Wednesday, 17 May 2017

The Islamic Myth (an excerpt)

[Media prompt] Germany confiscating homes to use for migrants. … In an unprecedented move, Hamburg authorities confiscated six residential units in the Hamm district near the city centre.
The Islamic Myth (an excerpt)

An excerpt from The Islamic Myth, based on the diaries of Lionel Goldman, 2038 – 40. [Goldman, a fervent supporter of the Sharia Revolution, travelled to Germany in the winter of 2038, two years after instillation of the Caliphate. The following entry is from 2039.]

Hamburg, February 10. – We were scheduled to set off this morning from Bremen at six o’clock. After waiting for over an hour in an icy wind for our transport, we learned it had broken down. “It can’t be helped,” said an old German assigned to accompany us. As we waited, he warmed to us, and revealed that he had been at the Battle for Berlin, where the Polish crusaders were turned back.

“But not without heavy losses,” the man said, removing a glove to show us his mutilated fingers.

We had heard stories of atrocities and I asked him about the fighting.

“We were given orders to leave no man alive, to take no prisoners. As a Muslim, this is the way of the Prophet, Peace Be Upon Him.”

He had converted in the early 20s, before the majority of his countrymen, and was active in the underground sharia movement. On his coat, he proudly wore the Order of the Islamic Crescent, a true revolutionary.

Having heard of my name, he asked when I thought American Muslims would rise up and overthrow the Christian government. He became quiet after I told him I thought it unlikely America would fall, criticising me sullenly for my pessimism.

When the car arrived, the driver informed us we had barely enough fuel for the journey.

“Counter-revolutionaries landed at Bremerhaven during the night, and the army has requisitioned everything,” he said. “I had to buy gasoline from a speculator.

I looked at Mohammed, and he said, “Things are not like they used to be.”

The autobahn was in a terrible state of disrepair, and barely drivable. Shortly after setting off, we had to dismount from the truck as the driver and the old German cleared rubble from a collapsing overpass. The fields, once a patchwork of productivity in the area, now lay barren.

“Why are you not working the land?” I said, pointing at dilapidated fencing and fields overgrown with brush and weeds.

“The farmers refuse,” said Mohammed. “So we shot them.”

I expressed my surprise, and asked why they had not least replaced them with believers.

“The central government must issue transition permits, but the imams insist mosques be built before Muslims can move into the area.”

He raised his hands, aware of how it sounded. “We have been begging for over a year now for workers.”

As we had discovered in Bremen, the daily food allowance for productive believers was less than 300 grams of flatbread. Vegetables, let alone meat, were scarce, as was oil or any other necessities.

“Our people are starving,” I said, unable to stay silent, “and the land lays fallow. The Islamists are in danger of turning the people against them.”

“You should be careful what you say, my friend” said Mohammed, his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. “A revolution is not a picnic."

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