and the mugs were emptied to
> the dregs. But as the animals outside gazed at the scene, it seemed to them
> that some strange thing was happening. What was it that had altered in the
> faces of the pigs? Clover's old dim eyes flitted from one face to another.
> Some of them had five chins, some had four, some had three. But what was it
> that seemed to be melting and changing? Then, the applause having come to an
> end, the company took up their cards and continued the game that had been
> interrupted, and the animals crept silently away.
> But they had not gone twenty yards when they stopped short. An uproar of
> voices was coming from the farmhouse. They rushed back and looked through
> the window again. Yes, a violent quarrel was in progress. There were
> shoutings, bangings on the table, sharp suspicious glances, furious denials.
> The source of the trouble appeared to be that Napoleon and Mr. Pilkington
> had each played an ace of spades simultaneously.
> Twelve voices were shouting in anger, and they were all alike. No question,
> now, what had happened to the faces of the pigs. The creatures outside
> looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but
> already it was impossible to say which was which.
> regards


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