Todays Antifa are not our WW2 Vets

To equate the selfless heroes of World War II—those who stormed the beaches of Normandy, liberated death camps, and stared down the abyss of totalitarianism—with the self-righteous agitators cloaked in black bloc garb who fancy themselves as modern Antifa is not just a slap in the face to history; it's a grotesque mockery of human decency, sound judgment, and the very foundations of civilized discourse.Consider the chasm in character alone. The Greatest Generation didn't charge into machine-gun fire for chants and hashtags; they did it for liberty, for the rule of law, and for a world unbowed by ideologues who promised utopia through the barrel of a gun. Many of these same men, hardened by the mud of Europe and the Pacific, later shouldered arms in Korea, trading foxholes for frozen hills to contain the red tide of communism before it could swallow free nations whole. They understood Marxism not as some trendy academic fever dream, but as the blood-soaked specter that devoured millions—Stalin's purges, Mao's famines, Hitler's unholy alliance with it in the early days. To imagine them locking arms with a movement steeped in that same poisonous brew, one that romanticizes property destruction as "mostly peaceful protest" and paints law enforcement as the enemy, defies every scrap of evidence from their lives.Picture it: these grizzled GIs, fresh from VE Day celebrations, tuning into the evening news in the 2020s. They'd see storefronts ablaze in Minneapolis, statues of their fallen comrades toppled in fits of historical amnesia, and crowds screeching "defund the police" while officers—many the sons and grandsons of their own ranks—faced down Molotov cocktails. Disgust wouldn't begin to cover it; it'd be revulsion, the kind that boils up from a lifetime of seeing real evil and knowing the difference between it and performative outrage. These weren't men who burned their own neighborhoods for "justice"—they rebuilt them, from bombed-out Berlin to the rust-belt towns they called home. They valued order not as oppression, but as the fragile scaffold holding society aloft, the very thing that let them return to families, factories, and quiet freedoms after the guns fell silent.And let's not romanticize the radicals as some noble underclass. Today's black bloc brigade, with their masks and megaphones, aren't inheriting the torch of resistance; they're snuffing it out with ego-fueled chaos, terrorizing shopkeepers and families who just want to live without fear of the next flashbang or brick through the window. The WWII vets knew true terror—gas chambers, kamikazes, the mechanized grind of blitzkrieg—and they fought it not by hiding behind anonymity, but by standing tall in the light, badges and bayonets at the ready. If that generation were reborn young and vigorous today, unbowed by time's frailties, they'd see these posturing clowns for what they are: not revolutionaries, but spoiled dilettantes aping the tyrants their forebears buried. Arm them with the same resolve that crushed the Axis, and these street-level sophists wouldn't last a weekend. They'd be rounded up, not with glee, but with the grim efficiency of men who'd already paid in blood for the right to say, "Enough."It's not mere folly to draw parallels here—it's willful blindness, a cheap trick to launder moral bankruptcy as moral superiority. Those who survived the century's darkest hours built a world of abundance and alliance, from the Marshall Plan's generosity to the NATO shield that kept the peace. To drag their legacy through the mud of modern grievance theater isn't bold; it's betrayal. We owe them better than that—far better.