(*) Apart from all the other best things ever he has done so far…
Just like The Simpsons in the days when it was good, Trump’s ban on transgenderism in the military is great because it works on so many levels.
The BBC has thrown its feminist High Priestess to thetransgender wolves because she dared to suggest that a man born with a penis isn’t really a woman.
As blue on blue SJW infighting goes, you could scarcely ask for a more perfect popcorn movement.
Up until now, Dame “Jenni” Murray has maintained a reputation for stern, disapproving, joke-free feminist political correctness (but is there any other kind…?) of the most impeccably fingerwagging rectitude.
Listening to her morning BBC radio show Woman’s Hour is like being subjected to a 60 minute lecture on the shortcomings of men, the superiority of women and the manifest injustice of the patriarchal hegemony, delivered by a school games mistress wearing iron underwear and a kaftan knitted by a Turkish oppressed women’s collective, while being forcefed organic breast milk laced with Hormone Replacement chemicals and the collected works of Germaine Greer, Erica Jong and Susie Orbach.
So for Dame Jenni [she’s very proud of her title and uses it a lot] to find herself caught out on the wrong side by the PC Gestapo is about as deliciously unlikely as Meryl Streep raising her next Oscar statuette high and saying: “I’m dedicating this one to my hero The Donald!”
But where, if anywhere, should our sympathies lie in this hilarious “Death of Little Nell on steroids” tragedy?
On the one hand, it’s true, Murray has long deserved her comeuppance. She may not be quite as shrill or deranged as some of the younger generation of Third Wave feminazis, but she has definitely helped poison the wells for male/female relationships by promulgating her grisly, joyless Marxist feminist view that any time a woman does the dishes, cooks a souffle or puts on a sexy maid’s outfit then basically she has failed as a meaningful human being.
The uniformity of thought required by the establishment today is reminiscent of the old Eastern Bloc.
Because we’re all so obsessed with what it was that made the Nazis tick, we tend to overlook the bigger mystery of how hundreds of millions of people, for a period considerably longer than the lifespan of Hitler’s Germany, remained under the spell of communism.
This is a question that Czeslaw Milosz set out to answer in his 1953 classic The Captive Mind. Milosz was a Polish poet, prominent in the underground during the Nazi occupation, who served as a cultural attaché with Poland’s post-war communist regime before quitting in disgust and fleeing to the US, where he taught at Berkeley and achieved eminence as a Nobel-prize-winning dissident exile.
What Milosz particularly wanted to know was how so many of his literary and intellectual contemporaries embraced dialectical materialism — the only permitted way of thinking in the ‘imperium of the East’ — when, being intelligent and cultured and sensitive, they ought to have seen it was a nonsense that bore no relation to observed reality.
He came up with a number of explanations, one of which captures perfectly that preening sense of entitlement you found then and still find now among luvvie types. Under communism, Milosz explains, artists prepared to endorse the regime are given enormous privileges and power, while simultaneously being freed from having to engage in the kind of struggle or suffer the insecurity that traditionally besets their profession. This appeals to their amour-propre, and gratifies their instinct that they are far more important than the ‘businessmen, aristocrats and tradespeople’ who have previously looked down on them as effete outsiders.
Milosz was writing in the 1950s about life behind an Iron Curtain now so remote and ill-understood as almost to have been airbrushed from history. (Why else would so many kids today find the politics of Jeremy Corbyn, Bernie Sanders and the Occupy movement so fresh and exciting?) But what may strike you as you read his book is how relevant his insights are to the supposedly liberated culture we now inhabit.
It wasn’t me who said this (though I kind of wish I had). It was the world’s most famous female impersonator Barry Humphries, better known as Dame Edna Everage, speaking his mind – as usual – in an interview with the Daily Telegraph.
The reason I wish I’d said it has nothing to do with any desire to offend transgender people. It does, however, have EVERYTHING to do with my desire to offend the vast and terrifying industry which has sprung up to take offence on transgendered people’s behalf.
I note by way of example that fully one quarter of the Telegraph’s news piece covering the story is devoted to quotes from various virtue-signalling parties – a brace of Conservative MPs; the gay campaign group Stonewall; something called Trans Media Watch; the BBC – distancing themselves from Humphries’ (pictured right) remarks.
What are we: children? Can we really no longer be trusted to make up our own minds on an issue without being nudged into correctness by the morality police?
This is what most of us find so irritating about the whole transgender phenomenon: the way an infinitesimally tiny minority issue has been hijacked by the forces of Social Justice and is used as a stick to bully us into pretending to give a shit about something we’d prefer not to think about.
Why should I ever have to spend even a millisecond of my life thinking about Bruce Jenner’s genitalia – or absence thereof? No more do I want to dwell on the fate of a 70s celebrity athlete’s sweaty testes than I do about the surgical procedure required to remove a candiru fish from your urethra or the precise make up of Kim Kardashian’s enormous butt cheeks or the mating habits of giant banana slugs or the digestive processes of a bird eating spider.
And I say this without prejudice to Bruce or indeed to transexuals generally. I’m sure they’re all lovely brave people with great stories to tell but I don’t want to hear them – ever – a) because I’m squeamish and b) because I’ve only got so much space in my head for thoughts and worries about the great problems facing the world and not one of these, unfortunately, includes whether or not transexuals feel sufficiently accepted by society or whether they deserve the title Woman of the Year or how amazingly courageous they are. In the unlikely event I ever meet one, I shall of course be courteous and kind: not because I’ve been ordered to be so by the Transgender Rights Stasi but because that’s how people generally do behave to one another in the civilised world.