Ever since today’s free world first crossed swords with regenerated Islamic imperialism, the word cancer has been a predictable metaphor in the lexicons of many pundits. We can’t ignore it and we can’t argue with it, they say; we’ve got to cut the cancer out.

Comparisons began in earnest on the heels of the 9-11 attacks. On Sept. 26, 2001, New York Rabbi Ben Tzion Krasnianski wrote:

“Terrorism is like a cancer, and you never make peace with cancer. Certain battles you don’t have the luxury to grow tired of. Terrorism is a malignant tumor, and you don’t make peace with a tumor. If you play nice with cancer, it will kill you. Show mercy to a tumor and it will metastasize and mercilessly kill you and kill itself in the process. The only merciful thing to do is to eradicate, destroy and pulverize the tumor into oblivion.”


Yet five and a half years after the bombing of the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, our government still maintains open borders, funds terror-supporting entities with our tax dollars, misinterprets clear acts of domestic terror as isolated incidents, welcomes continued immigration from the culture that brought us so much death and suffering, and sends U.S. border guards to prison for having the impudence to do their jobs.

As we hung on every word of our president’s emotional address following those attacks, did any of us imagine that such inertia would ever again prevail? What has changed in these past five years to enable so many once-enraged Americans to blithely hit the snooze button and fall back asleep?

In 2006, I underwent surgery for cancer – the literal kind, not the metaphoric. I was blessed with uncommonly talented doctors and technologies that a few generations ago could only have been dreamed of. The cancer in question was a slow-growing, garden variety with a high cure rate, and it was caught – thank God – very early. I am healthier than you are now, so don’t send me any get-well cards.

However, heading into the O.R. that day I had some very specific expectations. My wonderful doctors agreed with them completely and did not let me down.


  1. I wanted a medical team that knew what it was doing. I wanted a surgeon who was smart, had received the best training, and had been performing this type of surgery for a substantial length of time. My life was important to me, and I wouldn’t have entrusted it to foreign oil princes, hack politicians looking for votes, liberals infected with political correctness or, worst of all, the United Nations. None of them lived in my body, and had I died because of malpractice it wouldn’t have been any skin off their respective noses.

  2. I wanted my surgeons to remove the entire area, both the malignancy itself and any tissue close enough to be contaminated. History has shown what cancer does if left unchecked, and I wasn’t going to wait until its spread was imminent just to be fair. I didn’t want them to appease it, negotiate with it or try to make its removal more acceptable to the European Union. My life was at stake. Had any doctor suggested I was intolerant or my response disproportionate, I would have climbed right over those steel railings and hurled him down the hall.

  3. I wanted competent aftercare, not just glib reassurance that the job had been done and I could go home. I wanted the enemy defeated, not just injured or temporarily contained so someone else could deal with it another time. And I wanted ongoing vigilance, so that any reinforcements that found their way back in could be destroyed before they could mount another offensive.

  4. If I needed radiation therapy, I wanted it given to me, not, as one writer satirically suggested, to 10 random people just to ensure that no profiling would occur. I still cringe when I think of what I had been carrying around and my utter helplessness to do anything about it. I wanted that sucker profiled, all right, so hard that it would never, EVER think of invading this body again.

  5. If the surgery proved futile because the cancer had already spread, I at least wanted my family to know I had taken every possible measure to spare them that outcome. So I reported the symptoms promptly, sought the most competent care throughout and followed the advice of those who truly wanted me to live. And I prayed.

“Islam isn’t in America to be equal to any other faith but to become dominant,” Council on American-Islamic Relations co-founder Omar Ahmad said in 1998. “The Quran should be the highest authority in America, and Islam the only accepted religion on earth.”

What part of his statement are we still not grasping, and why?

Islamic imperialism, like cancer, takes no prisoners. It is programmed to conquer by force all those who do not surrender, regardless of their worldview, religious philosophy or party affiliation. It cannot revise its murderous goal because that goal is foundational to its nature; that is what it does.

Cancer patients who have chosen to peacefully co-exist with their symptoms for any length of time all have one thing in common. They are all dead. Oncologists understand this. That’s why they don’t minimize a malignancy’s threat or wait for it to change its mind and go away. They just cut it out and get rid of it so a human life can be saved.

Doesn’t our country – and the world – deserve the same?



Related special offer:

“Muhammad’s Monsters: A Comprehensive Guide to Radical Islam for Western Audiences”



Marylou is a journalist and Christian Zionist with a special interest in the Middle East. Visit her blog, Marylou’s America.

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