Category Archives: Zoology

Reductio ad Iudaeoram: Conclusion

harvey-weinstein-serious

Comes in handy

(Part I here, Part II here, Part III here, Part IV here)

Back in the mid-aughts I was sitting around one weekend with a friend—also Jewish—smoking something stupid and watching one of the hundreds of conspiracy documentaries then mushrooming on the new-fangled YouTube. Up until that time, my conception of Jewish success was that it vaguely confirmed my belief in divine election. But due to events like 9/11, the NSA spying scandals and the 2007 financial crisis it was starting to become painfully clear that the height of success in America is something profoundly dark, and that one’s ethnic group being extra-specially implicated in it can be a very bad thing.

At one point during the documentary my friend turned to me and asked, “How are we supposed to cope with the fact that we come from a race of deceivers?”

What evolutionary biology considers success can be very dangerous from an Epicurean standpoint—and it’s true that a relatively high proportion of powerful assholes are Jews. I wouldn’t discourage anyone, Jew or Gentile, from shying away from this topic per se. But I don’t buy my friend’s supposition.

If—God forbid—a priest rapes an alter boy, do we say that this reflects on Catholicism fundamentally? On the contrary, we would assume such behavior goes against the tenets of Catholicism. Yet it happens with horrifying frequency. And what about a WASP senator who takes kickbacks from corporate fat-cats? Even the Grand Dragon of the Ku Klux Klan would have to concede indubitably that a nigger stick-up artist is not behaving the way his momma taught him to. Yet Jews can’t often manage comparable generosity with ourselves. So how can we expect better from anybody else?

Honor, from a diaspora Jewish perspective, is always a matter of living down yiddishkeit, of disproving some dirty stereotype. But what if it’s the baseline?

I live in a city that has a major crime problem. My neighborhood is full of feckless little cop-callers. No robbery committed here has ever been prevented or solved by the police, yet out of some forty households in the immediate vicinity, only myself and one other neighbor have ever had the gumption to confront people casing houses or breaking into vehicles. I’ve done so five times in the last three years, at tremendous risk to my legal and physical safety. In none of those cases was my household specifically being targeted, thank God.

Most recently I intervened to stop a couple of very large, menacing, tattooed boys from hot-wiring the truck of a neighbor who dislikes me intensely and actually tried to fuck me over badly on a separate occasion (we had an altercation over some noise he was making late at night, he hit me and then pressed charges saying I hit him—luckily a third neighbor witnessed the whole thing and testified in my defense.) In any case, I didn’t think before acting to prevent him being robbed. I ended up firing a warning shot out of split-second calculation that the gun itself was not sufficient deterrence. Not only did I stick my neck out physically, I committed a felony, and it was only by the grace of God that none of the several sets of security cameras various neighbors have invested in caught footage sufficient to positively identify me, because several of them called the cops (who showed up two hours later) to report a gunshot, and at least one provided the police with video footage.

The point is, every bit of what I did to defend my neighborhood was yiddishkeit—I acted 100% out of Judaism. What is Judaism, in this case? I was taught growing up that if you let your fellow be abused, you’re next. That if you accommodate a bully whatsoever, he owns you wholly. That if you cower behind third-party protection, you’re worthless. None of these notions are exclusive to Jewish identity as it was taught to me by male relatives, but all of them are crucial to it, even if many Jews eschew this outlook or oppose it. Yes, their outlook is also a species of Judaism, but no culture or creed is one-dimensional. In fact, at root Judaism is an heroic creed. This is not just apparent in the Bible, but is testified to by the activity of Jews in militaries and dangerous occupations all over the world. I personally have been in the Israeli army and worked in EMS in the states. So why is my attitude and behavior always seen as the exception, by Jew and Gentile alike?

Because a lie repeated enough times becomes self-fulfilling. “The Jews are particularists, Europeans are universalists.” I saw that for the umpteenth time the other day, on a comment thread—a variation of an old meme. Kevin MacDonald is fond of it, as are his many acolytes. But the suggestion that there’s nothing in the way of universal ethics in the Hebrew Bible or the Talmud—or that the regimes and cultures of European antiquity meet this standard as a rule, not an exception—is so willfully sub-literate it’s embarrassing to address. Besides, no one who calls himself a “white nationalist” has grounds to preach universality. No one really has grounds to preach universality. If you’re some great, ostentatious humanitarian, you probably have a trust fund, or are too ugly to mate with. Perhaps that explains why so many ugly people are such great humanitarians.

Take this Harvey Weinstein case, for example. Big progressive, big gun control freak. Control freak, period. So none of these rape allegations are the least bit surprising. Powerful men of every background do much worse than going after adult females without consent, and it goes without saying that not one percent of the commentators who’ve been animated by these revelations all week gave a rat’s ass last week when these were open secrets, because they all know that Hollywood stardom has got to be the most venal pursuit on the planet: play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Yet somehow, the yiddishkeit of the perp did not escape the attention of many who indulged in this cheap schadenfreude. A half-dozen gentile blue-blood dynasties have had the country over a barrel since reconstruction, but a yid striver who came from nothing is what gets the alt-right’s panties in a twist. Of course, who’s fucking who is always a hot topic for the involuntarily celibate, and the alt-right would be as livid about a handsome yid getting consensual pussy as they are about the fishmongeresque Harvey Weinstein taking coercive measures, so you can’t fault them for inconsistency. But as if the usual flock of low IQ/high JQ parakeets wasn’t enough, even the disgusting little leftist naval-gazers over at Tablet Magazine got in on the action—in the finest tradition of Jewish self-abnegation and with the originality of an Oscar Meyer wiener, citing their repulsive, overrated fellow naval-gazer Philip Roth as inspiration to project all their horrible little fetishistic inadequacies onto Judaism itself and the Jewish people as a whole.

Of course, you may assume at this point that I’m defending Harvey Weinstein. But the truth is, I want to submit myself for consideration, here and now, with no ambiguity, as one of Harvey Weinstein’s foremost victims. Not only did Harvey try to fuck me, he lied about it. That’s right: Harvey Weinstein has been trying to disarm me for well nigh a decade. And yet he went on the Howard Stern show a few years back and stated that he’d exec produced Inglorious Basterds because “I like the idea of Jews with guns.”

With landsmen like these, who needs Amalek?

But who is Harvey Weinstein, really? We know that he is amoral, but I would suggest that he is foremost a man who is living in fear.

This may seem counter-intuitive: Harvey Weinstein, living in fear? What fear? The man’s an oligarch. He hobnobbed with world leaders. Until last month he was perhaps the most powerful man in Hollywood. Clearly, he didn’t see his downfall coming, nor did he appreciate its magnitude initially. So what fear could he possibly have been living in?

First of all, as a powerful man, the fear of rivals and fear for his profits. That goes without saying. Second, and most obvious nowadays, the fear of his behavior being uncovered. This was true not just regarding the perversion, but in general, as a filmmaker who tried to put together a Weinstein biopic found out the hard way some years ago. Moreover, as an oligarch—someone who is complicit in the ongoing plunder of the country by the upper crust—he must’ve harbored some trepidation about regular people. That would certainly explain his fixation on the NRA, given that organization’s rank-and-file.

Significantly, in this connection, Weinstein—as a Jew, but also as a wealthy man and a libertine—was deeply fearful of Christianity, certainly (and of course out of all proportion to its reality) as a political force but also, more than likely, as a set of ethical propositions. (Alan Watts once remarked that no religion or ethical system is more fixated on sexual mores than Christianity). After all, Christianity has had a tremendous influence on what Jews feel they have to answer for, particularly in the modern era with regard to questions of citizenship and belonging. But fear of Christianity and fear of God are two different things, especially for a Jew, and if there was one fear that Harvey Weinstein undoubtedly lacked, it was the fear of God Almighty.

As a Hollywood honcho, he wouldn’t be the first: Jewish studio heads in 1930s tinsel town were so venal that they cooperated extensively with the Nazis—going so far as to violate a nationwide boycott organized by American Jews, Catholics and trade unionists—in order to preserve their access to the German movie market. In 2010, Weinstein somewhat continued this tradition by bankrolling and promoting the most unsympathetic portrayal of Israel to ever emerge from a mainstream media organ in the United States, going so far as to screen it at the UN General Assembly (a first for any Hollywood film), telling a reporter that Israelis needed to understand the Palestinian narrative in order that peace might come to the middle east. The missionary hubris of American poobahs accustomed to wielding persons like marionettes (and sexually assaulting them) seems to express itself occasionally in the questing for mideast peace. What is interesting in Weinstein’s case is that so pugilistic, in-your-face a yid could show more forbearant solicitude for his people’s mortal enemies than he ever has for American Christians who’ve never lain a hand on any Jew. What could be behind such self-abnegation?

The simple fact is, a man who doesn’t live in fear and love of the Almighty is going to live in fear and love of many other less worthy things. This is a huge problem for the Jewish people, and Harvey Weinstein’s just the berg of the ice-tip.

The late Edgar Bronfman was a Canadian liquor magnate who devoted his life to pro-Israel lobbying and Jewish philanthropy. His remains the name most strongly associated with Jewish philanthropy in the diaspora. In 2003, a wave of suicide bombings was hitting Israel. Where was Bronfman’s head at?

This is what he told reporters at the time:

If the Palestinian suicide bombers only went to the settlements and told the whole world [the settlers] were wrong, then the whole world would have had a case against Israel, and there would be a two-state solution by now. Instead, they sent [the bombers] into Israel proper, which is ghastly.

Killing Israeli settlers—not ghastly? Maybe I’m missing something. Let’s deconstruct this a bit. A major leader of diaspora Jewry takes it upon himself to advise Israel’s enemies which Jews to kill, because he wants to better enable them to turn the whole world (“making a case”) against Israel, so as to effect the “two-state solution” in the name of which Harvey Weinstein would screen anti-Israel propaganda at the UN a decade later?

Well, what is this two-state solution? Can Bronfman have seriously believed that sacrificing the advance-guard is the way to preserve the rear echelon? Perhaps I’ll let someone better qualified speak to the matter:

If Israel were to relinquish the West Bank, 80 per cent of its population and most of its industry would be within range of light artillery, mortars and even rifles positioned on the high ground of the Samarian and Judean ridges. These ridges cannot be effectively demilitarized or adequately inspected…. Those who claim that modern military technology has made obsolete the need for critical terrain are simply spouting ignorance. As weapons of war become more sophisticated these factors assume a greater and not a lesser importance…

Air defence radar situated on the [West Bank] affords the Israeli Air Force approximately 15 minutes’ warning time in the event of air attack. Without these installations, the IAF would only have about four minutes in which to scramble its fighters. [Furthermore,] no amount of electronic gadgetry could possibly substitute for control of in-place defences against guerrilla forces infiltrating across torturous borders. Between 1949 and 1967 the IDF devoted much of its resources against [such] infiltration. That these efforts were essentially not successful is clearly attested by the large number of Jews killed and wounded and property damage sustained during this period.

As I’ve argued here before: these are the expert analyses of disinterested military professionals, known to US policymakers since 1967. There’s an obvious inference to be made from them: that the moment Israel accepts a two-state solution, its viability, i.e., the lives of its people, becomes wholly dependent on feckless outside brokerage. How well has that worked out for other US collaborators? For the Jews? Consequently, Israel negotiates only in bad faith; it relinquishes territory only under immense outside pressure. As the Christian deity is purported to have told one Nicodemus: does an elder of Israel not know these things? Hello? Anybody? Bronfman? Bronfman? Because…. while clearly this schlub had the best of intentions, he really didn’t know these things—he, a man who devoted his life to Jewish causes. Ain’t that some shit? What could possibly explain it? I’m at a loss.

Perhaps we’ll glean better insight from an additional case study. Exhibit B is Atlantic assistant editor and former Israeli army MP, Jeffery Goldberg, inarguably the most actively, overtly pro-Israel major journalist at any mainstream American news outlet. Goldberg wrote a book about his experience as a young man in the Israeli army, and a friendship he developed there with a Palestinian who came under his supervision as part of his military police duties. It’s called Prisoners: A Muslim and a Jew Across the Middle East Divide. The tone-deafness of the title (equating a gaoler with his charge) is bad enough. But here’s a bit from the NY Times review:

Rafiq Hijazi [is] the Muslim of the book’s title. The story of their unusual and complicated friendship is at the core of Prisoners, weaving its way through the narrative like a serpentine question mark. It begins with their meeting in 1991 at Ketziot, the Israeli prison filled with thousands of Palestinians arrested during the first Intifada. Rafiq (Fatah-affiliated and deeply religious) was Goldberg’s ”favorite” prisoner. ”I wanted to make Rafiq my friend,” he says. ”I liked that he had the dispassion of an analytical academic in a place notable for its absence of thought. He also had an open-mindedness that to me was a clear sign of inner benevolence.” After their first conversation—separated by a fence—Goldberg had ”a feeling of connection. It was a strange and traitorous feeling, but it was also a true feeling, and it was accompanied by a satisfying frisson of danger and dissent.”

He could be describing an illicit love affair. Except, more than once, and increasingly so as their relationship is tested against the backdrop of violent political developments, it appears to be a case of unrequited love—Rafiq does not seem to be in need of their friendship. They continued to meet, over many years, in different places: at Rafiq’s parents’ home in Gaza, in Washington, where they both lived with their wives and where Rafiq was completing a Ph.D. in statistics, later in Abu Dhabi. There were also frequent long breaks between their meetings, especially after Rafiq—who, Goldberg tells us, had become a fundamentalist—announced that he would not demonstrate against suicide bombings or when he said that if he had to kill his friend, ”it wouldn’t be personal.”

Goldberg is invariably the one to make the next approach: ”I was raised to search out the familiar in the stranger, on the theory that we are all alike. I looked for the familiar in Rafiq, and found it.” The almost pathetic one-sidedness of this friendship, the need to be accepted, liked and understood not only by Rafiq but by other, less moderate political enemies (”I was fascinated by them”) would be almost moving if it didn’t point so obviously back to the old trauma of the rejection by the anti-Semitic bullies in that Long Island playground. Beneath the physical pain and the humiliation, there was always the perennial Jewish question: Why don’t they like me?

Of course, Rafiq doesn’t have this problem. Rafiq has a proper fear of God and a respect for his place in the natural order, as an Arab and a Muslim. His “analytic academic’s dispassion” is a tool, not a ball-and-chain.

But when the pillar of one’s identity has been an object of ruthless, near-universal execration for centuries at a stretch, it becomes an inherent shonda that results in an American Jew, who has the pride and the nerve to enlist in the IDF, nevertheless running home to author a faggoty paean to his would-be murderer. He wanted so badly to “become an Israeli”, but all he needed to do was starch his proverbial shirt a little and there’d have been no need to be anybody but who he is, free and clear, and comfortable. The lesson that Goldberg should’ve taken from Rafiq Hijazi is that it’s possible to confront an enemy dispassionately. For when we harbor a proper respect for God’s ultimate discretion, we don’t need to go chasing power like Harvey Weinstein, or acceptance, like Jeffrey Goldberg, or peace, like Edgar Bronfman—because we’ll know that, as much as possible, we already have it.

 

 

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The Help

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House nigga 4 lyfe

The argument that black celebrities can’t possibly have grounds to complain about being black in America—because they’re rich—is a sophomoric bit of conservative boilerplate. But then, the absurd protocol that black perspectives be treated as more valid because black experience is somehow realer than others is equally tiresome. The morning headlines all insist on some variation of “Ice Cube schooled Bill Maher about white privilege,” but I wonder (not really) if it occurs to Mr. Cube that he was giving Maher moral cover by going on Real Time and calling him out.

Of course I’m not talking about a morality that I personally concur with; taboos against words can only elicit my sympathy for the sentiment that’s being repressed (naughty, naughty). So for example, I wouldn’t get too worked up if an Ice Cube were to rap, “You can’t be the Nigga 4 Life crew/with a white Jew telling you what to do.” In fact, Ice Cube did rap these lyrics, shortly after NWA broke up.

Now, ‘Jew’ and ‘white’ are clearly meant in the pejorative there, and it wasn’t the first or last time Ice Cube rapped anti-white, anti-Jewish or anti-Asian invective—which is not only excused but lauded in the NPR article linked above. So you can recapitulate the bollocks dogma that the N-word is more hateful because the black experience in America is uniquely unfair—in a way that’s totally unfathomable to non-blacks. But who I am is presumably as important to me as Ice Cube’s identity is to him, and I would be well within the electric fence of conventional cant to take umbrage, I just wouldn’t get anywhere because black resentment is more useful and (above all) malleable to elites than the white or Korean or even the Jewish varieties. After all, if you unreflectingly give people enough power that they can obligate you to respond to little trigger phrases like a marionette, then you’re a silly cunt and a weakling. Clearly, Ice Cube—a public image gangster who’s actually a pot bellied, noodle-armed little man in his late forties who lives in a gated community—sees things differently, and that’s his business. But by calling out Maher he’s reinforcing the entertainment industry pecking order he referenced in that song we just quoted from back in the 1990s.

This is not a spurious complaint, by the way. If I wanted to go all Irv Rubin and start calling in bomb threats to Farrakhan, I’d still have to admit the man’s got a perfectly valid point about Jews in the media. The fact is, a black actor or entertainer can only ever be a commodity in Hollywood, whereas a white Jewish comedian can conceivably reach a level—like Jon Stewart, Jerry Seinfeld, or Bill Maher—where he becomes an institution, an arbiter as opposed to a mere influencer of tastes and discourse, and a near-equal to real decision makers, who’re all Jews.

So Ice Cube can stroll into Real Time studios affecting as hard an image as he wants. The more indignant the better because, again, he was being used by Maher for moral cover. Public figures as powerful as US Senators have been taken down for saying nigger; obviously Maher has powerful protection. Again, the morning headlines all say Ice Cube “schooled” him, but if it matters to Ice Cube on any level what comes out of horse’s ass Bill Maher’s mouth then he’s a silly shit. “Please Missa Jewman, please don’t be using that o-ffensive language when you be referring to us black folk. We sho’ would be grateful. Nigga 4 Life crew, ya heard!?! You just been schooled.” This is why, according to the oligarchs and their marionettes, uttering nigger is what passes for unacceptable injustice in a world of actual slavery.

To say that Ice Cube is a hypocrite for taking offense at Maher’s salty language after making a career glorifying drugs and pea-brained street violence would be another bit of sophomoric conservative boilerplate. I think it’s true, but so what? Hearst/Viacom/Zuckerberg say that one thing’s more offensive than another, and who am I to argue? It’s not my country, I don’t make the rules. I just wonder, with all the bloviating we tend to hear about irrational white wariness of blackness from all these three-named, Jew-approved horse’s ass black intellectuals (Marc Lamont Hill, Michael Eric Dyson, Ta Nehisi Coats, who can even tell the difference?) will it make black performers who bank on mean-mugging “jack-yo’-shit” yippity-yap—or their shithead street acolytes—feel any better to know there are whites who don’t take their bravado or their hurt feelings seriously? I won’t hold my breath waiting for an answer.

Disinteresting Times

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Did somebody say download speeds of up to 35.46 gigabits per second?

Modernity is the subordination of principles to processes, and if man is subordinate to technology, this inversion would signify a negation of life by the very means once intended to serve at its disposal.

Life, however, is anxiety-inducing, and faced with it plainly we tend more and more to retreat instead into life-negating distractions, which represent more and more of the benefit we now derive from technology, and cannot be separated from whatever ideas, however lofty, that the latest hi-tech media transmit.

A video I saw posted to LinkedIn recently featured a body language expert advising that one should never look at their smartphone while waiting for a job interview, because it induces wary, diminutive body language. Obviously, when we absorb ourselves in our smartphones, we almost invariably peer down into them. But it is possible to get an uncanny sense of how ridiculously small this frame is (in contrast with the world as we view it normally), simply by correcting our posture and holding up our arm to position the phone within the normal, eye-level field of vision.

The other day I’m out with a friend, when he tells me he needs to pay a cell phone bill, so we duck into a T-Mobile store. While he’s busy with the clerk, I stroll around the place, when it strikes me (I’m probably not the first to say so) how much these outlets are arranged like art galleries: the displays mounted mid-floor on spray-painted white particleboard pillars, or sequenced along the bleach-white walls in the foreground of splashy, backlit stock imagery. Next to each phone display is an informational placard. To get the interactive experience you need assistance from an initiate flunky with a lanyard and a thumb drive—just enough reverence to discourage overthinking is all that’s needed. Trying to contemplate in such an environment is as taxingly awkward as trying to maintain focus on a smartphone from a normal, upright position.

As we’re leaving, I remarked to my friend that, just for the hardware, the margin on a lease must be fairly wide, considering how low the resale value of a smartphone is. But my friend informs me that, to lower cost, every time you go in for an upgrade, the retailer more or less sells your old phone back to the OEM, who does a little light refurbishing and then punts these devices in bulk into a developing market—a euphemism for a country where the buildings are still tattered from the last civil war or the peasantry have all been displaced and reduced to hawkers and bricklayers, if they aren’t combing through garbage for a living.

Think about that: every impression of these industries that the public is imbued with is one of buoyancy, bedazzlement and pure intelligence. Meanwhile, these companies are balancing the books with third world fire sales.

I work in IT sales. Not anybody’s dream job, but what can you do? (Ask me about our tower desktops with Windows 7, LMFAO). Among the concepts they beat us over the head with to peddle is virtualization, you can’t sell servers anymore without VM Ware. Again, the impression they want you to convey to customers is one of buoyancy, bedazzlement and pure intelligence. But somewhere over the rainbow there’s still a fucking server bank and, eventually, the amount of energy it takes for those sleeker, more powerful machines to direct traffic is going to exceed what it takes to run all the bulkier devices they’re replacing today, because we’ve mistaken data for value at the intersection of sloth and hubris.

If man is an intrinsically technological creature, then technology is the factor that enables us to cage animals. If you’re caged, you’re an animal, and a cage is any advantage some shrewd, unscrupulous creature has—some limp-dick sneak fuck who (without money) would be eaten in open combat or humiliated in reproductive competition, and knows it. Basically: usurers, upper-management Johns and peeping Tom data miners. The cage is technology. Your data trail. The toilet paper stuck under your shoe. That’s our rulers’ source of power; Mark Zuckerberg is a virtual used toilet paper magnate. If (as they say) you were to pull the cork out of his asshole, you could bury him in a matchbox; not because he’s dishonest (though that’s also the case), but because he’s figured out the simplest way to facilitate everybody else believing our own bullshit.

And we get the micro-managers we deserve: behold the Gothic architecture of medieval Europe, and it’s hard to gainsay T.S. Eliot’s estimation of the 13th century as the apex of civilization. What are we missing about those people when we ascribe primitivity to them? Something, I assure you. When in the intervening centuries were the structures they built surpassed for exquisiteness? Hell, the largest solid, unreinforced dome on this planet is still the Pantheon of Rome, completed in 128 AD. Technologically, this edifice remains unimproved upon in 2017.

Kurzweil, Zuckerberg, Musk…. they keep telling, not asking us how we’re going to live in the future. Who’d have thought a few autists with Excel spreadsheets for brains would exceed the imaginations of Hieronymus Bosch and every dystopian fiction author, ever, while the rest of us were partying in college? RFID implants and neural lace make precogs look like deus ex machina. Symbiosis with the internet sounds about as appealing as being strapped down like the protagonist in the closing scene of A Clockwork Orange, and that’s exactly what these control freaks want, because the minute they bet money on their predictions those predictions become a motive in themselves, if they weren’t all smoke to begin with. Tech oligarchs are the ultimate totalitarians, and they’re sold to us as luminaries! In a civilization whose denizens possessed a shadow of a survival instinct they’d be fed to orcas at SeaWorld on national television.

Yet—again—the technologies they mean to imprison us with are so…. crude. Internet traffic runs through transoceanic cables the way the telegraph did at the close of the horse and buggy era. When 5G comes online it will require a massive new infrastructure that can be traced, ultimately, to a surge protector in a wall outlet. And when these batty, syphilitic billionaires and virginal, glorified sysadmins tell us about the singularity, they’re talking about an autonomic simulacrum of the übermensch, what VR masturbation is to hot, sticky sex. We’re moving backwards, not forwards. Wireless signaling, photography, the combustion engine, conventional aircraft, even rocketry—none of these is fundamentally different today than they were at their inception, they’re just spiffier. Granted, there are still theoretical game changers: anti-gravity, fusion, quantum, nanotech, AI, genetic engineering. But do any of these developments portend spiritual or intellectual advancement? Of course not—on the contrary. Mankind is the only known species capable of true (i.e., premeditated) cruelty, and we can’t even eradicate the mosquito without taking ourselves out with it. Measured in terms of the ratio of arithmetical figuring to grandiosity of outcome, the capacity to immolate half the solar system remains our greatest technological achievement—our greatest achievement, period, if the technological inclination is our foremost distinction as creatures.

Maybe it isn’t, though. Maybe premeditation and inspiration are two different things. The Elon Musks of the world keep assuring us technologies x, y and z are inevitable and we may as well make the best of it. Sounds kind of rapey, doesn’t it? Either way, craftmanship isn’t what it used to be—at least Patrick Bateman used his hands.

Sundays at the Zoo

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Got my beverage past the turnstile equals white privilege

Just smile

Don’t maintain eye contact

Don’t say gesundheit

Mankind are pederasts, malingerers, rats on an ash heap communicating diseases

Horrible, ambling, eczemic, eggplant-shaped creatures

They suffer waking sleep apnea and never wonder how the meat gets to the plate

Should some grave misfortune befall them they must be maintained alive

Freedom isn’t free, they want a raincheck, they want a discount

They want to see caged animals

and teach the blind how to covet

Shame was the last vestige of propriety

In the distance I saw a crucifix

It was the logo on a ballcap, of a hotel casino

Cattle Prod

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It gets better

Although making an example of someone is the most primitive, totem-and-taboo method of maintaining order, it is a cudgel uniquely suited to democracy. In America, the buck simply must stop somewhere, for where human beings are reduced, scurrilous and simpering, to their uttermost state of servility, it becomes inconceivable to them that misfortune results from their own inadequacies, or—put differently—that our inadequacies result from nature.

So if this had happened to a white boy in a majority black school district, you can be sure it wouldn’t make the Washington Post:

A ham-faced Missouri teenager puts a squirrel-peeler to his humpty dumpty and squeezes…. Come to find out he was being bullied sadistically from just about sun-up, by dozens of classmates and by his supervisor at the local Dairy Queen, who is being charged with second-degree involuntary manslaughter, and is a woman. (Inadequacy: the apple doesn’t fall far from the woe-is-me, but do you think they’ll charge the parents who went on helplessly eating Dairy Queen while all this was taking place?) One look at him choking back tears in his school portrait and you can’t not pity the boy, so anyone remotely acquainted with him in person had to’ve known what was going on, if they wanted to. Either (a) the whole town is complicit in this young man’s Missouri, or (b) no one is. But local media and opinion say it’s both.

For example, the schools superintendent asserts that the bullying in his district isn’t that bad. How many people like him are superintending schools in this country? Rudolph Höss had a personal touch by comparison. State’s prosecutress April Wilson had this to say about her colleague in public, er… “service”:

We wanted to be very cautious and responsible. Both sides of the issue are extremely important. A young man is dead. But we also want to acknowledge that it’s not easy being in public education.

For the kid or the adults?

And is it easier to manage a Dairy Queen?

In other words, as long as we’re assigning blame arbitrarily….

Is this a justice that would satisfy the deceased Kenneth Suttner? From the looks of the victim and the fact he apparently never fought back, the kid probably didn’t have a vindictive bone in his body. At least, not yet. But on the part of others this utter lack of will is why no one intervened to help him. Nature culls herds of all species, but this is the behavior of prey.

A whole town. An entire race.

A Time to Cast Away Stones

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“Run nigga! George Washington!”

We’re told that a national debate about race relations is underway. We’re told this because, as consumers of information, reality is curated for us.

The BLM narrative is essentially that white people harbor biases they aren’t even aware of, that (among other things) this effects police decision-making under life or death circumstances (should’ve dropped the TV), and that these subconscious prejudices are confirmed by scientific studies conducted in the nation’s leading universities.

But if whites aren’t aware of their feelings, it’s because they’ve been told not to be.

For example, an article in the WaPo on Harvard’s study of the subject insists that

It is very important to note that implicit racial bias is not the same thing as conscious racism. People who harbor implicit biases may not think of themselves as prejudiced, and in fact, might consider prejudice to be abhorrent. They also may not know they even have these biases.

In other words, though in practical effect it is harmful to harbor racist thoughts (this is unfalsifiable, but alright….), there’s no moral culpability unless you’re honest about it, and not ashamed. Or unless we redefine culpability, over and over, expecting the same result each time. So although left-liberal self-flagellation treats the symptom (guilt), the underlying malady (racism) can never be pursued to the end of the worm hole, and the floggings will continue until morale improves.

The conservative counter-narrative is that this is all contrived, that black Americans, who are merely being judged by the content of their character, have been co-opted to a politicized grievance racket inflated with exquisite nonsense like Harvard studies and selective news coverage of officer-involved fatalities. Though this analysis writes the entire black experience off peremptorily, it’s obvious that a certain investment is indeed being made in black American opinion: if you think the media is concentrated in too few hands, you might be interested to know who funds the NGOs.

But venture far enough outside the mainstream, and you’ll find a darker counter-narrative that goes more like: by every measurable parameter blacks are predisposed to crimes of violence and refuse to be held accountable. Of course, holding someone accountable for behavior they’re predisposed to is a thorny proposition (they’re working on that at Harvard), but ironically, this analysis tends to agree with the speaking fee hustla-balla theorists of black grievance, with the critical distinction that the latter blame whitey for the predisposition. Thus, and in conclusion, no one in America is willing to be held accountable for anything.

Well, that’s fair enough, so long as you aren’t trying to dictate how others ought to feel, e.g., that blacks should stop perceiving whites as persecutors or that whites should cease their wariness of blacks. But there can be no Americanism or Americanness as we know it without this race relations dialectic, according to which the souls of black folk depend entirely on white perception to prevent them from vanishing. The consolidation of a more perfect union just refines this cognitive domestication of blacks, and we go from the 1968 Olympics to #OscarsSoWhite. This inseparability of enfranchisement from infantilization is so terrifyingly awkward (click the link, you’re gonna love it; it’s not a parody, either) that we prefer Harvard studies arraign every man, woman and child in this country on charges of subconscious malice. I mean, the SCLC was demanding in 1956 that white people cease mistreating blacks. BLM is demanding in 2016 that white people commence some scarcely-specified work of absolution (of a half-dozen demands, the only one that’s tangible is money) on behalf of black people, otherwise, “No perfect union for you!” This is the precipice of post-Americanism, not because blacks will check out of a system that neglects them (clearly they don’t have that option today, though they did in 1968), but because whites will check out of a system that fawns over non-whites (and poofters) for lack of any more compelling claim to moral authority.

But there’s a remedy for that: as the white patrolman says, when you can’t get respect, you settle for fear (“community relations”). So what is really being implied by implicit bias theory is that (a) what goes on inside my caucasoid noggin is a matter of national import, that (b) by the mere fact of my existence, I am contributing to grievous injuries (microinjuries?) inflicted on untold innocent blacks, and (c) that all this is grounds for intervention (reeducation, in particular) with me as one of its objects. It’s enough to make a whiteboy start taking a knee for the anthem. They couldn’t have just let the Panthers have East Oakland? At least those guys weren’t demanding to come to dinner.

The whole gag’s ridiculously Kafkaesque, Orwellian, yet the provincial rube in this country takes the bait every time. Love it or leave it? Tell it to Fred Hampton. You can check in, but you can never leave. Why is a professional football player obliged to respect national symbols? Is he a fucking four-star general?

The fact is, blacks are perfectly right to understand themselves as the Other in American civilization, in so many social settings not individuals but mere objects of pity, fear, virtue signaling and begrudging inclusion; that they are compelled on a regular basis to account for themselves as representatives of the group and repositories of outside preconceptions, and that in essence this state of affairs has persisted unchanged since emancipation.

That being acknowledged, does it really suffice to explain the gamut of racial disparity? Employment rates, test scores, credit ratings, dick size, incarceration ratios?  Be honest. Will public discourse ever again entertain the suggestion of nigger culpability, in any way and to any extent? Of course not. So the Implicit Association Test wasn’t conceived in a vacuum. It’s impetus is a set of assumptions (and this is supposed to be science) about inequality’s culprits. It can’t show causation because it doesn’t need to, its designers already think they know. God knows alternate hypotheses purporting to explain racial disparity exist, they’re just disconcertingly uncompassionate, and cannot be broached at Harvard.

Tim Wise—the Dr. Phil of anti-racism—put it this way in his latest status update:

American history is basically this:

White people, getting it mostly wrong, for 240 years…and counting.

Do better. Be better. Achieve the country you claim to love, rather than loving the country you don’t even understand…

Sorry, pal—collective guilt’s a two-way street. But if that’s your game then I, for one, am a fair measure younger than 240 years, and I don’t claim to love the country because I do not love it. I don’t hate it, either, I have no feelings for it one way or another. Why would I? I have a family. I have a dog I care about more than the abstraction called the United States of America with all its whites, blacks and in betweens who’d resent stepping over me if I lay gasping in front of them on the sidewalk. As a cultural designation? Fine. But as an object of allegiance or a franchise I’m invested in voluntarily? The only people who stand to gain from raising that hackneyed specter are grifters: “Do better, be better,” let’s you and him fight. Sorry brothaman, I ain’t got time and I ain’t got bus fare. You say people shun and suspect you for no good reason, but that don’t pass Occam, and neither the chicken nor the egg are relevant to my family’s wellbeing.

So aside from certain differences of interpretation, I don’t deny the basic substance of the black point of view. Who am I to tell others what they see and experience? What I’m saying instead is that I don’t care. That your feelings mean shit to me and if you think I’m a party to them you’re literally hallucinating. That having spent twenty-eight of my thirty-two born years in America, well over 50% of my experience with American blacks is of ineptitude, extreme impressionability, violently indiscriminate hostility, emotional volatility and presumptuous entitlement. That it doesn’t matter why, because it’s not my problem and, if I can help it, it never will be. That before a pack of animals can drag me out of my car, they’re gonna be grease in my windshield wipers. And that if you think you see me in the crosshairs of your next jacking or curb stomping, I can guarantee you’ve just seen as sure a sign as ever you may that you’re about to meet your maker.

But good luck being heard. You’ve certainly got all the influential publicists on your side.

The Europa of Rape

dav_oath

we hold these fruits to be self-evident

“It goes without saying that mercy remains the privilege of the most powerful man….” (Nietzsche, “Genealogy” 2:10)

Population control has its ins and outs.

Ins and outs.

Ins and outs.

Ins and outs.

Kind of gives new meaning to the term “DP camps,” no?

Most Muslim societies are very crowded and poor, patriarchal and sexually repressed yet predominantly youthful…. So the dramatic recent uptick in sexual assaults across Europe correlates neatly with the introduction of millions of desperate, mostly young, mostly male Muslims into the continent.

But is this a Muslim issue?

What the Islamic world most notably has, that the west for the most part does not, is Islam; a concept generally grasped in the singular though it denotes quite a number of things. What the west most notably has that the Islamic world for the most part lacks is affluence, which can have multifarious causes and infinite effects but is wholly and exclusively one thing.

Among its more instructive effects is an incident which took place in Morocco in 2013.

One Daniel Galvan, a late-middle aged Spanish national, had been living in that country, in an apartment he owned there, for nearly a decade. In that time he may have sampled a great many local delights, but what he’s specifically known for is the rape of at least eleven local children, ranging in age from two to fifteen, with the compensated connivance of native fixers.

After he’d been prosecuted by Moroccan authorities and served eighteen months of a thirty year sentence, Galvan’s custodians were furnished by the Spanish embassy with a list of forty-eight of its nationals in Moroccan detention, contained in a peremptory demand for their unconditional release, a demand Mr. Galvan (whose name was on the list) became a beneficiary of.

As Galvan’s luck would have it, Morocco’s King Mohammad VI does not in fact rule an independent country. In fact, he has a history of so-called diplomatic gestures entailing the pardon of convicted first world pederasty tourists. Why a postcolonial vassal would release these people on demand is self-explanatory, and less interesting than why an affluent power would want them back.

It seems the Spanish authorities didn’t trust a third world regime to sit in judgment, and mete out punishment, of their subje…. er, constituent. So why did they accept King Muhammed’s verdict when he elected, not merely to extradite Galvan to serve out the sentence in his home country, but to pardon him? For you see, upon his return to Spain Mr. Galvan was turned loose and permitted to taste the sweet air of freedom, which he would have enjoyed indefinitely had public outrage (uncharacteristic in a country with a controlled press) not mounted (pun intended) upon King Muhammed, whose government then declared the pardon an oversight, issuing an international arrest warrant that compelled the Spanish government to act. Even so, in spite of how obliging Morocco had been in releasing the Spaniards in its detention, its demand for Galvan’s extradition was rebuffed.

A number of facts are implied here, chiefly that the urchins of Morocco are living under a regime that cannot be inconvenienced, on their behalf, to relinquish the opportunity to prostrate itself before a more powerful neighbor; and that Mr. Galvan is living under a regime that is more concerned to oversee his due process rights than it is with what caliber of subject it has in him. How can such a regime (i.e., a western European democracy) be expected to really systematically differentiate among migrants or, indeed, between anyone subject to its jurisdiction, migrant or non? Its stated purpose is not to prevent its subjects wrongs but to ensure their rights, a moral cover to extend sovereignty and perpetuate the many advantages its franchisees enjoy. The more powerful ones enjoy the advantages they will, the less powerful ones enjoy the advantages they must, and in exchange they tacitly surrender their whole volition (you might say, their spirit), not to a government per se—this isn’t a libertarian argument I’m making—but to an amorphous commercial and administrative hierarchy that nevertheless facilitates highly tangible if ostensibly metaphysical commodities exchanges (“justice”) as a matter of course.

On a related note, the right-wing sector of the US press—Drudge, Breitbart, Fox, etc.—is abuzz this week at the revelation that a last-minute incentive was written into the Iran nuclear deal by the Obama administration, a sum of $400,000,000 cash, transferred to Tehran on the very day (it so happens) when a handful of Iranian-American prisoners were handed over to Uncle Sam. Obama is being accused of capitulation, of paying ransom. But whatever you think of his decision, there’s something to be said for a regime that will spend hundreds of millions of dollars to retrieve a half dozen of its subjects.

Nevertheless, one US citizen exchanged in the deal, rather than gratefully keeping his mouth shut, saw fit to turn on his redeemers by going on record with the opposition press after his homecoming, to describe being brought to the tarmac of the Tehran airport and handed over to US officials only after an unidentified plane had arrived, presumably containing palettes of greenbacks. In the name of his fellow first world denizens’ right to avoid increased risk of kidnapping in the third world, this fellow retroactively opposed his own right to’ve been ransomed—how righteously convenient. And under a brief flurry of media scrutiny, the regime defended its decision to redeem this man so he could fink on them.

Now, you might be wondering how the Galvan case in any way indicates that Europe’s migrant rape phenomenon is something more than a Muslim issue. Migrants=rape, jeezus, it’s not algebra. Besides, rapists are everywhere, in some small proportion, but only Muslim societies seem to be importing and exporting them. But when it comes to the surge in sexual assaults on Europeans by Muslim migrants, in no way is the facilitation of this state of affairs by EU authorities a Muslim initiative. If very many of the goings-on in this world were Muslim initiatives, there’d be no sex tourism in Morocco.

And Morocco is not much less independent a country than many others, Muslim or non. For instance, if a Lebanese murders a solitary Israeli in Denmark, the full force of the Mossad will almost certainly bear down upon him, and his family. But if an American Gentile on holiday in Tel Aviv rapes a Jewish schoolboy, he’ll be afforded a more meticulous due process than many locals are for lesser crimes, and certainly not be killed. What the fuck’s up with that? Likewise, western sex tourists in Thailand are liable, if busted, to be extradited to face prosecution in their home countries, but if they get caught with a dimebag they’ll face execution by hanging, right there in Thailand, whose king picks his battles as surely as his Moroccan counterpart, which is to say, rarely.

So what we have is a handful of inordinately wealthy organizations whose protection, however inadvertent, enables their subjects, for a pittance, to abuse any lesser power’s citizens up to the limit of what that lesser power’s laws allow, its authorities are interested in detecting, and its officials are permitted to prevent.

And this abuse is not limited to rape, though rape is a salient, common-denominator analogy that also takes place literally, in this context, though perhaps not nearly so often as figurative cannibalism. It extends to the sadistic mistreatment of mail-order brides and adopted children, cut-rate reproductive surrogacy, organ harvesting, not to mention labor—almost anything you can name, really. Point is, to not seek a wealthy country’s protection (i.e., US or EU citizenship) is tantamount to leaving yourself open to being ruthlessly exploited and bombed by those very same countries. Rapist or rapee, them’s your options, and self employment ain’t one of them (that’s why rape’s illegal, duh). I’m no more keen on seeing Stuttgart transmogrified into Iskenderun than David Duke is, but if Holocaust guilt is behind all this then the Holocaust is just one more impediment to confronting the depravity our human rights have bought us, digestive systems have to have an outlet. Is a pale German football hooligan more likely to murder a hapless swarthy Semite in a dark subway station, or pay twenty-five Euros to sodomize a Ukrainian teenager in Holland?

In many traditional societies, perhaps especially Islamic ones, female rape victims can be murdered by their own male relatives. This is called honor killing, and like Oedipus, you’d better believe it is comprehensible. Hate me all you want, just don’t look in the mirror: there’s something repellent about a desiccated soul deprived of its most sacred honor. Deep, pre-social instinct impels us to shun the contagious, the needy and the irreparable, and we do it all the time. How often will most people visit an ailing grandparent?

This is why so many prostitutes were rape victims first, why so many boys who are raped take exclusively to homosexuality as adults. Once placed beyond an invisible symbolic boundary, there’s nothing left for them except to affirm fate, to deny that something was taken or lost by declaring that this is who I really was all along. In the modern west, one way or another, rape victims are invariably told either to forget all about what happened and put it behind them, or that they can be made whole again, if only they’ll cooperate with a treatment regimen. For whose benefit? These are lies: confront colon cancer with all the positive attitude in the world and you’ll still be out a colon.

The slut walkers of the world want to re-confer the stigma of rape upon the rapist, but that’s not how rape works (see also: “the international community”). They can fulminate, demand action against pre-crime and publicly shame whomever they please (except actual rapists), but for the victim these gestures are a mirror image: self-abasement in reaction to powerlessness. “Proud slut,” indeed. If she didn’t have all that oil, we wouldn’t have needed to invade her.

The very presence of a rape victim in the community signals the failure and complicity of all would-be protectors and sympathizers. The primitive (i.e., the only) impulse in response to this dread realization is either abandonment (to quarantine the stigma with the primary carrier) or erasure, either active (by honor killing) or passive, by denial—the latter (in some societies) involving the marriage of the victim to her rapist or (in the best case scenario) the revenge-killing of the perpetrator by the victim’s male relatives. In all of these cases (SlutWalk included), the real goal is to drive away the guilt of the people around and associated with the victim, by denying the victim their reality until all that’s left for them is drugs, broken glass and compulsive self-laceration. Get well soon! Please, seriously. You’re making the rest of us uncomfortable. But the reality of rape will only ever be confronted by the victim, whose very existence becomes subordinate, because the community insists on controlling the narrative.

So criticize Islam and globalism all you like, but we get the neighbors we deserve.

Stockholm calling

20091124164639-of-mice-and-men

This’ll only hurt for a minute

Regarding what promises to be another protracted summer of orchestrated destruction, the following non-sequitur from Henry Rollins, who is to punk rock what Lenny is to a mouse:

In 1969, when I was about 8 years old, I saw the divide. I went to a school in Washington, D.C., with mostly African-American kids who were bused in from different neighborhoods in the same city. It was a constantly harrowing experience. I got picked on for the color of my skin. Pushed into the urinal, head slammed into the water fountain, shoved down the stairs…..

It was in this year that I understood that my life in America was going to be different, not only because of the color of my skin but because of the advantages that came with it.

Then there’s this other advantaged guy. Like Rollins, he learned the hard way.

 

 

A Tissue of Lies

This is what democracy looks like

This is what democracy looks like

Are you pro-choice or pro-life?

What is meant, respectively, by these monickers, pro-choice and pro-life?

If by the former we refer to someone who generally believes abortion to be morally acceptable, and by the latter we mean someone who finds the procedure morally abhorrent, then I, for one, am certainly pro-life.

However, pro-life and pro-choice are not simple states of thought or feeling about the relative moral acceptability of abortions. In public discourse these labels primarily denote policy positions, i.e., administrative propositions, and/or degrees of objection to or concurrence with same. They are answers to the question what is to be done about community business, about who is to be on the pitching and whom on the catching ends of officialdom, and in the case of abortion policy the greatest convenience to the greatest number is derived by giving prenates (babies, if you please) the short end of the stick. Yet these mundane considerations are almost always referenced in intangible moral terms. Granted, the pro-choice side tends to base their arguments on utilitarian grounds, but their bottom dollar is on an alleged, essentially sacred right to abortion that the government, by its very purpose as an institution, is entrusted to ensure. And those who are pro-life argue that legalizing abortion violates an alleged and no less sacred right to life that the U.S. government is uniquely ordained by History to protect.

This hinging of rationales on intangible moral authority stems from America’s claim to actual authority being rooted in a supernatural supposition, that men have intrinsic (“natural”) rights and that governments are instituted among men for the purpose of securing them.

An alluring induction, this high-flown catechism upon which Americans (meaning, nearly every modern bourgeois on the planet) base so many of our operative assumptions about propriety in the conduct of temporal affairs, falls far short of probability—though it raises (and manages to settle in its proponents’ favor) the prosaic line of inquiry, what is to be done? 

But if I possess something intrinsically, what need is there for a third-party guarantor? And if this guarantor’s powers can only be considered just if derived from the consent of the governed, what happens if I don’t consent? We know the answer: the Whiskey Rebellion. Ruby Ridge. A 5150 hold. Criminal syndicates that reject the premise get more leeway than political opponents who accept it.

But as individuals and families, either you buy this notion that some terrestrial party other than you is responsible for securing your rights, or you don’t. If you don’t, then you have no business demanding the government implement justice, not for baby seals or baby humans or victims of airstrikes or of faulty airbags. If the government happens to be tolerably just and responsible, great. If not, make a contingency and suffer what you must. Rights are as ethereal as the soul, and with mine I prefer not to bargain.

But even if neither God nor nature entitles us to x, y or z by simple virtue of our humanity, is decent treatment not a manifest good? Must we capture this Sasquatch and christen him Rights, or will a positive ID suffice? Say, the Golden Rule? What if the government took it as its job to simply enforce a consistent measure of decorum and propriety? Could we then declare ourselves pro-life, or pro-choice, or advocate for animal rights or a minimum wage, without thereby appointing a terrestrial arbiter of first things? And anyway, by advocating for this or that policy, aren’t we simply attempting to shape the notion of propriety we’d like to see enforced?

If you consider yourself a stakeholder in the business of enforcement, then yes.

A thought experiment: God forbid, your school-age child is raped by his or her soccer coach. You know right where this man lives, you own a gun, and can easily kill him, or kidnap and torture him horrifically. Knowing that the government forbids and very effectively punishes kidnapping, killing and torture (this is a hypothetical), and that it also forbids child-rape but that official punishment for the latter, though forthcoming and harsh, would be insufficient to satisfy your sense of justice—what is to be done?

Now, let’s pose this exact scenario, assuming (to be certain) that no one other than you is in a position or would be willing to break the law to exact a vengeance that would more nearly approximate your idea of justice than the government’s exertions, but in this case the kid isn’t yours, and the rapist isn’t your kid’s soccer coach. Do you avenge this crime, with the near-certainty of punishment (of you) vengeance entails, if the victim is your child’s classmate? What if he lives in the same neighborhood? The same town? What if he lives three towns over? Or in another state? If not, why not?

If you’re pro-life, I expect you’ll agree that the state sanction and subsidization of prenatal infanticide is pure madness. And that there are fashionable, highly educated people out promoting the mental gymnastics required to believe this abortion regime is a symptom of some virtue inherent in our system of government is maddening. But life was cheap back when Tamerlane was lopping off heads, and you want me to believe the intervening centuries have made it less so?

Granted, life in the US can be pretty expensive. As someone who works in EMS and has lived abroad I can say that the extent to which this notion is taken seriously (that we’re all equally entitled to a modicum of decent treatment) is impressive, and so are its results. There are many complaints that can be made about the insufficient and deteriorating maintenance of public health, order and education here, but all things considered, it isn’t half bad. I hear public order is kept better in China, where abortion is mandated by law. In America, it’s encouraged and subsidized. The latter regime maintains control with psy-ops, the former with bi-ops. You want hamburger, or egg fu yung? But the proliferation of supposed rights is inversely proportional to the steady deterioration of civilized life we’ve been witnessing since WWI. How many more of us do we really want out walking around with these laundry lists of rights? Granted, giving babies the shaft is stupendously chickenshit, but them’s the times, and I don’t make the rules.

How did we get here? The way I once countenanced the proposition that “all men are created equal” was by crediting it as a slightly overwrought recapitulation of Marcus Aurelius’ “Neither have I seen my own soul, and yet I honor it.” You have to be a very thwarted little knit-picker to quibble with the Emperor on that score. Of course it is self-evident that we all intrinsically possess some unqualifiable dignity as creatures. And creatures come in all shapes, sizes and capacities—who are any of us to quantify these differences?

Then again, it’s inevitable that in the course of human events they will be. And this intrinsic dignity is reduced to so much pathos and puerility when it takes up the pitchfork and the petition. From its inception America ordains government as arbiter of the ethereal. At least Shylock’s pound of flesh was a clear-cut matter of principle. The more far-fetched these pitchforked petitions become—the right to public funding and social approval when subornning a physician to commit prenatal infanticide, the right of poofters to adopt little boys, first from Thailand, then from Church orphanages; the right of the well-off and late middle-aged to harvest their preciouses out of cut-rate rental wombs abroad—the clearer it becomes that, like Marx’s bourgeoisie, the tendency of this enterprise is to round ever southerly Capes and open ever newer markets. If the prenate is an “undifferentiated clump of cells”, what does that make the Congolese miner? The Bangladeshi seamstress? The migrant produce picker? The Pakistani drone victim? Always diluting its shareholders’ stock, by-and-by this Beelzebub eats its own head. Like the Church, democracy is always locating and innovating temporality onto the transcendent, and vice versa. When it isn’t a lead pipe, the consent of the governed is a conjurer’s sorcery, and we’re happy to be entranced. We tell ourselves that 120 million more hungry, subliterate mouths would be something we could live with, or that infanticide is a right enshrined in the Constitution which devolves to us from the Mother Gaia. I, for one, would rather minimize my involvement with Beelzebub than see him co-opted to my way of thinking.

So, though I and Hippocrates know (he without aid of the advanced insights into embryology that inform us) that abortion is murder, a natural crime and a morally reprehensible act; though I would make every effort to dissuade a loved one from committing it (and possibly attempt to restrain them physically), I cannot concern myself with the pretend moral arbitration of an authority that bases itself on uncorroborated claims, without as a consequence recognizing them. And since it only recognizes my rights—my soul—as a product of its protection, I would rather secure my own, such as I am able.