As the great and the good march on London today, this classic from Rod Liddle…….
The UN’s sent an envoy to examine Brexit racism. And a warm welcome to herAnother new word, this time from the deranged far-right: incel. This means a chap who is involuntarily celibate because women won’t sleep with him. Instead, these besoms prefer to have sex with attractive men. There are links with the Toronto murderer Alek Minassian, who drove a van into a bunch of pedestrians because he couldn’t get a shag. Incels applauded his actions online, demanding death to the ‘Stacys’ and the ‘Chads’. And also the ‘Beckys’.
Ah, yes, three more new words. Stacys are attractive ‘unattainable’ women. Chads are the good-looking young men who get to shag them. Beckys are ‘average’ women who you wouldn’t want to have sex with because they’re not fit enough — they all have ‘flat tits’, according to an incel commentator. Right. I do not understand why incels want women dead while simultaneously wishing to have sex with them, unless they are of a necrophiliac tendency. It seems to me a counter-productive approach. Buying some flowers, washing, and setting your sights a little lower than Megan Fox would seem to me a more profitable modus operandi. But these are very angry people so I shall not suggest it to them.
Usually when people deliberately drive cars into pedestrians, rank misogyny is only a small part of their political make-up and comes somewhere behind anti-Semitism and a loathing of (nominal) Christians, the West and democracy. But whatever. The more one reads about some of the other people who share our planet, the more amenable Novichok seems as an answer to our problems. We have learned about the incel community via the internet. But the internet did not create it. That adolescent loathing and bitterness has always been there.
Meanwhile, we have an important guest to welcome to our shores. A ‘Special Rapporteur’ from the world’s most stupid, costly and deluded organisation, the United Nations. E. Tendayi Achiume is here to sniff out racism wherever she can find it. ‘My mission across the country, including stops in London and Belfast, will focus on explicit incidents of racism and related intolerance, as well as attention to structural forms of discrimination and exclusion that may have been exacerbated by Brexit,’ this pompous, jumped-up panjandrum announced. ‘Xenophobic discrimination and intolerance aimed at refugees, migrants and even British racial, religious and ethnic minorities will also be an important focus.’
Will it, indeed, poppet? It sounds to me awfully like Achiume has made her mind up already. Here’s a bet. Her report, when it is filed to the various other thick-as-mince third-worlders on the make at the UN, will denounce the British people for their colonialist and imperialist past and castigate them still further for being beastly to dark-skinned folk, thinking they have been given carte blanche to do so by the vote to leave that other stupid, costly and deluded supranational organisation, the European Union. And her report will appear on the front page of the Guardian and as third story on the BBC World At One and nobody else will give a monkey’s, believing it to be tendentious drivel.
Achiume lectures in Los Angeles, but she hails from Zambia and has indeed done a lot of work on racism in southern Africa. For example, she has considered the plainly racist expropriation of land from white farmers in Zimbabwe (and indeed their murder) at the hands of Robert Mugabe’s thugs in a lengthy abstract. Achiume came to the predictable conclusion that Big Bob was perfectly within his rights to kick whitey out of Africa and steal all his land and that the Southern African Development Community (SADC), which adjudicated against Mugabe, was mistaken in its analysis and did not take account of the local feeling which was in favour of shooting white people and then stealing from them.
Another academic summed up her views: ‘The SADC Tribunal might have misinterpreted human rights norms — in particular a provision of the International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination that allows race-conscious policies to remedy past discrimination, such as the legacy of concentrated white land ownership.’ So, racism and indeed genocide is OK if it’s directed against white people, because white people are unspeakably ghastly and stole the land in the first place (despite the fact that, of course, they didn’t). And so the question which immediately arises is this: why has this halfwit been allowed into the country and why are the usual anti-racist protest kids not more exercised about her arrival?
The answer may be as simple as this. United Nations Special Rapporteurs, whoever they might be, add to the general gaiety of life, enormously so. They are almost always thick academics from the third world far-left. My particular favourite — you may have your own, of course — was the mental Brazilian former Marxist Raquel Rolnik who came here from the filthy and violent favelas of her own benighted country to tick off our government about its proposed bedroom tax. The bedroom tax would exacerbate social division and leave hundreds of thousands of ‘vulnerable’ people much worse off, she concluded, before jetting back to the hell of São Paulo. Even by the standards of our current Labour party leadership, Rolnik was further to the left than a salad fork.
Among other things, she was a practitioner of the somewhat primitive Candomblé religion and once, when she was living in Paris, sacrificed a chicken to her hero, Karl Marx. I do not know the name of the chicken, nor the means by which Rolnik dispatched it. Her sister’s testimony does not stretch that far. All we know is the chicken died, somehow. And that beyond the grave, the most damaging philosopher in the history of the world was grateful for the succour and was rubbing his beard in gratitude.
So we should be grateful that the UN bungs us these third-world commie women every so often, to march around the country, do a bit of shopping and conclude that, by and large, we’re vile.
Extract from the Spectator magazine