SAFE EUROPEAN HOME

 

for Auld Lang Syne

Reflecting on this year from the officially enforced, and perhaps too socially-distanced comfort, of your designated lockdown zone, you may find your mind’s eye seeking out the company of crowds and naturally consider the only gatherings of this year – the various, apparently spontaneous, international commiserations over the death of a saintly, pistol-whipping¹ porn star unfortunately over-fond of strange powders. And the inevitable and justified attacks on the symbols of white racism (statues, public building, liquor stores, shoe shops, McDonald’s, street names, white faces) that caused his demise. Should, however, this reflection be too political for your maudlin mood, and you just prefer something mair auld lang syne, I attach the following little compilation of 1950s Scandinavian street scenes from what appears to be home movies. And you may imagine yourself there instead, enjoying your unjust privilege. Although there is no sound (other than a retrospectively added and poorly chosen soundtrack), it speaks for itself. It features Scandies of course (and thankfully a few fjallravens to maintain the special interest of wildlife connoisseurs) but we Scotch, as fellow North Euros, are in no wise excluded from recognising a common cultural past, and thusly seeing ourselves in the images. That is our former selves.

https://youtu.be/t0oxUeKIgIc        and here's a live link. (I'm not sure if I've done this correctly, tell me if so)

Perhaps I am projecting, but I feel a terrific sense of order and security radiating from the images, in that these places are safe in a way that does not exist anymore. Good manners too, somehow suggests itself. These are nice thoughts to enter the new year with, don’t you think.The city centre scenes are striking for how well-dressed people appear to be; dapper, polished and elegant are proposed as the correct adjectives. And slim. And White. Slim and White; Aye, there’s the rub.

Although easily within the span of many readers, the world depicted is as gone as Caesar’s Rome.² For some oldsters this may evoke nostalgia, for the young however (and here I am thinking of White school children) raised in a world of images where their visual replacement is almost complete, I feel that these images will come as a surprise. And for ethnic others; they’ll be wondering where they are. I am especially curious about how older children, gas-lighted and bullied into beliefs about prejudice and patriarchy as their recent history, react to seeing just pale faces like their own in what are undeniably liveable countries, despite the absence of the cultural enrichments we now enjoy. For young males especially, seeing innocent images of ordinary White males who are not the buffoons, psychos and incompetents they know from TV, perhaps this would have a subtle power. Could these images evoke some atavistic impulse that could threaten the project to deprive European peoples of their heritage? I am sure that I am not the only one to think this.

I’ve politicised my viewing of these images, although we know watching them that such a perspective was not even conceivable to the original filmers – although arguably to the recent compiler. It is this very innocence of political agenda that gives them their subversive power and this is why they will be memory holed.  Our past, according to this corrected view, was narrow and dull, intolerant and corrupt, racist and anti-Semitic. No other memory will be allowed.

It is the perquisite of power to invent the past. And we are not to find a welcome there. In this future world auld acquaintance should be forgot and never brocht tae mind. Let us resist this for, evoking Rabbie, auld lang syne.

Hat tip to The Clash, from whom I stole the title.

What think ye?

 

1. Lest this causes a misunderstanding, we are not referencing a porno-style pistol whipping in the saint’s case, but actual pistol whipping (with a gun) of a pregnant woman he was robbing. I think ‘pistol-whuppin’ is the correct term.

2. And ha ha, for exactly the same reasons. Emperor Claudius shakes his head: Ego dixi vobis.

SANTA CLAUS IS STILL COMING TO TOWN

 

Lifelong Infant Logic

At this time of year it used to be that infants were only worried about whether they had been naughty or nice, but I’ve just discovered that there is a new source of worry for them – the virus.

Infants are not concerned at getting the virus, that worry is still a little too abstract to their understanding, but on its potential impact on Santa delivering their presents. A rumour had started, possibly encouraged by an older sibling or even our First Meenister, that Santa would be stopped by the police for breaking the lockdown rules regarding travel between zones. This concern, expressed sincerely, shows an impressive grasp of logic as well as a proper focus on priorities, and illustrates one of the delights of working with infants. 

Using the same logic, I was able to allay the fear; Santa’s sleigh flies, but the police cars cannot, so they wouldn’t be able to stop him even if they wanted to. This was accepted, after a moment’s reflection and a relieved Ah!, as the logical proof it is. I nailed the assurance with the claim that the police wouldn’t want to stop Santa anyway, because then they wouldn’t get any presents either – new handcuffs, pepper spray or big boots.

It is a wonderful feeling to be able to provide genuine succour to the troubled in spirit. One risks becoming almost saintly, like Santa I suppose.

With infants one often encounters logical corollaries, and even wisdom, built atop false premises, and naturally hold this to be a particular feature of undeveloped young minds. This is true, of course; however, in the last year I have come to believe that as adults we represent no true improvement on the patterns of logic demonstrated by our infantish selves. The domain shifts, but the scope and power remain the same. Our responses to the political and cultural challenge brought to our entire nation by the events of the year seem to me to demonstrate this limit.

This is not to end on a pessimistic note, for it also proves that Santa will not be stopped by the Scottish police. Even our resident FM Grinch cannae stop him.

Nevertheless, one should still be good for goodness sake.

What think ye?

PS. That Santa should be subject to the same rules as the rest of us, somewhat worryingly indicates that infants have absorbed the equalist tropes that persecute the rest of us. I wonder if the magic realm that infants inhabit is shrinking due to the effect of our excellent curriculum's famous four capacities; and in particular that connected to Responsible Citizens - I'm sure it would view Santa as just another privileged White male in need of a little BLM.

THE NATIONAL GALLERY: SCOTLAND’S CHAMPION OF RACIAL JUSTICE

Addressing Racism or Creating it?

Of the many reasons to go to an art gallery surely among the more important is, as it always was, to find a space that is separate from the distractions and worries of the everyday world.

In such a place, shared with others who feel likewise, a congenial and contemplative atmosphere is created which allows one’s mind to settle and then best appreciate the interest, craft and especially beauty of the images viewed – or the challenge posed by works so intended. And from this comes the little epiphanies, delights, puzzles and spiritual renewal which art can bring. Beauty and delight can be found everywhere, of course, but can best find deliberate focus in the places dedicated to it. All that is needed, then, for the gallery to work its magic, is that the space is respected for what it is. This respect is the visitor’s responsibility, but takes place under the auspices and protection of the custodians.

In our current age of national mental breakdown and perpetual racial outrage, such a space with its attendant protection is needed more than ever. And for this reason, those who would destroy us, especially target those places of refuge, like our sports venues (see post, Follow, Follow, ….from July) and like our art galleries. And so, visitors to our National Gallery on The Mound find the following reminder of our White guilt and worthlessness, included in a threat to find more of the same hiding within our art. Seeing this sign is like Kryptonite to the art-lover’s soul - as intended!

Here, the source of ancestor pride coverts to shame and the tonic we hope for in visiting the gallery becomes the poison.

Consider the NLP wording, which subtly indicates they would not be pleased to receive criticism- because such would be racist, obviously. Note too, the vagueness of the threat to research: Who is doing what, to what standard with what measurable goal and for whom? And why is the gallery concerned with equality and anti-racism anyway – has it been such a bastion of prejudice, one wonders, for almost its entire existence? Sarcasm doesn’t work here, of course, and the thinking person knows not to bother asking what this waffle means, but the threat is real, as is the destructive power behind it.  And we note the coda – commitment to equality – that justifies anything really, even as it means nothing but subversion of our culture.

This statement gives the appearance of foolishness, but don’t mistake the golems for the master behind it. The intent is evil, for the goal is to create a new Original Sin from which Whitey’s mind will not escape- with the law as a back-up, naturally. Slavery is referenced, but Black people are not the overseers of this plantation.

Meanwhile, in the gallery’s anti-racism research laboratory deep underground, top dollar justice consultants ¹ will peer into the souls of our ancestors for alleged offenses against the 21st Century. And they will find them: Any moderately wealthy person from the past would be the beneficiary of family investments in bonds and schemes that linked to the colonies and plantations, either directly or indirectly through various mercantile interests - hence racist! Or worse, even family members in the direct employ of our great empire of conquest and trade, or (Oh, the shame!) married into it. And naturally, our ancestors held opinions that were typical for their society's age. Examined thusly, without prejudice, one would find that virtually the gallery's entire collection, indeed even its existence, from its founding, management, bequests, loans and purchases all riddled with wrongthinkers, and ripe for tearing down; or, should we model our displeasure with our ancestor’s wrong opinions in the French fashion, a la Notre Dame!

And why not; why stop there? What about visitors entering the gallery with racist or anti-equality attitudes, shouldn’t they too join the banned art?  And here’s the rub, eventually they will! Returning to the theme of our blog, our children in school are getting brought up with this thinking; haircuts, swimming, cutlery, puddings, exams, keyboards, milk, good manners, reading, etc, etc, etc, are all outed as racist and elitist. The gallery’s commitment will make sense to them, but not go far enough for their well-stoked fire of righteous indignation. Eventually, then, someone will burn it down – we’re asking for it!

There is no end to this: religious art no doubt offends some and invites firstly criticism and eventually machetes. Domestic scenes (a particular favourite of mine) are claimed as demeaning the role of women. Family settings proselytise for the patriarchy. The Dutch masters deny, by their technical brilliance, the supposed equal merit of a tribal shaman's mask. In painting David Hume's² portrait, Allan Ramsey surely exposes himself as an equal in racist crimethink - away with both of them! This ride never ends...

I have visited British art galleries all my life, and although have seen works of dubious merit and intentionally subversive garbage, I have never seen or heard tell of works which were intended to (or actually did) offend the sensibilities, or otherwise sought to, demean ethnic others, or any other identity group within our society – indeed, the opposite is the case. Realistically, such art does not exist in public galleries in our country–if it exists at all.³ 

However, the alleged offenses matter little and the truth not at all. For the real intent is not to combat racism and other alleged prejudices, but to create them. A resentment is awakened in ethnic others’ to European excellence in art, then given legitimacy and a weapon of expression. How can this end well for anyone involved?

For ethnic others’ driven to slow anger by our apparent endless racism, which even resides in that art which we believe to be the highest expression of our aesthetic. And for us older palefaces, lost and confused in a miasma of gas-lighting and lies, anti-white smears and psychological warfare. Our refuges breached and our erstwhile protectors, in fact, a fifth column – who, we note, will be pleased to receive information which supports their work. Such overwhelming self-righteousness is nicely balanced by their betrayal of our art and the fragile public space in which it lives.

 The great paradox about all this is that if there really was White prejudice, none of this could have happened.

What think ye?

1. Such Racism Researchers should have due recognition: I recommend a National Art Zero-tolerance Initiative uniform and accoutrements, perhaps this could be abbreviated to an acronym to better fit onto their armbands. They could also do in-house checks for potential staff apostasy as kind of internal police, perhaps modelled on a certain European pattern of recent memory. For such checks they would be issued sidearms; a Luger would be a good choice.

2. The 18th Century Scottish enlightenment philosopher has recently been outed as a racist and, as a disrespect to his memory, BLM-loving Edinburgh University has removed his name from one of its buildings so as 'not to give offense'. In this act, I believe, they have done him a favour; the former David Hume Tower was a typical '60s Lego-style concrete box and immensely ugly to his memory. 

3. I have read fairly recently (last five years) of two examples of exhibition artworks that were explicitly racist. These featured, and arguably promoted, the genocide of White people; their alleged intent was a riposte to White privilege. They were not UK based.

Art which promotes identity pride, or celebrates it, is of course a commonplace in which we as native Whites happily partake. With one exception. 

Saint Margaret

Margaret: Scotland's saintly queen.
Honouring the one, by remembering the other.

Metaphors, similes, analogies

in abundance dance happily

around her one little person.

And so, let’s begin thusly;

 

chubby as a cherub

and equally sweet faced

the eyes a placid pond, calming

brown as chocolate buttons

 

straight-forward manner

practical, willing and, above all,

uncomplaining;  Yes, Sir to any request

and right away on the job

 

like a miniature classroom version

of the best sergeant

in the regiment, although

much gentler, obviously!

 

An A student at living life

from another better age, inevitably

she struggles with book work

even simple adding

 

is like calculus to her, and I hope

I reassure her with the truth

about the lessons; in the scheme

of things, they don’t matter so much

 

and in time the cogs will align.

Still I worry that her can-do vim

turns to frustration and

turning inward wounds her

 

for the life she should have

of building child by child

our nation’s future of

her earthy, yet saintly, stock

 

she cannot understand this

that she holds best that which

passing shows the greatness

of her soul, not found in lessons.

 

Saint Margaret, it’s really me

who learns from you but

on this day, of  your namesake’s

crossing, find the favour returned.

 

Let me show you how to do

this sum by analogy that fits

your character; you and me

together re-building the world:

 

Here’s the spade, you dig.

I’ll bag the soil.

NB. Saint Margaret's feast day is the 16th November; the day of her death in 1093.

And what a eulogy!: 

A precious pearl saw the light in Hungary, and lived at the court of the Confessor, a School of Holiness. Torn from homeland, you embrace another. You became Queen and Mother, the glory of Scots. Your Queen's crown, a crown of Charity. Your way, the Royal Way of the Cross...Once, mere men, placed crowns upon your head. But I, Innocent, Peter's successor, Servant of Christ, now place upon your head, the greatest crown of all, sainthood. - The Oration of Canonisation by Innocent IV from 1250 

Armistice memorial for Pte. D. Watson

 

THE LAST BREAKFAST

Mr Watson ordered breakfast

this morning in French.

Oh no, there must be a mistake,

he doesn’t speak French!

No, he spoke good French. I did

a Higher in it. We had a

good conversation before

the drugs took him away.

 

Christ, he kept that hidden!

True to his Edwardian upbringing

modest to the end, never moaned

patiently waiting on the sun he

ay claimed would be along in time

broken at just 70 by all the

troubles of the century.

And now, we mounted final

 

guard around his bed while

we waited on him stepping

over to the ‘other quarters’.

Right at that last moment

before the bullet that didn’t get you

finally got you I like to think

you were with your old mates

you told me off

 

in some estaminet ordering

eggs and chips in French

for the last time; it was

always the last time for

some of them - young Lt. Cowan

training to be the lawyer

he never became. Tam, Don’t...!

you told him, and you’d no

 

sooner said it when he was

killed right there on the fire-step.

It was a mad wicked thing,

but I never met finer people-

that’s how life balances itself.

All those fine fellows who

got the wrong ticket home

just one now was waiting

 

to join their ranks perhaps

the finest of them all although

you would have strongly objected

to the compliment but knowing

something of life myself now

I stand by it

fraternal, hard-working

kind considerate appreciative

 

of daily blessings uncomplaining

while the cancer bayoneted

you over and over

I was only a boy without

the words to shape my

understanding of the sheer immensity

of your decency

and so now, Danny, old soldier

 

Grandad, over fifty years

after your final roll call, I salute

you and your kind and see you

with Jack and Pat easily

in my mind’s eye, loosening your belt,

taking off your tammy and

waiting to be offered a seat.

Excuse moi, Madame, pouvons nous avoir quelque chose a manger?

CELEBRATING BLACK HISTORY MONTH

Going Black for a Month

I have to thank Sainsbury’s for reminding me that this is Black History Month. Somehow it had slipped into the interstices between Covid pronouncements and the apparent nearby eschaton, until brought back to its proper place in our consciousness by large, unavoidable posters; correctly, Black history trumps all other issues for a month. To this end, then, I have been considering this topic as they insist; setting aside all tempting thoughts to explore the whys and hows a grocery business shows such a specific interest, really quite unconnected to the business of grocery.

Before entering the meat and produce aisles, so to speak, we note that Black is rather more tightly defined than it is often commonly used; here meaning a negro or someone of identifiable (however slightly) negro inheritance. Exploring this history as it is presented by, and through, Black History Month is, of course, very interesting, although probably not in the way the promotors wish it – for the inescapable conclusion is of a race (or peoples) generally lacking agency. It is as if they had never stepped on history’s big wheel of fortune and were thusly always at the bottom of any list (certain athleticisms and violence excepted), subject to the whim and patronage of ethnic others. This finds compensating expression as historical fabrication, personal denial and cultural complaint – to which end BHM is dedicated, especially the latter. Dare one think it? - but the whole initiative smacks of the racism it seeks to counter. Considered as history, BHM is dense in misrepresentation, when not outright lies, and finds a happy partner (co-conspirator) in mainstream media, especially movies – considering just our own history, who has not noted the anachronistic presence of, for example, negro nobles in medieval England, or as (possibly female) Scottish clan chiefs.¹

However, regardless of the genuine interest to be found in studying Black history, as it is presented to us in the West (its target audience, after all), it is largely a history of complaint directed against ethnic Europeans; predicated on our alleged racism (apparently history’s worst crime and a top- bottom spot again claimed for the collective us!) and built upon slavery and imperialism. Its real end purpose is to plant the worm of resentment or guilt, respectively. And this is what it does - brilliantly. The unfalsifiable claim of systemic racism whirls around our head and ethnic organisations control what we are allowed to say and think. At this point I return to the point of this blog:

As adults, we may come to see a pattern taking shape around the issue of race and understand something of its methods and nefarious intent; perhaps even, if we have the stomach to look, the architects and puppetmeisters will emerge from behind their false names. And they are not Black. Indeed, as a wider cultural phenomenon, BHM is only tangentially connected to Black history. We, though, can then process this according to our want and ability. And thus see Sainsbury’s’ reminder to celebrate Black history in light of this knowledge.

However, our children have no such power. For them, there can be no understanding of context -only the message. Those parents who believe that this context may be created in school lessons deserve an assembly award for innocence; the context will be the North Atlantic slave trade, our wealth built on cruelty and blood, the denial of Black achievement and the US Civil Rights Movement transposed to Scotland. Consider, then, the not so subtle programming of the big poster as the child does, and how they realise, without the words, that this connects to adverts, lawsuits, race hustlers, media chat, BBC Newsround topics and endless racist-themed movies. The message reinforced in school lessons, assemblies, workshops; all of which lead them to the inevitable conclusion – everything is racism.

Let us look at BHM through the child’s eyes, as the poster reminds them. Noted first off; the privilege of having your own history month:

# If you are Black – your ancestors were slaved and otherwise mistreated by the ancestors of those whom you live among, and who carry on the tradition – as claimed daily. Reparations (cash only, please) would be a good start, but the real outcome is victimhood. And this is not a good approach to life.

# If you are some variety of Asian, for some reason you don’t get a history month or even day, although you still get victimised by the same White racists whose bigotry is so deeply embedded as to cancel out anything they may say or do, even in contradiction to the thesis. Your reparations, alas, are a generation away, but in compensation your ancestors’ slaving, and any relatives’ current sex slaving, will be swept under the magic carpet.

# If you are African, but not a negro, (e.g., an Egyptian or Libyan) then we have a bit of a problem with your celebration; as you guys are not Black, strongly choose not to be associated in any way with sub-Saharan Blacks and were (still) infamous slavers. However, all is not lost, as you are still victims of White racism and can join in an anti-White kicking.

# If you are Chinese Asian, this must feel like ‘you can gtf!’

# And if you are White, you are somehow the cause and the future of all this bigotry. And the whole point of your life is to make amends and make sure ethnic others feel good about themselves.

Can you discern the trajectory of all this? Our children absorb the programming unfiltered and ping it back to us for approval – it’s pure NLP warfare.

Can you not see it? Hidden behind the Black History Month, gaslighting and lies, anti-White smear campaigns and psychological attack. This is all-arms war directed against every part of our culture and social life, and especially our schools.The creation of perpetual racial outrage using our children, of whatever ethnicity, as little slave soldiers to lead us incrementally, but inexorably, into Third World degradation of the public space and accompanying insecurity. Check the Swedes for how this ends.²  

As a race, we have not evolved to deal with stuff like this and don’t know how to defend ourselves, far less our children, against it. The study of Black history teaches us a lesson, endlessly repeated; learn how to match your enemy, or be crushed.

What think ye?

1.  Referencing the MacGregors, the blackest tribe in Scottish history.

2. I’ve got a book on this topic. It’s printed on very nice paper. See top of page.

GRACEFUL; A GIFT

 

A Gift in the Viewing

Graceful; a lovely sounding adjective, and a quality full of gift-having and gift-giving.

For the teacher observer it is most wonderful to observe this in action in a little girl - invariably its highest expression - where deftness of movement takes on a balletic quality and unintentionally displays the innocent equivalent to the high style of a lady. This perfection of poise carries over to stillness, with no loss of marvel and power. The same gracefulness in little boys translates to a miniature musketeer. Properly considered, the graceful is the means whereby the numinous enters our life; a small sort of golden moment by which beauty suddenly and naturally reveals itself in the otherwise mundane life of school.

The expression of such gracefulness is not only a delight to the grateful observer, but a positive power to the holder. Alas, although this is a natural attribute of young children, it seems to be fighting against cultural trends. For it does seem that modern sofa-bound habits, and slovenly templates displayed in screen life, have conspired to deny and even denigrate this quality to those who need it most. And parents and teachers, themselves victims of a lamentable lack of instruction in this regard, pass the same habits of movement, posture and expression to their children, as can be seen at handing over time daily -it is as if EastEnders has come to the playground!

As adults we need to fight back against this trend, in order to properly empower our girl children. Grace and charm are not signs of feminine weakness, but of essence. Nor is a soldierly bearing in little boys evidence of an unwholesomely masculine home life, but rather of boyness encouraged. Luckily, though, where degeneracy has taken from nature, correct instruction can return it.

As we note:

Marie de Guise Academy in Leith, having abolished tolerance, is replacing it with daily gracefulness. The girls practice walking, sitting and various charming gestures of assent; the boys marching and standing to attention in silence. It seems to be working, as press reports confirm the Venetian ambassador’s words in his attempt to purchase the children for the Doge:

Che ragazze affascinanti avete in Scozia. E i tuoi ragazzi scozzesi sono così dignitosi. Vorrei che avessimo questi bambini a Venezia.

What think ye?