Or, The Wig Is Doing A Lot Of Heavy Lifting.

In the clip below, Calgary trans activist Victoria Bucholtz, aka Karla Marx, has words – deep, manly words – with Jennifer Johnson, a conservative politician.

Ms Johnson had previously upset activists, and much of the Canadian media, by describing the classroom propagation of trans activist ideology – specifically, setting children on a path to mutilation and castration – as a blemish and contaminant, akin to “poop” in cookies.

I think it’s fair to say the exchange that follows is not a triumph of reconciliation. It may, however, prove instructive – indeed, telling – though possibly not in ways that Mr Bucholtz intended.

Trans activism in a nutshell.

An aggressive, bullying man attempts to intimidate a woman into submission, demanding that she say something she knows isn’t true.

And he’s loving every minute of it. pic.twitter.com/CY0Fa3Wp34

— Mia (@_CryMiaRiver) September 17, 2024

Readers will note how “listening to the community” is conceived by Mr Bucholtz as deference and prostration, and regurgitating things that are obviously untrue. If it sounds like a struggle session, hold that thought:

Readers may likewise wish to ponder the chutzpah of a gaslighting bedlamite demanding “respect” while simultaneously demanding that everyone else surrender their probity and become dishonest and absurd, mouthing lies as and when instructed.

Ms Johnson had also expressed concern about the use by activists, in schools, of pornographic material. Concerns that much of the subsequent media coverage sneered at or dismissed as unfounded.

I’m assuming that Ms Johnson was referring to things like this.

Because, apparently, “vagina slime,” fellatio, and “strap-on hotness” are topics of urgent moral importance for middle-school children. Children who need to know about the joys of masturbating while driving.

But ssshh, don’t tell Mom and Dad.

Mr Bucholtz – “(She/Her)” – is an “LGBTQ+ facilitator,” an “activist,” and “currently teaches at Mount Royal University.” His areas of expertise include “the history of emotions.” When not demanding that people tell lies repeatedly and in public, he is “an avid mountaineer,” a drag queen, and a “dog mom.”

Mr Bucholtz’ educational chops can be witnessed here.

One more time:

Because it’s a “basic foundational principle.”

Via Mia Hughes.

Update, via the comments, where Rafi asks, not unreasonably,

Alas, I fear that if we pull at that thread, the whole sweater may come unravelled. I mean, if, as we’ve been told, quite emphatically, women can’t be transwomen, on account of being, you know, women, then surely only a man can be a transwoman. Which sounds like another way of saying, a transwoman can only be a man.

But hey, pile of yarn.

Consider this an open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

And other modern dramas.

First, from the comments, where Clam warns,

Regarding this:

What grates, I think, is the routine overstepping of boundaries, the casual insult. Judging by the transgressive sandwiches, to which the note is attached, it seems the child was prevented from eating and, presumably, publicly embarrassed.

A while ago, one of my nieces received a snotty note scolding her for sending her son to school with a packed lunch consisting of a banana and a peanut butter sandwich, an occasional treat. Apparently, peanut butter, like jam, is a verboten foodstuff. And so, as a result, someone is employed to poke through children’s lunch boxes and to then write snotty notes to parents. A function doubtless enjoyed.

But here’s the thing. If you aren’t paying for something directly, even if you’re still paying indirectly, via taxes, you won’t by default be regarded as a customer, for whom some minimal regard might be shown, and whose boundaries should be respected. Instead, it’s quite likely you’ll be treated as an inconvenience, an irritation, someone who can be insulted and subjected to condescension.

See also, our glorious NHS.

The item linked above recounts, in abbreviated form, my attempt to return a set of crutches to the local NHS hospital – and how an ostensibly simple task became a 45-minute ordeal with farcical overtones. Entailing a trek of a half a mile or so, down endless corridors on multiple floors, from one department to another, then another, then another. An odyssey enlivened by encounters with bizarrely rude and unhelpful staff, and while walking past posters stressing the moral imperative of patients returning their crutches. An undertaking made as impractical, as maddening, and as absurdly complicated, as would seem humanly possible.

And it’s not entirely heartening to realise, as you trek down yet another corridor, that you’re entrusting your wellbeing, perhaps even your life, to an institution that can’t organise a practical system for the returning of crutches.

Oh, and while I have your attention, I bring dating instructions from the land of the badly tattooed and terminally self-involved:

Please update your files and lifestyles accordingly.

Also, open thread.

In the comments following this, on the proposed reality show Zoe Meets The Murgatroyds, Nikw211 replied,

Among the gems to savour are the endless factional disputes over exactly how capitalism should be toppled, feats of farcical mismanagement, an earnest exposition on “penile imperialism,” and interviews with former self-styled radicals, now sitting by private swimming pools, fretting about fridge ownership, or planning to work on llama farms.

For those with an interest in history, or indeed obliviousness, the three episodes are linked below.

Property is Theft.

The questionable pleasures of communal living. Specifically, a squatted street in Brixton. Contains scenes of waiting for utopia to materialise. And biohazard crockery. Oh, and the primal screaming commune at number 12.

Angry Wimmin.

In which, we’re told that lesbianism is an ideological duty, and that any woman can be a lesbian if she just tries hard enough, is mentored, and embraces the right kind of politics. A claim that has a somewhat self-serving quality, given the people making it.

A Lot of Balls.

The tale of a bewilderingly inept attempt in 1987 to launch a radical left wing tabloid, fuelled by the fever-dreams of Cambridge Marxists. The project was, unsurprisingly, a disaster, with its failure a direct result of ideological pretension. As illustrated by the scene in which, with the paper’s first edition about to go to press, most of the staff is out of the office on a deafness awareness day.

Consider this an open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

Via pst314 in the comments, some intersectional complication:

The company’s founder, Brandon Anderson, is alleged to have embezzled a quarter of a million dollars to fund a “lavish” lifestyle, including an extensive designer wardrobe, international travel and glamorous holidays, and the renting of several mansions. Evidence of which was proudly uploaded to Facebook.

Bling, as I believe they say.

Masculine-presenting black people. Which perhaps tells us something about the company’s employees and the mental landscape they inhabit.

No laughing at the back.

The company in question, Raheem AI, is a chatbot app launched in 2017 with a stated mission to abolish the police and to replace them with “community-based crisis teams” and “liberated dispatchers” – namely, anti-police activists and likeminded social workers – who would respond to emergencies armed with bottles of water and lots of “social justice.”

I know. You’re tempted to invest.

And should this particular cake require icing, Mr Anderson was named “one of 100 Black LGBTQ Leaders to Watch” by the National Black Justice Coalition.

Leaders to watch, indeed.

If the trajectory above sounds a little familiar, readers may be thinking of this saga here, in which Ms Xahra Saleem, co-founder of the activist group All Black Lives Bristol, and an applauded statue-toppler, decolonised a charity’s bank account to the tune of £30,000. A sum subsequently put to use enabling Ms Saleem’s appetite for cosmetics, hairstyling, and takeaways.

Update, via the comments:

Mags notes the claim that Mr Anderson committed “the perfect crime,” on account of those he robbed being much too busy fretting about “the way that police treat masculine-presenting black people.” She adds, not unfairly, a plausible definition of the perfect crime:

Well, it’s a nonprofit whose employees gratuitously announce their pronouns, and who regard as some kind of injustice the fact that criminal activity often results in arrest, or as they put it, “police terror.” And so, they’re “building a life-affirming world where police are obsolete.”

Hence the bottled water, obviously.

I think it’s fair to assume there’s quite a bit of unrealism and credulity to exploit.

Consider this an open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

And in woke dining news:

Setting aside the small matter of, er, assault and strangulation, readers may wish to ponder the notion, advanced by Mr Rivera and his numerous supporters, that white people, especially white people with blonde hair, shouldn’t be allowed to serve Japanese food.

At which point, I suppose I should mention this:

A shocking twist, I know. I do hope you were sitting down.

When not harassing people for having the wrong colour skin, and when not strangling women, Mr Rivera spends quite a lot of time blocking those who dare to quote his own social media statements.