Five Politically Incorrect Observations That Can Get You Professionally Lynched

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What do the ingredients in this potpourri of observations about current events have in common?  Truth and high toxicity.

Rachel Alexander wrote on her Facebook page last week of numerous IC contributors over the years who have asked that their posts be vaporized because they’re seeking new employment. I don’t have that problem. I’m an academic, and I know that academics never read anything.

With only minor trepidation, therefore, I offer the following observations that could leave me hanging from the nearest tree in 2015 if I were in the wrong company.

First Observation: Some have asked publicly what will happen when the first Muslim baker refuses to cater for a gay wedding. I think we know the answer to that now, if we didn’t already: nothing. Breitbart reports:

A Muslim flight attendant, Charee Stanley, claims that she was suspended from her job with ExpressJet Airlines because she refused to serve alcohol. She has filed a complaint with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC) – and now the Hamas-tied Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR) has jumped onto the case.

This is an instance involving a considerably more aggressive refusal than Denver baker Jack Phillips’. A gay couple can seek out another baker for their cake, but a traveler in search of a drink can hardly use the emergency exit to find a Scotch on the rocks. Furthermore, Phillips could not readily have predicted when going into business that he would be so approached. Ms. Stanley must have known perfectly well that her duties as stewardess—excuse me, “flight attendant”—would include distributing small shots of booze. Indeed, to have accepted that job with intent to protest one of its essential functions smacks of ambush.

So, no, if Ms. Stanley likes to cook and hangs out her baker’s shingle, don’t hold your breath waiting to see her prosecuted for grinding a pie in the face of her first gay client.

Observation Two: A simple Colt Peacemaker, model 1873, could have prevented almost every major shooting atrocity in recent history if the general population were known to be packing. This thought occurred to me after 41-year-old crackpot Vester Lee Flanagan gunned down a reporter and her cameraman in Roanoke a couple of weeks ago. Flanagan is one of the few shooters I can recall who employed a small handgun (and not a revolver, by the way). In atrocities of the school-campus or movie-theater variety, larger, very visible weapons capable of firing off dozens or hundreds of rounds in short order are usually the choice. Imagine if our scheming psycho were surrounded by potential victims every one of whom had five shots to spend on him. (I say five because cowboys always let their hammer rest on an empty chamber—a very sensible precaution.) Flanagan’s automatic might not have been spotted soon enough to save Alison Parker; but then, if he’d know that his first shot might have drawn fire from any quarter and deprived him of commemorating his heroics on the Internet, the incident might well never have happened.

A related thought: if such people had no access to guns, what would be their second option? Peaceful coexistence? Or would they choose, instead, to drive a car loaded with gas cans into the crowded space where the reporter or politician was holding court? Are the enemies of the Second Amendment willing to take responsibility for the greatly multiplied carnage sure to ensue when we force lunatics to graduate to the next level of destruction? Or do they contemplate outlawing gas, fertilizer, and—for good measure—the Internet, which offers no end of recipes for homemade bombs?

Observation Three: in “Camp of the Apocalypse”, Nelson Hultberg reviewed on this site just a few days ago a Jean Raspail novel which I’m now very eager to read. The reviewer opined in his closing comments,

Our germs today are intellectual – the professorial and literary elites of America and Europe who have, for many decades, inexcusably poisoned the youth of the West with their rabid ideologies of collectivism and egalitarianism.

I know this is a very widely held view; and, as a professor of literature myself, I wouldn’t radically disagree with it. But I think it tends to attribute too much deliberation to the professorial class, as if some vast conspiracy were afoot. To Mr. Hultberg and others, I would say that college professors are directed far more by egotism than by ideology. I have seen English professors who were political progressives of the most ostentatious sort stand up and crow in department meetings about how many new majors they recruited at a “college fair” event. They can enumerate on cue dozens of lucrative careers—legal work, marketing, consulting, and even FBI service—that the English B.A. puts within any young person’s reach. (Gee… wish I’d known that forty years ago.) These moments of exhilaration are never tainted by the faintest trace of irony: the self-gratulatory hucksters in question do not perceive any inconsistency between their much-advertised hatred of the capitalist marketplace and their just-as-much-advertised success at luring in majors with promises of career plums. Academics are invincible chameleons. They assume the colors that they suppose show them to their best advantage in given circumstances. Naturally, they’re always worthy of another pay raise!

I suspect that even our chameleon-in-chief is not primarily an ideologue. I think, rather, that he deceives, bullies, and undermines to secure the ever further advance of socialist ideology because it flatters his insatiable ego to do so. I think he’s insane, first and foremost; and I think the mantle of secular messiah is one which will not be wrested from him until he’s laid in his coffin. Many, if not most, of the toxic academics unleashed upon our children suffer from the same dementia. Were they truly serving a desperate but glorious cause with their last drop of blood, they would be infinitely less preoccupied by their image—their rank, their salary, their publications. They’re not slaving for the revolution: the revolution is slaving for a romantic, visionary, starry-eyed, rebellious kind of identity that most adolescents leave behind when they’re made to get out of bed and mow the lawn.

Just to clarify… I certainly do not suggest that the generous Mr. Hultberg would ever weave a noose for my neck. This one could get me hanged, rather, because your would-be Che Guevara doesn’t like being called a spoiled-brat twit. No, he’s not a rabid ideologue—but calling him out as a hypocrite can launch him upon a rabid vendetta.

Observation Four: the “Bend It Till It Breaks” Phenomenon. One sees it everywhere in academe: push, push, push until something pushes back—or until the house of cards falls in. The appallingly childish and moronic “ze” pronoun movement (in place of the gender-specific “he” or “she”) is a fine example. See if the invertebrates put up with this one; if they do, we’ll spring yet another one on them. Again, the behavior at the bottom of the pathology isn’t all that complex. All of us adults know about the kid who will eat candy until he spoils his supper if the parent merely repeats at each infraction, “Okay, that’s the last time. Not one more time. This time, I mean it! Did you hear me?”

Or in a less benign context, think of two guys in a very large and empty waiting room of some kind. The bigger one sees the smaller one take out a sandwich and says, “I’d like half of that.” Having extorted a few bites, he follows—before his donor can even swallow—with, “And now I’d like that other half.” Then he wants the little one’s watch; then he wants his wallet; then his cell phone, and then his shoes. Push, push; bend, bend.

The “Black Lives Matter” charade is of the same sort. Put the pressure on local politicians, and get the cops to back off. If they do, then back them off some more: more marches, more protests, more YouTube videos. It’s a lot easier to keep a retreating body in “backpedal” mode than it is to send the same body into retreat again after allowing it to stop and regain its poise.

Need I mention our southern border? No, I need not.

I know few specifics about the European refugee crisis; but in the German and Italian news outlets that I peruse, I never see any mention of repatriating the current flood of Syrians being shuttled up through the Balkans into Austria and Germany. To all appearances, they are coming to stay. And while I must admit that most of them are not unsympathetic figures, I keep asking myself, “How do they have the resources to get from Syria from Bulgaria, these poor refugees with all their belongings on their backs? They’re certainly not walking through Turkey; who’s paying for their passage on a trip so long that most of them couldn’t have afforded it as a vacation in the days of peace and prosperity?” Is there not some intent behind the scenes to bend Europe’s spine until it snaps and the new sub-continent of Eurabia is christened?

Observation Five: the worst for the last. I could be hanged, boiled in oil, and drawn and quartered for this one… and indeed, I don’t think I’ll write it down.

But I might sketch a few lines. Now, all of us white folks have been reared to assume the following of our fellow citizens of African descent: a) every one of them had ancestors who were enslaved; b) as a result, they have grown up, and still live, in reduced circumstances; and c) therefore, they are entitled to “reparations”. Okay, I’m cool. Don’t shoot me yet. Kevin Hart could extend my string into a comedy routine from several directions… but I know that I’m not allowed to go in any of them. Okay.

So just a couple of anecdotes, both from my experience of coaching a Little League team on the north side of town (on which my son was almost the only white kid). There were a few incidents when voices were raised. I felt that our kids should be studying on week nights, while a couple of the organizers seemed more concerned about drumming up business for the concession stand: that was a recurrent sore point, but… money’s money. I get that. A much more unpleasant scene than any of those occurred when a young black female I’d never seen before and would never see again tongue-lashed me in front of the whole team. After barely keeping a lid on her steam during a paractice, she stalked forth and denounced me for awarding my own son the starting pitcher’s role over her nephew (who couldn’t throw a strike in ten tries). I was speechless: I don’t think I ever got a word out, and she obviously wasn’t looking for any explanation. Dressed to the hilt (and not for sitting in the bleachers), she seemed to savor deeply the opportunity of telling a white man what a dishonest, worthless fraud he was—this from a woman who had never watched her precious nephew actually play in a game. (If she had, she would have known why I didn’t let him pitch.)

And a couple of months later, one of my most frustrating encounters in life. Another young black female. I begged and pleaded with this very passive mother of a young phenom on our team to enroll him in a summer baseball camp at our local university. I explained that the coach, through my intercession, was waiving the registration fee; I assured her that this young man could very easily earn a free ride through college with his talent. I couldn’t win her over. To get the boy to the baseball field by 9 a.m., she would have had to get up too early: those were her words.

Our high-brow, televised sociological discussions these days are always about young black males… but what’s been happening to young black females? Why are there so many Michelle Obamas among them, who would consider themselves cheated of half their due if they got the whole world?

But look, I’m not saying… I’m just saying. You can’t hang a man for that, can you?

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