Tuesday, 1 April 2014

Nanostradivarius Award winner 2014




Bigots gave me everything I ever wanted: thus proving that the racist/sexist holocaust is real.

Carol Howard… says she was "singled out" and used to prove the force was no longer racist
A black firearms officer who is suing the Metropolitan Police for racial and sexual discrimination claims she was a "token" used by the force to try to prove it was diverse.,,, said she was put forward for an interview in the wake of the shooting of Mark Duggan, at a time when her unit had a "bad reputation"….she was also tasked with driving Baroness Lawrence, the mother of murdered Stephen Lawrence, in what she saw as an attempt by the Met to prove it was no longer racist.
Yes, fellow Klansmen, it’s time to use those old sheets and pillowcases for something other than midnight rood-oxidation parties in the ‘Hood, because nothing says White Supremacy and patriarchal phallocentric elitism quite as well as arming and armouring a young female black officer and putting her onto London’s streets, tooled-up and good to go. It’s the Nazi dream come true.
And then they humiliated her publicly by making some kind of role-model or poster-girl of her. Unconscionable.
"I felt I had been singled out and chosen as a black female officer to represent diversity and to change the public image of white police shooting a black youth."
She added: "I felt that once again I was being used as a token by the organisation."
So if representing diversity means being visibly from a minority (or two) and that also means tokenism we may all have to introduce the burqa as standard uniform to the Met to make sure no-one can parade blackness/femaleness to make any kind of political statement. Ever.
She said: "I felt I was called upon to demonstrate to Mrs Lawrence that the organisation had come a long way as here I stood as a successful black female officer."
It would have been better to have the new baroness guarded by a couple of tall blond white guys, because that’s the best way to prove that diversity works. Plus, it’s not that this is in any way the special pleading of a rent-seeking race-hustler leveraging her elite firearms squad position for fame and fortune: her theory is actually proven by The Science.
In her statement she said: "Precious time spent with my children has been affected and compromised. Time, which I will never get back.
My children have been impacted by this case.
Can’t argue with that: her opinion alone is proof as convincing as a well-documented series of experiments under controlled conditions using careful observations, meticulous record-keeping and thoroughly-worded arguments; each one qualified and foot-noted to a T. But like all good science it’s peer-reviewed by other, equally-well qualified and eminent scientists and philosophers who have tested her claims under laboratory conditions. Such as a six-year old child.
My six year old daughter only last week asked me if I was going to leave the police service, I asked her why she was asking and her reply 'my school friend told me they treat you bad mommy. Her mom said so.' I have had to reassure my children that I will be fine."
The Science is settled!
To be fair, an accusation of tokenism would have to be supported with evidence that in some way PC Howard wasn’t up to the job; perhaps by being a poor shot, or by freezing under fire or being ineffective under pressure, or by being unable or unwilling to take criticism and correction in the tough, high-pressure professional world of firearms specialists…  
PC Gary Flaherty who said told he had seen her "visibly upset and in tears" after one incident involving Sergeant Kelly, when he had stood holding his gun and a Taser stun gun while dressing her down in front of senior officers.
So what can we on the Right take away from this? Only one little thing, which is that whenever some Prog prat risks jeopardizing police efficiency and public safety by putting diversity first  and by changing the law in exchange for the support, gratitude and professionalism of minorities, we can tell him it possibly might not work.



Picture from here.

Saturday, 15 February 2014

A short history of blame




Hmm.
It’s getting hard to work out whom to blame for what these days.

Based on the Ten Commandments, Christian teachings about the value of the individual and our Anglo-Saxon and Viking notions of personal value (weregild and all that jazz), and though it was  occasionally marred or broken by notions of collective responsibility (see our brutal Norman ancestors’ massacres of everyone even suspected of being able to rebel again in Yorkshire and the earlier massacre of Norse settlers throughout England), throughout much off our history individuals tended to be held responsible for their perceived crimes. Naughty kings and other rulers were held to high standards of not messing with the powers that be and even the commonality by frequent rebellions – except again, when the institution of kingship was held to be too valuable to blame the king himself – in which case his government of over-mighty subjects was held to account.   
But otherwise, if you did the crime you did the time – in the stocks if not in prison. And it worked throughout society -kinda - through private perceptions of individual guilt and responsibility. You could punish people, deter people, take them off the streets or out of the picture altogether – and when you did that they often didn't re-offend. Simples.
Habits of law like this eventually wiped out the very popular barbarian Germanic culture of blood feud – a horribly brutal and expensive vice.

But where would the human race be today without the dear old Enlightenment?

First, there came that old progressive masochism catechism that, for example, the huge and ancient institution of  slavery was somehow caused even by some of the Abolitionists themselves and thus “we are all guilty” allowed ‘us’ all to be – ahem - tarred with the same shivery-exciting brush of lovely guilt, while at the same time feeling superior to the benighted souls who haven’t yet admitted their guilt fulsomely enough.

Today, ‘we,’ the witting and/or ignorant tolerators of all of Progressivism’s menu of evils are expected to kneel before our liberal betters and abase ourselves and give up whatever unsustainable luxury it is the progs want solely for themselves.   

This attitude has metastasised away from merely hurting our fellow creatures and recently led us into a surreal steam-punk alternative history in which the early Lords of the Air took upon themselves the typical Enlightenment task of promising to ration Progress at the then-height of its achievement; intercontinental aviation.
So you get this Zen-master scatology right out of Jules Verne Goes All Verdigris:

“While rejecting suggestions that flying is wrong and should be stopped, Cameron nevertheless argued that the rapid predicted future growth of aircraft emissions must be cut if Britain and the rest of the world are to meet national and international targets for reducing greenhouse gas emissions.”
 He naturally followed this pronouncement by attending all future international jamborees by tea-clipper, horse-and-buggy and a stout pair of brogues. Because collective responsibility is so back in fashion.

It gets better. Not only have we been stiffing our fellow Englishmen for centuries by running the Industrial Revolution scam on them at home via the domestic exploitation of labour and then exporting the whole shell game to the Empire and Colonies (all bow, scrape, rend hair shirts, etc), but right now at this end of the hockey stick we’re sticking it to Mother Nature herself: That’ll be $147,000,000,000 please, dear sir, madam, or civilisation.

Which perhaps explains the cats cradle Gordian Knot of progressive guilt-mongering that blames everyone on Earth who happens to be wearing trousers with a fly for causing Man-made Global Warming, which in turn induced man-made regional flooding, but which for some reason can’t be cured by man-made local dredging.
Thanks for clearing that one up, Dumb Jon.

So, to recap.

Breaking with centuries-old Judeo-Christian (and barbarian Germanic) teachings about personal responsibility, Progress slipped the blame for awfulness onto those who didn’t abolish active human evil quickly enough, and then neatly segued into an ethical world where merely by having nice things (say by possessing any technology more advanced than that used by the Clovis Culture) we jointly and severally become the Destroyer of Worlds. Except if it’s manufactured by Apple, ‘natch, which is so cool and little more unsustainable than the nests constructed by weaver ants. So.

It must be pretty easy again to go right back to blaming someone for actually going out and deliberately hurting someone, right?...


Luke Batty is believed to have been struck across the head before being knifed by his father Greg, who was shot by police after threatening paramedics with a knife.

Now this is clearly one of those random human tragedies that even my ever-more reactionary soul can’t somehow blame on Islam or the Progressive infection. The killer seems to have been insane and inherently irresponsible and so where can we lay the guilt for this awful crime, if not the natural human instinct to blame the perpetrator?

Why, it’s down to impersonal forces that fall on otherwise innocent human beings like rain – and no even man-made rain. At least nobody’s blamed common people enjoying the petrol engine or aviation fuel to date as far as I know.

Luke's mother Rosie Batty, who is originally from England, was at the cricket ground when her son was killed. Note the passive voice. There will be more. She told reporters in Australia that Luke, who was a keen footballer as well as a cricket player, had begged for a few more minutes with his father who he rarely saw at the end of the training session. Well, we already know that the late Greg wasn’t Father of the Year…"What triggered this was a case of his dad having mental health issues," Ms Batty told Channel Nine. "He was in a homelessness situation for many years,…which clearly implies that he did not get kicked out of any and all accommodation made available to him because he behaved irresponsibly, or something. A homelessness situation is just, well, external to our control somehow like gravity or being a Sagittarian or something, yeah?….his life was failing,… so it’s not that he failed to do whatever simple things a responsible person might do to avoid being homeless. Australia’s a socially conservative place in general but I don’t think they actually chuck you out to freeze/swelter/be bitten by spiders without trying to house you… everything was becoming worse in his life,…like snowflakes falling onto his karma and stuff… and Luke was the only bright light in his life.
Which he then snuffed out.
"No one loved Luke more than his father…Which was why he had to die, apparently.  No one loved Luke more than meso it’s a dead heat at the tape, okay? - we both loved him."… And that’s why they did such a great job? ‘Love’ is passive too – something you feel, but don’t have to act on in any responsible way by, as a randomly chosen example, keeping him away from the deranged homeless Greg.  

Later, in an interview outside her home, she told the Herald Sun she was in "shock, disbelief",.. Whereas she did believe with all her heart, like Tinkerbell, that letting the deranged homeless father meet the ‘bright light in his life’ was a good idea and something that love bids you do… but was being supported by family and friends, and her family were on their way over to Australia from England. Land of personal irresponsibility and people with issues, like measles.
She said: "What I want to share with you is: I'm the victim of family violence,… as yo can tell by remembering my unexpectedly murdered son… and if anything come out of this, I want it to be a lesson to everybody. Goes like: ‘Let’s all keep the deranged homeless guys away from their children, or indeed anyone’s children?
"Luke was at cricket practice and I believed he was safe."
"I don't think anyone really understood or understands what someone is able to do. Nobody ever heard of deranged, homeless people hurting anyone, or nutso parents extinguishing their kids. I mean, it just doesn’t happen. And so, as a sane person, or as a caring parent, you trust the very person who killed him,..Despite his life ‘failing’ and having ‘homeless issues,’ of course… loved him, and they did love him, they loved him more than anyone else." Though this might not be quite what she had in mind.
She told how she had initially believed Luke had been accidentally injured in a "bowling accident" by his father, and it was only later she was told by police and paramedics that he had been deliberately injured.

She went on to say it was a "tragic situation that no one could see was going to happen." It’s a mystery.

So there you have it ladies and gentlemen: even infanticide by the insane is an impersonal, unprecedented, unpredictable thing. Though it might come to be public policy here in dear old Blighty if the Progressives have their way. We can only hope.
Indeed, infanticide may not actually be ‘a thing’ as the kids say these days at all. It might just be nothing. Nothing at all: it just happens because of a lawless, totally unpredictable, capricious Universe.

As a footnote I’d like to point out that I for one am glad that I’m not in any kind of authority in Australia.




Picture from here.

Sunday, 9 February 2014

Judgment Day arrives in 30 minutes





... or less.


It seems Skynet isn’t prepared to wait for NORAD and the Iranians, Russians, Saudis, Chinese, Norks or Pakistan to destroy most of humanity in a global nuclear exchange.

Instead, Skynet’s Extinction As Technological Unemployment Programme (E.A.T.U.P.) is intended to extinguish the human race by rendering it superfluous one formerly useful occupation at a time.

It’s starting right here with the class of unmated and unmarriageable sociology, peace studies and environmental science graduates. 

Perhaps they might survive a decade or two longer if they subsist off the flesh of former Blockbusters and HMV employees but I doubt they’ll make it till the day when John Connor arrives to reopen the mills, to frack and drill horizontally for gas, de-mothball the mines and rebuild the munitions factories we seem to have lost somewhere along the way…

Talk about the Domino Theory…


Hat tip, ultimately from here., but also via here.

Picture from here.

Wednesday, 5 February 2014

Progressive policy triumphs AGAIN




What kind of a crazy question has the following as the only practical answer:

“Why, Mr. Brown, we need to send them guns: lots and lots of guns. And prayers. But mostly guns: little neat Derringers to keep under the sleeping mat in case hubby didn't get the memo; stripped-down handbag Uzis for when your brother comes around to announce the name of your newly-chosen fianc√©; lots of ammo and lightweight M-4 carbines with plenty of mags and grenade launchers for when yout family decides that a brand-new piece of paper signed without the agreement of the village elders doesn't trump the Koran, Hadith and Surah and 1,400 years of sharia law.
Oh, and some anti-tank and anti-aircraft weaponry and supplies and training to hand out at street corners or better yet brought into the home on during Friday prayers so the right little hands get to hold and point them at their sons and bothers and cousins.”

That question, dear reader, might be: "How do we make this a reality?"

But I suppose it’s a start, by declaring that something is so, so that it might become so. It worked for God. And the next step is to believe: really believe, children, that it will be so if only we believe it strongly enough.
As Tinkerbell said.

Just assume I’m not totally evil incarnate here: work with me for a minute.
Assume if you can that I really, really want Tunisian men to stop hurting their womenfolk. Assume also that I’d like Tunisians not to die for want of medication and treatment and also that I’d like them to be able to earn a decent living and not be harmed by pollution: real or imaginary. I wish them well, I really do, but I’m not God. Or Tinkerbell.
Except that one time...

Anyhoo.

How’s this for the progressive mind-set?:

After what had at times been a slow and frustrating process, the Tunisian National Assembly on Sunday evening voted to approve what is one of the most progressive constitutions in the region, with only 12 members of the 216-member legislative body voting against. Tunisian President Moncef Marzouki and outgoing Assembly chief Mustapha Ben Jaafar signed the document on Monday morning, bringing it into effect.

Um, where have our centuries of British or American ‘progress’ after a longer and slower process from, say the Fall  [if any] of Rome through the Dark Ages and Mediaeval period to the Renaissance, Reformation and Enlightenment, the Agricultural, Industrial, Social and Information Revolutions and also all the meaty, socially-based revolutions (the ones with all those statistics involving numbers containing tens of thousands and, famously, tens of millions), tons of politics, billions of votes, got us to?
Some peace, some order, vastly better technology and material production…as well as technological unemployment, real pollution, unredeemable debt and great big areas in our cities where you can’t walk at night for fear of murder. And some pretty free, happy women, thank God.


And Tunisia’s going to get that all the good stuff very soon, during our biological lifetimes, from a piece of paper.
Of course it can’t fail because it’s not wrong at all, it’s  - what’s that word they inserted in front of ‘Ghostbusters’ when they made the cartoon version of Ghostbusters? - oh, yes: ‘real’. It’s real.

Really, really real.



Picture from here.

Sunday, 2 February 2014

A darker colour


There’s a joke in Goth and elsewhere that goes something like: “I’m only wearing black until they invent a darker colour.” They even have a T-shirt about it now.

Now Right-wing politics has its equivalent that (way behind the curve as ever) I only discovered yesterday is actually A Thing, as the kids are calling it these days.

It’s called the neo-reactionary movement or the Dark Enlightenment.

Some of you chaps out there in Rightwingland are probably muttering something like “Yes, and?” about now; being up-to-date web surfers of the Right and you have long since known about this and gone something like either:

Meh; nutters,” or

Yep, this might actually be an answer to/a definition of what assails us all,” but A) “It can only lead to something worse,” or B) “I’d better keep quiet about this and do my best to help its project on the sly before our common foe starts to strangle it at birth the way they tried with all the other “New Rights” that anyone invented or discovered since Gramsci did his thing.”  

I don’t know if I agree with it yet and if it is indeed true in the sense of, you know, pre-Marxist truth. Can you choose not to agree with truth? Do I agree with gravity, for example or merely accept it as inescapable? After only a few hours of (gin-soaked) browsing I’m not sure if there is anything hopeful about it at all, but it’s tickled me and seems to rub the right, i.e. the wrong people up the wrong way.
TDE has the right enemies. So there’s that.

And of course anything that paints me by my own standards as little better than a bleeding-heart-pinko liberal has got to be worth a look.
Anyhoo, give it a look if you like: there doesn’t seem to be much of a crossover into the kind of Right-wing blogs I tend to haunt, albeit in a much more scaled-down way these days.

But it does beg (and sometimes overtly poses) the question: “What use is conservatism if all it seeks to do is to preserve the mistakes of the recent past?”

When did any conservative in power truly turn the clock back by one second, let alone the calendar by a single year? I think I’ll read on. Perhaps I’ll get the T-shirt. Unless the Dark Enlightenment is more of a members’ club tie thing, or a coat of arms sort of deal.



Picture from here.

Wednesday, 1 January 2014

Like there’s no tomorrow



I work for the underclass.

I also work for a bunch of other people who are in the financial mire - temporarily or permanently – and from which I suspect no amount of health insurance and voluntary pension saving could ever have diverted them; pace my purist libertarian former comrades.

Basically, a major part of my job is to help the unemployed or over-parented to understand and sometimes to do the paperwork and walk them through the process of means testing so they can show The Social and The Housing just how broke they are and hence can they have some more money, please?
For some, injury and illness or the loss of a job is a temporary misfortune that they intend (and actively seek) to escape as soon as possible. My cynical colleagues and I find it hard to begrudge them the taxes we all pay to keep the roof over their heads and the electricity on and food on the table. Dear reader, you may disagree with that, but absent compulsory individual or family-based unemployment, sickness and retirement funding - something likely only in a vibrant, thriving, successful economy supported by well-educated workers and intelligent middle managers (yeah, right) - it just doesn’t seem decent not to pay minimum (or even briefly better than minimum) poor relief to the innocently, accidentally skint.  

(Pensioners are a much tougher and bigger problem in that since the Pensions Increase Act generations of workers and housewives (and increasingly cast-adrift fifty-something first wives) have been encouraged  and duped to face retirement age without a pension pot of their own above whatever the National Insurance scheme provides.
But let us set that Godzilla-class train wreck aside for now and concentrate on what the system has unselfconsciously dubbed Working Age benefits recipients.)

A sizeable minority of folk whose reports, letters and emails cross my desk and whose (expensive mobile) phone calls sound in my ears are victims of a generations-long experiment in wishful thinking, unfunded social liabilities, and all-round good intentions and so here we are in the Inferno that the Clever and Decent have unintentionally built: The Bolgia of the Intergenerationally Useless. The ‘Vulnerable.’ Peace be unto them.

Now, I sometimes joke at work with my colleagues about the wide variety of first names with which the latest cohort of the Vulnerable have been branded by their hopeless, clueless, husbandless mothers. All those Ka-s and Sha-s and De-s that unmarried Kylies and Julies choose to imagine raises their offspring to the glamourous level of America’s Great Society black underclass, the poor sods.

It really helps you to assess a boy’s life chances when you learn that his first name is Tyson; may his tribe increase. Because nothing quite says ‘aspirational parenting’ as well as naming one’s tiny baby son after a tattooed, bipolar, serially bankrupt, multiple-bastardizing, drug-addicted convicted rapist who publicly lamented the non-lynching of a brown-skinned man found not guilty of murder.

We chortle too at the narrower range of surnames. These are often double-barrelled in memory of Mum’s latest bedwarmer-but-three who stayed around for three entire Christmases and for almost one whole gestation before he flew the nest leaving another cuckoo for your children, dear reader, to support and endure lifelong. Support, that is, assuming that the little hellions will in fact shut up and stop screaming long enough for your kids to acquire what the political class nostalgically refers to as a publicly-funded ‘education’.

The Vulnerable won’t read (even if they can read, kind of,) and their commonest first resort when faced with officialdom’s requests for further information (intended to allow means-tested benefits to be commenced or to continue in payment) is to ignore such requests altogether…until some welfare bureaucrat somewhere is obliged to suspend and eventually to cancel their claim – whether of a principle (subsistence) benefit or a supplementary payments for help with housing, children, illness and injury, etc. Their next resort; rather than reading and responding to the authorities concerned is to go for help to some third party advisor or case officer such as the CAB or a social worker and who, in all  probability, will eventually ring us up and discover they don’t have written permission to discuss the ‘customer’s’ private business and who wait another fortnight while written or verbal permission to discuss is obtained and who then learns that, yes, answering the letters and providing pay slips, birth certificates, proof of rent, debts, etc, is exactly what is needed to get the money flowing again as requested three, four, five patient months ago.

Their childlike, untutored minds - infantilized by child-centred ‘progressive’ education and protected culturally from blame, shame or responsibility by the Guardian class of anti-demonizers - simply will not take responsibility for any of their acts at any time. They literally cannot understand why their serial idleness, fecundity and absence of thrift should in any way be mentioned at a time when the debt chickens have finally come home to roost; such as when the repossession of their homes is imminent or enormous Sky TV packages are about to be cancelled despite a months-long series of advice and warning letters.
“How do you expect me to pay my rent when I’m only on Maternity Allowance before my Income Support, Child benefit, Child Tax Credit, free school meals and prescriptions will kick in when I have the baby, and now you tell me I’ve got to pay my poll tax as well? If I kill myself, it’ll all be your fault.”
Tomorrow is finally right here, and nothing very much belongs to her.

These are the great grandchildren of the nation of shopkeepers that stood almost alone against the greatest war machine ever devised and that fought it to a standstill while awaiting the nascent superpowers to join the fray.
But they are human beings, and despite Julia’s unceasing evidence of their Hobbesian lives I feel stricken whenever I see their children, snotty-nosed and toyless writhing in primal frustration in our interview room (while an ageing teenaged mother wrestles with the intellectual challenge of understanding that ‘help with rent’ requires proof of rent and thus maybe binning a tenancy agreement provided by an expatriate, incommunicado landlord wasn’t her smartest move ever) when I know with little room for doubt that their ‘home’, though full of broken bikes and computer games, lacks both books and ornaments. What could those poor kids have become with even a little sense and sensitivity?
We’re looking at spiritual genocide here.
   
And yet. And yet.
Here’s a thing.

A few weeks ago I was walking home from Castle City’s Office Of Vulnerable Affairs and I heard in the middle distance screaming so high and broken that it could only be the voice of a creature in torment. On I walked through the gathering gloom until along the canal path towards me came a man, forty-something; not overly tattooed, pushing a child of three or four in a baby’s push-chair. Three or four and she was still being wheeled along; not skipping or waking alongside and holding the man’s hand. Many of today’s Morlocks probably start at school with muscle development inferior to their Eloi ‘protectors’ and advocates.
The little girl had a crown of blonde curls, wasn’t jam-smeared or grubby, and she was singing. Cheerfully. Out of tune, but loving it. Smiling. It was Tomorrow, from the musical Annie.

Annie is schmaltzy and celebrates America’s awful, proto-totalitarian New Deal (and here we are in its lousy British equivalent), but it’s also optimistic and upholds the western - and may I say Christian - ideals of hope and love and making the best of a bad job in truly hard times. And musicals are very middle- and aspirational working- class things and not always too gay. Just how the hell does a pre-school tot, wheeled around like shopping by a possibly related male get to see musicals, and thus absorb a little notion of hope and love and neighbourliness and friendship and crossing the class ‘divide’ and the possibility of happy endings arranged, in part, by non-malignant rich folk and despite the conniving dishonesty within a corruptible, fallible child-protection system? Who or what brings the love in?
Is it cheap DVDs or streaming? Is it a truly aspirational mother who is actually out working to support her kid while anonymous Dave or whoever wheels her to the park or back from his court-appointed contact hours?
Is there room in that tiny, curly-haired cargo’s future for books and something better than i-phones and broken bikes and absentee, revolving-door ‘fathers?’ Love and laughter and peace ever after?

As we near the boozy end of the season where some of us still recall the most successful (and the most aspirational) single mother of all time I’m allowing my cynical heart to admit that - rather than spiritual genocide - that little girl and others like her might find amidst all the empty debt-fuelled material plenty and her pictureless Council housing walls a lovable tomorrow that’s a day away rather than a tomorrow that belongs to semi-intellectual thugs and their brutal, ignorant cannon-fodder.  


Happy New Year.







Picture from here.
 

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