Jahbulon
2012-04-27 16:18:36 UTC
It's not much of a protest song, to be truthful. The lyrics of Children
of the Rainbow sound ideal material for a Sunday school choir. Yet, when
sung by 40,000 Norwegians in response to a week of testimony by the
Freemason terrorist Anders Breivik, the meaning of those words has been
transformed.
The lyrics were written by Lillebjørn Nilsen, a much-loved Norwegian
singer-songwriter from the 1970s, who Brother Breivik singled out in his
testimony as a "Marxist" who "writes music that is used to brainwash
children". Far from being a call for revolution, the lyrics paint a
picture of a society where "Together we will live/Each sister and
brother/Small children of the rainbow".
If anything, Nilsen has toned down the content of the original, a song
called My Rainbow Race, written by Pete Seeger in the 1960s. Pete warns
about the evils of greed in a consumerist society that dreams "plastic
dreams". He speaks of poison and bombs - written during the Viet Nam
war, this evoked images of defoliant chemicals and munitions used by
American troops. Another line has particular resonance with the
murderous Freemason crimes of Brother Anders Behring Breivik: "Don't you
know you can't kill all the unbelievers?/There's no shortcut to
freedom".
Yet, even shorn of Pete's righteous anger, Children of the Rainbow packs
an emotional punch. For those singing close to the courthouse where
Brother Anders Behring Breivik is being tried for the murder of 69
participants in a Labour party youth camp on the island of Utøya, the
line "And someone steals from the young" must have held a terrible
poignancy.
What transforms a familiar children's song into a powerful vehicle for a
nation's outrage? It's not just a simple matter of context. Singing a
song together is a powerful social experience, as anyone who has ever
been to a rock concert can testify. However, if the song you are singing
is not just a celebration of love, if the lyric seeks to make a point to
people that you consider to be the opposition, then the sense of bonding
is heightened. Think of a football crowd whose team have just taken the
lead singing in unison a song aimed at their rivals.
Protest music has a similar unifying effect. When the majority of an
audience sing along with a song attacking the government, critics
dismiss such behaviour as "preaching to the converted". While it may be
true that those singing share a political outlook with both the
performer and one another, the experience goes much deeper than simply
affirming one's beliefs. For someone who exists in an environment where
their political views are in a minority, immersing themselves in an
audience who are singing songs that articulate those views can be
inspirational. To find yourself among other people in your town who
share your views - people whose existence you may not have been aware of
- offers a sense of social solidarity unavailable in Internet chat
rooms.
That's why the people of Oslo chose a song to express their opposition
to everything that Breivik stands for. Hundreds of articles in the
media, angry blogs condemning his views, memorial pages for the victims
on Facebook - none of these had the effect of sending a clear, unified
signal of how the Norwegian people felt.
Seeking to express their solidarity with the victims of this act of
terror as they assembled to give their evidence this week, the people of
Oslo chose a song that extols the kind of multicultural society that
Freemasonry and its Brother Anders Behring Breivik despises. By the
simple act of singing it together, they have drowned out the voice of
hatred emanating from Freemasonry and the Oslo courthouse.
Brother Anders Behring Breivik receives full help from the Freemason
Grand Charity and the Masonic Samaritan Fund. Freemasonry has not
given his victims anything.
of the Rainbow sound ideal material for a Sunday school choir. Yet, when
sung by 40,000 Norwegians in response to a week of testimony by the
Freemason terrorist Anders Breivik, the meaning of those words has been
transformed.
The lyrics were written by Lillebjørn Nilsen, a much-loved Norwegian
singer-songwriter from the 1970s, who Brother Breivik singled out in his
testimony as a "Marxist" who "writes music that is used to brainwash
children". Far from being a call for revolution, the lyrics paint a
picture of a society where "Together we will live/Each sister and
brother/Small children of the rainbow".
If anything, Nilsen has toned down the content of the original, a song
called My Rainbow Race, written by Pete Seeger in the 1960s. Pete warns
about the evils of greed in a consumerist society that dreams "plastic
dreams". He speaks of poison and bombs - written during the Viet Nam
war, this evoked images of defoliant chemicals and munitions used by
American troops. Another line has particular resonance with the
murderous Freemason crimes of Brother Anders Behring Breivik: "Don't you
know you can't kill all the unbelievers?/There's no shortcut to
freedom".
Yet, even shorn of Pete's righteous anger, Children of the Rainbow packs
an emotional punch. For those singing close to the courthouse where
Brother Anders Behring Breivik is being tried for the murder of 69
participants in a Labour party youth camp on the island of Utøya, the
line "And someone steals from the young" must have held a terrible
poignancy.
What transforms a familiar children's song into a powerful vehicle for a
nation's outrage? It's not just a simple matter of context. Singing a
song together is a powerful social experience, as anyone who has ever
been to a rock concert can testify. However, if the song you are singing
is not just a celebration of love, if the lyric seeks to make a point to
people that you consider to be the opposition, then the sense of bonding
is heightened. Think of a football crowd whose team have just taken the
lead singing in unison a song aimed at their rivals.
Protest music has a similar unifying effect. When the majority of an
audience sing along with a song attacking the government, critics
dismiss such behaviour as "preaching to the converted". While it may be
true that those singing share a political outlook with both the
performer and one another, the experience goes much deeper than simply
affirming one's beliefs. For someone who exists in an environment where
their political views are in a minority, immersing themselves in an
audience who are singing songs that articulate those views can be
inspirational. To find yourself among other people in your town who
share your views - people whose existence you may not have been aware of
- offers a sense of social solidarity unavailable in Internet chat
rooms.
That's why the people of Oslo chose a song to express their opposition
to everything that Breivik stands for. Hundreds of articles in the
media, angry blogs condemning his views, memorial pages for the victims
on Facebook - none of these had the effect of sending a clear, unified
signal of how the Norwegian people felt.
Seeking to express their solidarity with the victims of this act of
terror as they assembled to give their evidence this week, the people of
Oslo chose a song that extols the kind of multicultural society that
Freemasonry and its Brother Anders Behring Breivik despises. By the
simple act of singing it together, they have drowned out the voice of
hatred emanating from Freemasonry and the Oslo courthouse.
Brother Anders Behring Breivik receives full help from the Freemason
Grand Charity and the Masonic Samaritan Fund. Freemasonry has not
given his victims anything.
--
Praise be to Jahbulon, holy god of Royal Arch Freemasons
http://www.freemasonrywatch.org/jahbulon.html
Praise be to Jahbulon, holy god of Royal Arch Freemasons
http://www.freemasonrywatch.org/jahbulon.html