Based on a non-fiction book of the same name by historian Cornelius Ryan, A Bridge Too Far is a 1977 epic war film depicting Operation Market Garden, a failed Allied operation using paratroopers to secure three bridges over three key rivers in Nazi-occupied Netherlands during World War II.  The phrase has come to mean “a long shot”, or an overly ambitious plan.

America’s institutions currently have been invaded increasingly by Progressive Jihadists, i.e. true believers in global socialist ideology under the guise of rainbow flags and DIE protocols.  So far, it has been a cultural warfare, with educational and governmental institutions surrendering with token, or no resistance.  However, since the Washington D.C. takeover by the prog regime (so-called Biden administration) more often firearms are involved, as symbolized by the military perimeter around the US Capital lest anyone object to the new governance.

Some of this move to kinetic warfare was evident in the 2020 Antifa insurrections in places like Portland and Seattle.  Guns are also used by criminals in blue cities like Chicago, NYC and SF.  As well the fentanyl trade at the Southern US border is empowered by guns. But a new bridge was just crossed in Nashville, Tennessee, when a transgender soldier fired 150 bullets inside a Christian school, murdering six innocents, including three children, two teachers and the principal.  That terrorist event followed Tennessee laws enacted in March protecting children against drag shows and from gender transition surgery and treatments.

Another bridge was crossed with the Trumped-up indictment of the former President in NYC.  It signifies that the Justice System has also been taken over and put into service of the prog ideology.  Like Sharia law imposed anywhere in the world that Islam prevails, now US Federal Justice distinguishes between true believers (the Ummah) who enjoy full citizenship rights, versus the infidels (Kafir) who, if allowed to co-exist at all, are an underclass with few privileges other than working in service of their overlords.  In Manhattan, as in other blue states,  people who are the right skin color, gender, or sexual preference are not prosecuted for felonies like stealing, vandalism, battery, or even murder, while the Kafir-in-Chief, Donald Trump (“Rich old white guy”–DA Bragg) is arrested on imaginary charges.

How far can they go with these perversions against American heritage and ideals?  One answer comes from Arkansas where Brandon Meeks writes Middle Americans at American Mind.  Go Brandon!  Excerpts in italics with my bolds and added images.

What might it actually look like to represent the real interests and values of most voters?

One reason I rarely venture into the realm of American politics is because I am not in the habit of going places I do not belong, much less where I am not wanted. And I am as out of place among both Republicans and Democrats as a country ham at a synagogue.

I see no value in hitching my wagon to an elephant with neither sense of direction nor recollection of where he came from. Neither do I welcome the prospect of hooking myself to an ass that can’t plow in a straight line and tries to bite me at every turn.

I’d wager that I’m not the only one who thinks this way. In fact, if there exist out there any politicians with the pie-eyed hope of unifying the country behind a saner program than what’s currently on offer, they might do well to think about how people like me see the world.

I can’t remember the last time I trusted a politician of any stripe. Most are so crooked that when they die, the undertaker will have to screw them into the ground with a torque wrench. Ninety-nine point nine percent of them, blue and red, should be handed a pink slip and told to get further and smell better.

One party prides itself on being “conservative,” while having nothing to conserve but the madness of five minutes ago. The other gloats about being “progressive,” which seems to mean careening off the edge of a cliff like a gaggle of over-eager lemmings. Neither sounds very appealing to me.

I was born into a family of traditionalist Southern Democrats—a breed of political animal that has gone the way of the Dodo Bird in my lifetime. I live in a red state that was once a blue state. But this is because the Democratic Party sold its soul to the Devil and now worships at the blackened altar of Molech. It certainly isn’t because the folks in Toad Suck, Arkansas finally got around to reading Hayek or started subscribing to National Review.

I know this isn’t true everywhere, but in some ways my state
still feels like it is peopled by that extinct species of Democrat.
But then again, I don’t live in America: I live in Arkansas.

When I was growing up, folks in our family went to church on Sundays, to work on Mondays, and to union meetings on Thursdays. They believed in the sacred nature of the traditional family, the supremacy of the Christian religion and its outworking in society, the inviolability of the First Amendment, and the necessity of the Second Amendment to protect all of that.

We were taught that honorable folks worked hard to earn a living and that the government should only help if and when they couldn’t. Republicans were encouraging everyone to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, but we understood that it’s mighty hard to do that when the straps rotted off months ago during a long hard winter. Even so, the business of government was to give those people a leg up—never a hand out.

In much of the South, the New Deal was viewed as a late answer to the Reconstruction question. At the time, half-measures laden with problems seemed better than none. Folks too poor to make it could at least get by on surplus commodities. Those too proud to stand in line at the courthouse or the national guard armory for peanut butter and cheese could slip over and get it from a relative with a little less shame.

While this describes many in general, it describes my great-grandmother in particular. “We weren’t really all that political,” she said, “but we were hungry, and Roosevelt was sending the bread.” “That’s not ‘conservative,’” some will say. Perhaps not. But if it hadn’t been for such measures, my family wouldn’t have been “conserved” at all.

Does this make me “fiscally liberal”? Not necessarily. I seem to be for less ludicrous spending than either major party. For instance, I am not in favor of bailing out banksters, funding sexual re-education seminars with public money at either the state or local level, or footing the bill for foreign wars. In other words: I don’t belong.

So for politicians or interest groups hoping to earn the allegiance of anyone like me: don’t ask me to do anything “for my party.” Tell me to do it for my family. Am I “patriotic”? Who knows. I figure my patriotism is like bursitis: it flares up a couple times a year, usually in hot weather. I love my home and try to love my neighbor, but if you’re asking if I think we need to spread the gospel of Exxon Mobil to the four corners of the world, then no. If that’s what patriotism really is then I’m the erstwhile Queen of the Hottentots.

I haven’t watched the news (except for the local weather) since 2020. If you put a gun to my head and said, “Name six popular political pundits or I’m pulling the trigger,” there’s a good chance I’d be conversing with St. Peter in a matter of minutes. Somehow I suspect that being under-informed after that fashion is preferable to being ill-informed by partisan hacks.

But there’s one thing about which I am certain—whatever it is that Washington is doing now isn’t working. Neither the Democrats nor the Republicans seem to know beans from apple butter about how to run a country, but both seem adept at being able to run one into the ground.

What few proposals I have to offer seem both simple and impossible.

Republicans should concern themselves with protecting our republic and the laws and lives which constitute it, rather than faceless corporations, technocracies, or some divinized notion of The Market. Democrats should heed once again the voices of all the people, eschewing exotic ideological experiments in order to embrace the totality of Americans from sea to shining sea.

Though I am not altogether sanguine about the future of party politics (at least the major parties as they exist at present), I haven’t yet stocked the basement with dry beans and powdered milk against an impending Armageddon. I still have faith in ordinary Americans. I am hoping against hope that common, workaday men and women will assert their right to live in reality and insist on a politics to match. For one thing, there are so many of us. For another thing, God loves us.

There is enough discontent and hunger at the local level to make me feel that a constituency exists to support a program of patriotism and virtue against the venal manias of our elite uniparty. Any national leader who can give that constituency the drive and direction they need will have my vote. If such a leader should prove himself, we have a fighting chance.

As it stands, I belong to neither the Democrats nor the Republicans. I belong to God, my family, and to the Arkansas dirt forever mingled with my own blood. But without any trace of irony, I think it is precisely that kind of sentiment that can make a person a decent American. By the grace of God, there might still be quite a lot of us out there.