Says it all.
Size is significant.
Why are people honoring gay service people? .. did they serve their country only because they were gay?
Using the following definition (from Webster's) of "religion"
a cause, principle, or system of beliefs held to with ardor and faith
Can the argument be made that this is a violation of church and state?
Would a plaque honoring our Christian or Jewish soldiers be acceptable? Of course not.
Has not the ACLU argued against putting a cross or a Star of David on Veterans headstones? (if not they someday will)
Does not the ardent behaviour of the progay crowd potentially qualify as a religion under that definition?
I beleive it does. Maybe someone can file the case in Alabama, where we might have a chance.
Albeit I am 110% in approval of any recognition of veterans and their families. IMHO to dedicate something to only one group ,be it sex, race or some perversion such as this seems to dilute the real message of a grateful nation honoring their fallen heros.
............Stay Safe !
E-Mail PDN Webmaster with your demand this atrocity be removed.
Speaking of removal... why was this news item removed from breaking news within seconds of it's posting? This NEWS item was published TODAY... when we broke the story last week is was breaking news too and removed by FR. Is there a reason this matter should not reach the largest possible Free Republic audience? Jim Rob... this was one of the issues I wanted to talk with you about when you were here in Sacramento. See original postings:
California Veterans Memorial - Feedback Request
Patriot Defenders Network ^ | Saturday, August 23, 2003 | Dave Jenest
Posted on 08/23/2003 12:08 PM PDT by comwatch
Some of these men are recovering alcoholics. I stress the word "recovering." The have recognized their problem and their sin, but they deal with it. They would never, ever--wish that their service to this great nation be defined by their condition. Ever. That is their cross to carry….and most of them succeed and are proud of their victory over alcohol.
To see this display reeks of those who wish to "crawl into" the blanket of honor of those who have fought, died, and were wounded in service to our great nation. To give the Cliff Notes version: they are parasites of others service. Yes, there are people who have been afflicted by the sin of homosexuality who have (and are) serving in the military. There are also wife beaters, child molesters, Wiccans, obsessive gamblers, incest beasts, rapists, and murderers. But the majority are none of these…as is the case for our American society in general.
This naked attempt to legitimize the blatant whiff of feces driven homosexual sex by donning the honor of our fallen military heroes is disgusting, transparent, and degrading. It is insulting, and shameful.
Shame....if only it were more common.
... at Bunker Hill. Grapeshot tore through my body at New Orleans. Crushing hooves with riders as swirls of blue and grey ... and red ... crashed down upon me in strange-sounding places like Chickamauga, Antietam, and Shiloh.
The heat and swamp sucked at my last moments in the wilds of Cuba. A green fog of poisonous gas slithered over the side and into my trench, where water stood mixed with slime and blood
I lay face down in fetid pools clogged with jungle vines, felt the hot sands of Africa burning through my back, lay with cold cheek against wet beach sand and fell from gingerbread doorways into cobblestone streets. I gasped for air and breathed fire and oily water.
Snow clung to my lashes and ice formed at the corners of my mouth as a tiny wisp of steam wafted from the crimson flow of life out of my ears and stomach.
As I fell forward, I felt the jagged pain of bamboo beneath the water tearing at my flesh.
I fought and died when I didn't know why. I was killed before I was old enough to vote. I never knew the pleasure of savoring the memories that come with old age. I left mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, children and sweethearts to weep after me. I lay where names and landscapes and faces were all foreign to me. To this day, no one knows where the earth swallowed me.
I was called wop, nigger, dago, spic, kike, honky, and mic. I was tall and short and thin and heavy and young and old and cheerful and sad. I was a shop steward, an insurance agent, a writer, an orange picker, and the head of a grocery chain stretching from Baltimore to St. Louis.
I lived around the corner, up the street, next door, over the garage, across the tracks, on the hill and out of a suitcase. I came from a family farm, college campus, factory, new-car agency, and Broadway.
I died that we would remain free, that liberty would not perish, that women and children would be safe from terror, that my home would be protected, that an idea would be proven right, that my friend might live, that people back home could make overtime in the plants, and that a sagging economy might be helped.
Sometimes I served my country, sometimes my ideals and sometimes my own ego.
But I served.
I hope you pause for a few moments to think on these things. You are still free to think ... and speak ... and publish whatever you wish because I gave the most I had ... my all.
Some of you have known some of my pain, my tears, and the sickness of soul for the waste of human life.
Yet, the giving of my life was not wasted. For perhaps somehow, in some way, people will do something to end my dying.
My death has extended the time given you to do that something.
After the next war there may be no one left to honor the dead.
A Veteran is a Veteran
Since when has truth and honor ever stood in the way of the Democrat Pandermonium Machine? Even the SCOTUS is pushing the gay agenda, allowing less than 1% of the population to dictate the thoughts and actions of everyone else.
