Have you heard the one about the anti-fascist protest where protestors were there to prevent libertarians from exercising their right to free speech, hid their identities behind masks, poured a bottle of piss over someone who had the guts to stand up to them, and generally behaved with all the restraint of fanatical Jihadists setting fire to the stars & stripes? Unfortunately, there isn’t a funny punch-line. This happened in Canada – yes, the laidback, easygoing next-door neighbour of the USA; but it could just as easily have happened here in Blighty. The recipient of the unwanted golden shower didn’t go running and crying to a ‘safe space’ to suck her thumb and dial 911 (or whatever number Canadians dial for law enforcement), followed by a crash-course in therapy to reiterate that she remains ‘special’; she walked away with as much dignity as she could muster because she wasn’t the fascist present; the spoilt brat who doused her in wee-wee was. And those who couldn’t make it to the latest Nuremberg Rally aired their opinions of the punishment dished out to the she-devil with a series of sympathetic commiserations on twitter.
It’s no wonder the regressive left is an apologist for Islamic Fundamentalism and every other crazed faction that is hailed as a heroic bulwark against the white, straight, women-suppressing, ethnic minority-suppressing, gay-suppressing, homophobic, transphobic, misogynistic and racist world elite that controls the planet. They share the same narrow worldview, only differing in the route that brought them to it. That their Vancouver branch expressed the intolerance of their secular Puritanism by aiming their ire and bodily waste at Canadian broadcaster and vocal critic of their manifesto Lauren Southern is not merely the action of overgrown children to whom ‘no’ was never said; it also lays bare their belief that a man who still has his tackle intact but chooses to play the part of the opposite sex is more of a woman than the real thing, should she happen to disagree with them.
The British branch of the international prohibitionists have mainly focused their attention on inanimate human facsimiles rather than living, flesh-and-blood people who can provide a counter argument, with the honourable exception of those renowned fascists, Tatchell and Greer; the targets of their illogical and ill-educated fury are old statues of prominent figures usually emanating from a past that Blairite educational reforms deliberately provided them with no history of, other than labelling everyone who wasn’t a slave or repressed colonial as a rabid racist. The empire-builders and military leaders are easy targets, as they tend to be the ones who had statues sculpted in their honour; but to dismiss Britain’s imperial past in one ignorant swoop is also a slur on the thousands of Brits who spent their entire working lives out in the colonies, ones whose unvisited resting places crumbling in overgrown graveyards on the Indian Subcontinent (amongst other locations) are testament to their forgotten contribution in establishing the best of British principles – not to mention the English language – on foreign soil. Anyway, unlike most of our European colonial competitors, Britain rarely invaded another country; the majority of Britain’s overseas possessions grew organically over decades from their humble beginnings as trading posts, the classic mark of a maritime nation.
Queen Victoria herself is the latest focus of the Ministry of Truth’s brown-shirt brigade, though it will be difficult to remove all of her stone likenesses from the landscape, considering every city in the country erected a statue to her when she died. Even during her long lifetime, Victoria was immortalised as the embodiment of Britannia, a symbolic mother figure to the Empire, thus singling her out as another representative of our shameful history. How many of these foaming-at-the-mouth revisionists know anything about the woman – one possessing natural breasts and vagina – who reigned for over sixty years and gave her name to an entire era, the only time a woman has ever done so other than Elizabeth I?
Are they, for example, aware that in her later years, Victoria became enamoured with Indian culture and had a Muslim secretary called Abdul Karim, who was her close confidant for the last decade of her life, much to the disapproval of her less enlightened staff and family? She was ahead of her time in the case of Karim, whereas her disapproval of women’s suffrage was more typical of her time. Contrary to her popular image, Victoria was a passionate woman who revelled in the sexual relationship she enjoyed with her husband Prince Albert, something that the brood she brought into the world underlines, despite the fact that continuous pregnancy got in the way of these erotic interludes. In this, she was very much in tune with her female subjects at a time of primitive and ineffective contraception.
For at least the second half of her reign, Queen Victoria was the most famous woman on the planet, and despite the lack of electoral representation for women in the mother country, great strides were taken by many women during that reign, strides that ended the absolute power of husbands in marriage, strides that challenged the exploitation of low-paid women workers, strides that curtailed the legal abuse of prostitutes, strides that broke down the barriers of higher education, and strides that contradict the retrospective image of Victorian women as shrinking violets forever fainting and swooning.
On International Women’s Day, how ironic that these great strides taken over a century ago have been conveniently buried in a past that we are now supposed to be ashamed of, leaving us with a generation of women reverting to playing the victim, either of unequal opportunities in the workplace or the wicked libido of the male sex. Carping on about how hard done-by they are seems to be the default button of some women to elicit sympathy and to be in denial of just how much has changed, particularly in the western world, over the past 100 years. One would almost think being the underdog is some form of feminine comfort zone. But then, there’s more to women today than a pair of breasts and a vagina – like a penis.
© The Editor