type 7 Homo sapiens: the Social Justice Warrior

type 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

If you do not know the Social Justice Warrior in your midst it is because he or she (hereafter she) seems so innocuous that she has not caught your eye; and you have not caught hers because you and she have not yet had a social justice run-in.

Once you do, the SJW will be like a mole digging tunnels under your feet. The stable footing you once thought you had in a company that has employed you with satisfaction for over fifteen years will suddenly give way, and you will find yourself neck deep in a quagmire, seated before a panel of inquiry investigating an alleged infringement of the company’s Code of Conduct by YOU.

           

What the f..!

An innocuous social justice warrior saw it fit to report you to the head of Human Resources, who promptly conducted confidential interviews with the aggrieved co-worker to ascertain the veracity of the claims made against you. Now she is interviewing you to ensure that she has a “balanced” view upon which to adjudicate this “delicate matter”.

You are sitting in front of three SJWs, one has her head titled at a ten to fifteen degree angle, permanently, suggesting pity or contempt, it is hard to tell which. Beside her are two minions from Human Resources, gorging on their own self-righteousness, emboldened by the prospect of fighting social injustice here and now. After all, before them is seated a seething sexist, likely homophobe and potential anti-Semite, what with those blue eyes and all. It is best therefore that they have never spoken to him or sought his company.

This sexist, homophobic, anti-Semite, is you, in case that failed to register. You are being investigated for sexist remarks in the workplace. The other charges are glowering in the wings, ready to pounce should the sexist thing not stick.  

You are being investigated for pronouncements made during a conference attended by yourself and a co-worker. The circumstances of these pronouncement was drinks at a bar after the conference with male, co-conferencees. The co-worker in question was a woman.

Four beers into aforementioned drinks, a co-conferencee notes that the sheer dearth of  “good looking chicks” at such conferences is “inhumane”. All but the co-worker guffaw in acknowledgement at this stark truth, until – realizing there's a woman in the group – all back pedal, and in unison pronounce: except you, of course. An awkward silence ensues.  

That’s it. That’s all of it. From thereon it was polished and politic.

Now you are being fingered for sexist statements made in the workplace. Tilty-head notes sternly that such statements are “problematic and not in keeping with the company’s Code of Conduct”.

Would you consider apologizing to the co-worker for making such statements?

Apologize?  For what?

For implying that she is unattractive, making her feel uncomfortable, and suggesting that conferences are for picking up women, or as you say “chicks”.

The former was never directly stated, but is an opinion to which I am entitled, and for which I could not in good conscience apologize under these circumstances. The latter was not implied by the statement which (by the way) I did not make, but merely concurred with.

The two minions cannot contain their indignation. How dare he. Had they been dogs not humans, foam would have gathered on their lips.

We would like you to rethink this in a broader context  of inclusiveness and seriously consider apologizing.

Titly-head scrawls notes on a notepad, struggling to appear professional in what seems increasingly like a gag.

You think back on the beers and the jocular co-conferencees, and note to yourself that the statement for which you are being accused by association was very mild, and that worse things about men are written in glossy magazines every day, but you decide not to engage her within her frame of reference, and instead simply refuse to apologize, something you might have done naturally had this “delicate matter” been brought to your attention in an informal setting, without accusations, minions and social justice.

Tilty-head is steadfast. Alright then, I think you’ve made yourself clear. And closes her notepad.

That’s it? you ask.

Yes. For now.

The next three months are a Kakfaesque mini-drama in which you are again summoned before the panel – expanded with senior (male) executives and their minions –  to be informed that your behaviour is now "highly problematic" where it was once merely "problematic", and that "all of this" is not going to “go away by refusing to apologize”. The suggestion being that, apologizing will make it all go away. But you are smart enough to know that the point is not the apology, the point is legitimizing the speech-police headed by Tilty-head and her minions. The point is the culture. They need you to consent to their bullshit. If you give in, it will not be over. Next you will be packed off to sensitivity-training where you will be patronized by an LGBT-advocate about the merits of diversity, inclusiveness and equality, and there will be no sense in asking whether guys-talking-like-guys-with-other-guys can be included in this diverse community of equals. 

Three months later you are packing up your office things into a box never to return again. And so it would appear that they have successfully policed you, three innocuous seeming SJWs. It would appear that they have won ground and purged from their midst this hardened Homo sapiens. It would appear so.


further reading: SJWs Always Lie, by Vox Day

gallant spirit IV - the panorama

gallant spirit I
gallant spirit II
gallant spirit III
gallant spirit IV

Gallant spirit, I have seen with what enthusiasm you partake in the business of your fellow meat-bodies, how fondly you finger your assorted meat-body gadgetry and with what abandon you penetrate meat-body counterparts, amateur and professional alike. The 3D panorama is indeed there for your enjoyment. Feast on its offerings and the panorama will be commensurately reinforced. The more you feast, the better you will insert yourself into its texture. The more you insert yourself into its texture, the more you will feel not merely in it, but of it.

A million units of coin earned shifting stock across a digital monitor, buying and selling shares of an enterprise you have never seen, run by meat-bodies you have never met, producing things you do not need and do not understand. By the Gods in heaven, gallant spirit, what fortune has blessed you, to amass coin with such facility? And how fortuitous that your meat-body-colleague in the Middle East is on the board of said enterprise. As they say amongst the meat-body mercantile class: fortune favors the bold.

With such coin you will be able to circulate freely within the panorama and take further offerings. You will sniff  high-tech narco-pharmaceutics, you will drink matured spirits, and you will penetrate top-shelf meat-body counterparts à volonté – so said in Gallic meat-body vernacular – and more generally, you will proceed to persuade, rule, possess, dispossess, coerce or otherwise impose your influence.  

If further fortune should bless you and millions become billions, then you will perhaps be able to purchase your passage to the interior. The interior of the panorama is where the panorama is projected out and there is no better place to insert yourself than therein. It is the ultimate insertion. Perhaps you will be given the chance to dictate parts of the projection, should you be so blessed..

Please note: now and then a dissonance will flash across the panorama like lighting. Nothing to be concerned about. Occasionally, truth short circuits through – the panorama is not entirely hermetic – but you are doing fine as is; it seems you have not noticed this so far. Proceed to the interior, gallant spirit, you are probably no more than half-dozen insertions away.

Huck Finn on Snot-faces and the Laws of Nature

Fellers these days, all manner o' snot-faced good-for-naughts, never opened a book, never volunteered a thought o’ their own, but  know everythin’ is to know ‘bout everythin'.

What never been seen, never has been, goes the thinkin’. Never mind the visible part of the  spectrum is like a mosquito turd on a football field, never mind nothin’ cause it ain’t a yarn nobody wanna hear. We the only conscious gunners in the Universe; ain’t nothin’ alive the other side of the Van Allen Radiation belt; the only livin’ creatures, six billion galaxies and coutin’. And that's that.

Movin’ forward we have the cosmology of the snot-face: nothin’ ever change quick to the seein’ eye – everythin’s slow as a slug –  so life's just one long painstakin’ graduation. Come in dumb as a rock, come out strummin’ to String Theory. Just a matter of time and the Laws of Nature will graduate your butt from mono-cell to Albert Einstein - or Nikola Tesla if you prefer. The great Laws of Nature, study them or not, they’ll school you either way. 

Fine, so far.

But now we have us a problem, ‘cause now, snot-face is goin’ around grantin’ exceptions to high-flown ind’viduals  up the peckin’ order. Now we have a high-rise buildin’ in New Amsterdam, buildin’ seven to be particular, hit by nothin’ special, collapsin' at freefall speed –  nearly no resistance met –  tumblin' straight down at practically the rate of a fallin' apple, the great Laws of Nature and six hundred feet of steel frame and reinforced concrete notwithstandin'. Interestin’ theory. Shame it’s a lotta horse manure.

Back in my time, such a falsehood widely peddled, why a youngster would of risen off his hind-end, dukes up, ready to roust the lyin’ sonofagun. Nowadays, no sir. Self-satisfied snot-faces gripe and jibe astride laptop computers, safely ensconced behind their mouthpiece of choice; there are two kinds: the kind suckin’ on a government nipple, or the kind kissin’ the rump of a large corporation. Take your pick (a few mouthpieces, exc’ptionly agile, bend over backwards and do both).

Here we have snot-face reversin’ the work of the great Laws of Nature, graduatin’ down to superior levels of stupidity: Never seen, never been, become: what I don’t wanna see, just ain’t.

He’ll add crutch on crutch to his theory or argue straw man points (it warn’t exactly freefall), but he won’t look, ‘cause snot-face is too busy tip-toein’ ‘round the Never-To-Be-Uttered keywords from his cherished PC Unabridged, the three-volume lexicon of his invisible masters.

Tread careful snot-face, heaven forbid ridicule should befall you. Worse than gangrene is ridicule to a snot-face. Sooner death take him than suffer a slight from a fellow snot-face – and don’t be misled, these critters come in all colors, shapes and sizes: white, yellow, black, religious, atheist, radical, reactionary, artist, rebel, progressive, punk, liberal, hetero, homo, trans, bi, this, that, the other, it matters not.

A slack-jawed, pencil-necked, pussy-footin’ gatherin’ o’ school girls* is what we have. And I thank the spirit in Man there are still some who just ain’t like that.

For the record, Nikola Tesla was no snot-face. 
 
 * No offence meant to those magnificent females forced to sit through a decade of dumbed-down, truth-neutered curricula

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_nyogTsrsgI

gallant spirit III - the enemy

gallant spirit I
gallant spirit II
gallant spirit III
gallant spirit IV

You are navigating a meat-body figurine that is highly sensitive to pain; and its appended mind, to anguish and foreboding. Both, figurine and appendage, will be stimulated daily by pictures and reports of an elusive entity consumed with a desire to cause you pain and anguish, preferably at the same time, preferably filmed on low resolution video that can be easily uploaded to the world wide web. But fear not: sweeping laws will be put in place to prevent you from being hurt; armaments will be amassed to defend against him.

You will hear of him by many names, in many tongues, yet you will never see him except on said videos. He will be faceless, but characteristic enough that you will always and easily be reminded of him: his skin color will be so and so, and he will be garbed in a fashion that is not your own (like a ninja, for instance). Recognition is paramount; understanding is secondary, if necessary at all.

Should any serious questions arise in your appended-mind as to the nature of this enemy, you will be reminded of the horrors that you yourself committed – not you directly, but the line of figurines from which you descend. You will shudder in shame thinking of these horrors and conclude that such crimes must never be committed again, whereupon you will desist from any further inquiry. To insulate yourself from committing such horrors you will accept to relinquish your power of choice by delegating to a body of wise men – the same wise men who sit atop the abovementioned battery of armaments –  the power to take decisions on your behalf.

Appended-minds can be easily directed using certain keywords that stimulate anguish, indignation, fear and other vectors from the emotional pallet. Keywords, broadly disseminated, are part of a process called propaganda. 

Propaganda is employed as a tactic of war, but it is as readily employed in times of peace. Without a doubt, it is the most effective weapon in the armament because it remains active for many weeks, even months after its release, has no identifiable smell and is – to all intents and purposes – invisible. It functions rather like a gas spreading into the population. Here’s where you come in.

As a member of this population you will happily volunteer to disperse this gas to peers, repeating keywords such as racists, terrorist,  fascist, homophobe, and of course the most effective of all, anti-Semite, alluding to the horrors committed by your cursed forebears. In essence, it functions like a silencer-gas. Once this gas is inhaled, the individual will be filled with a sense of outrage and he will disperse this gas further afield, insulating himself from any critical thinking and silencing those that still practice it.

By way of example: a young girl will announce to you, as part of a televised keyword-broadcast, that the enemy is pulling live newborns from incubators (recall the broadcast leading up to the war in Iraq). Terrible outrage will fill your breast! You will be comforted in the knowledge that you are not such an incubator-violator, but a good biped figurine with a sound appended-mind. And it will give you a sense of self-worth to shout down anyone who does not violently oppose the violators of incubators, but it will never be questioned whether such things are true. 

Truth? What is such a thing?

It is not an object; it is simply what IS and what HAS BEEN. It is therefore by its nature historical. The record-keeping is something else however; that is historiography, and alas truth is much absent therein. The record is written and propagated by different factions of meat-figurines, each with their own imperfect appended-mind, each keen to ensure a certain outcome for themselves in the future, which is to say that more of their own meat-figurines will be propagated forward and that more pleasure overall will accrue to them as a group.

Historiography, peppered with the right keywords, can elicit in your appended-mind such indignation that it would not be disturbed by the knowledge that guided missiles are raining down on a village in, say, Serbia. Filled with such historical outrage, you might even feel justified in your desire to see the whole population exterminated! 

Oh... uh... wait… what am I saying? What about the horrors committed by my cursed forebears? Such horrors must never be repeated!
 
And so your appended-mind will hastily conclude, as previously, that you cannot be trusted to think for yourself since this righteousness in your breast leads to such thinking.  Your resolve is thus strengthened: wise men will decide if it is judicious to exterminate people, such as in Dresden, Hiroshima, Belgrade, Gaza, to prevent, at all cost, that the horrors once committed by your cursed forebears should ever be repeated... today... by The Enemy*.

*soon to be released as a motion picture film, starring George Clooney