The Sounds of Silence

One of the tragic consequences of moral and cultural relativism: "How Many More Women Have To Die Before This Society Wakes Up?" An excerpt: (but read the entire article)

The five Muslim women killed in recent months were murdered by their husbands or partners because they had "insulted" the family honour by wanting to end the relationship.

One woman was strangled; another drowned in a bath. In another case, a 21-year-old Turkish woman who was forcibly married to her cousin was stabbed to death on the street by her husband in front of their three-year-old daughter. Police records show that 45 "honour killings" have been committed within Germany's two million-plus Muslim community in the past eight years. Now that at least five have occurred in just four months in Berlin alone, the German authorities and local Turkish leaders are desperately trying to find out why.

Karl Mollenhauer, a Berlin police psychologist, blamed Islamic religious leaders for failing to address the problem. Last week, he also suggested that the German authorities were at fault for failing to intervene in case they were branded racist.

"We have silently allowed a parallel society to develop because of fears that we would sow hatred by talking openly about its injustices. The women have paid the price for this," he said.

Such are the consequences of an ideology that grants moral equivalence to cultures that celebrate death with cultures embracing life. This politically correct silence that refuses to condemn and root out culturally-sanctioned murder for fear of being labeled "racist", is itself a sickness that has been silently creeping into Western Civilization. A sickness that gives a moral validation to the speech and behavior of tyrants and despots, while muffling the voices of those who desire freedom.

Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence

In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence

Do not let the darkness become a friend so familiar--so numbing--that you lose your own voice.