Some Big Boys Made Me Do It

This poor chap had his dream taken away from him.

“The people who didn’t want people like me to be teachers succeeded.”

Well, er, good. No point being coy or unclear about this. 

For reasons that should be obvious.

“They/them” a “future elementary art teacher”.

As I said here, the abandonment by schools of even basic safeguarding measures, in the name of being inclusive and affirming, and fashionable, is quite a thing. A grotesque thing, but a thing nonetheless. 

See also this, from which:

We’re told, by Tess Nacelewicz, communications co-ordinator for Portland Schools, that “the process for vetting substitutes includes interviewing candidates and conducting background checks.” Readers may therefore wonder what was made of Mr Lamere’s fairly extensive – and, shall we say, uninhibited – social media presence. A presence only deleted, hurriedly, following parents’ complaints.

Because a cross-dressing man with glaringly obvious mental health issues, including a compulsion to discuss his sexual fetishes with eleven-year-olds, somehow didn’t ring any alarm bells. 

Not sorry.

Question asked, answered.

They come for the pre-built civilisation, and free stuff. That’s it. 

Both men working from the premise that the moral validity of Yookay is determined by how well it provides a home for the flourishing of his own tribe.

As so often, it’s hard to ignore the default rudeness, the sheer presumption. Yet so many seem determined to try. 

Again,

Were I to relocate to, say, South Korea, I think I would feel much like a guest – and feel a corresponding obligation to be on my best behaviour. Possibly on an indefinite basis. I very much doubt I’d feel entitled to disregard queueing norms, or to, quite literally, shit on the doorsteps of the indigenous.

Or indeed to badmouth my hosts, proudly, on video, as disgusting, a population best gone. All while expecting, and receiving, their ongoing indulgence. 

As I said here,

It seems to me we’ve strayed very far from the idea that an attractively developed society should – and must – be discerning about which kinds of newcomers it welcomes, lest it be flooded with incompatible tribes and the trash of the world.

The idea that the locals, the voting citizens, might want a good deal and ask, “What’s in it for us?” seems anathema to Our Betters. Likewise, the notion of a civilised society implying, quite strongly, “You’re lucky to be here. Behave accordingly.”

This is by no means a trivial point. The fact that some – the Dan Snows of this world – might find the wording scandalous and gaspworthy is very much part of the problem, a measure of the decay in national morale. A nation whose inhabitants are no longer allowed to feel that their home is offering anything of value to newcomers, something for which one might expect appreciation and an eagerness to assimilate, is not on a happy trajectory.

Yet here we are.

Cross-dressing man, a nipple-clamp fetishist, boasts of getting a bra fitting in M&S. 

He doesn’t actually need a bra, of course, but I’m guessing he really enjoyed making a female sales assistant participate in his psychodrama. 

Question asked, answered.

His family has been in the country for 60 years so now you must change this racist flag, says a “professor” (because of course he is). 

Again, it’s worth imagining moving to, say, Denmark or South Korea and then, having been indulged with an intellectual status that you have not earned, spending your adult life badmouthing the locals – on TV and in error-strewn, uninformed, poorly argued books – as inherently racist and collectively psychotic, and demanding that their national flags be removed or altered to accommodate your own improbable sensitivities. 

Arrogant fucker would scarcely cover it. 

Art thou not enriched?

[ Caution, graphic. ]