Time for an open thread, I think. You’ve got that restlessness about you.

But first, Amanda Trenfield shares a tale of romance for our times:

I had decided only the week earlier to attend the three-day event with my husband. It wasn’t in the family holiday plan, and we had to arrange care for the children, but I saw it as a perfect opportunity for us to reconnect… I believed that time away from the stress of everyday life was the perfect remedy to reignite our relationship.

Needless to say, it did not go as planned.

Ms Trenfield, by the way, is a life coach, ready to “empower” you with her expertise, while teaching you to “understand and appreciate the most important people in your life.”

Via TomJ.

Now share ye links and bicker. 

Who wish to damage others: 

One [activist] non-profit, which the Fund for Santa Barbara paid to provide “social emotional learning (SEL) certification workshops,” is called AHA! Santa Barbara (Attitudes, Harmony, and Achievement). It gathered students into circles alongside adults, including one who served time in prison, to share intimate details of their lives. The programme was created by Jennifer Freed, a “certified astrologer & psychotherapist” who tells people she can understand them based on “cosmic DNA.” […]

Just Communities is an offshoot of a now-defunct group called NCCJ whose offspring have a disturbing record of mistreating children in the name of social justice. At another NCCJ-related camp in Northern California, students were “ordered to separate by race, ethnicity, and sexual orientation… while their peers are instructed to call out every slur and stereotype they know about them,” the San Francisco Chronicle reported in 2018. If students were too kind, the adults twisted the dagger by using the most painful of stereotypes, according to the report. After students called out “good at math” for Asians, staff yelled out “small penises.”

Luke Rosiak on the woke child-abuse industry.

Also, open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

After turning 2 years old, my son, Avishai, started demanding that he only wear tractor shirts, and my mind spiralled into darkness.

So writes Jay Deitcher, a social worker and therapist, a declarer of pronouns, and, it seems, someone accustomed to the aforementioned mental spiralling:

I catastrophised worst-case scenarios, imagining a world where he fell for everything stereotypically manly. I envisioned him on a football field, barrelling through mega-muscled opponents. Imagined him waxing a sports car on a warm summer day.

We seem to be in a high rhetorical gear. For a two-year-old’s choice of shirt.

Mr Deitcher – who has, he says, “always judged other guys who seemed boxed in by masculinity” – airs his view of maleness:

Men didn’t hug. Men didn’t say I love you. Men were angry. Aggressive. Inept as parents. I became determined. I was going to create a bond stronger than any parent had ever achieved, but I told myself that to do so I needed to distance myself from anything deemed masculine.

This line of thought goes on for some time.

I grimaced at anyone driving a Ford car, the John Wayne of automobiles. I hated men who wore plaid. Felt ill if someone mentioned a wrench or another tool.

And because things aren’t sufficiently dramatic:

My body spiralled into panic any time I attempted manual labour.

Given these fevered thoughts, all this tool-induced upset, readers may wish to peek at the photographs accompanying the article, and which may bring to mind the words grown adult, albeit ironically. Readers may also wish to ponder the prospects of a father-son relationship premised on a dogmatic, near-hysterical disdain for maleness, for “anything deemed masculine.”

Further to the previous post, Charles Cooke on transgender activism and the price of indulging it:

That “as a mother” claim is utterly astonishing — a true jump-the-shark moment. Even if one were to agree with every single biological idea that is offered up by the transgender movement, there is simply no way of looking at history that could turn Don Ellis into the “mother” of the children he fathered. That Ellis is not his children’s mother is a fact, a certitude, a cosmic verity. It is true now, it was true then, it will be true forever.

I have two children. They were carried — and then delivered — by my wife. If I were to decide tomorrow that I identify as a woman, I daresay that some people would believe (or, at least, indulge me in) my fantasy. But that toleration wouldn’t — and couldn’t — change the historical fact that I did not give birth to my kids, and that I am, in fact, their dad. Perhaps, in such a strange circumstance, I would want to be my children’s mother. But I would not be so, and to say otherwise would be to tell a preposterous, revisionist lie.

The rather lively exchange mentioned by Mr Cooke can be found here, along with additional information:

Ennis (a biological male) was married to a woman and fathered three children. At the age of 49, he split with his wife of 17 years and publicly declared himself to be a woman. Ennis later went back to identifying as a man, then switched again for the third time, and currently presents as a woman.

At which point, readers may wish to ponder the assumption that Mr Ennis’ transition to an approximation of womanhood is something to applaud, and applaud wholeheartedly, as if brave but never selfish, as if such behaviour could have no hurtful consequences for others. One wonders, for instance, how the actual mother of his children feels about her erasure, her usurpation. Likewise, have his children not lost a father? Have his parents and siblings not lost someone who is, or was, as real to them as any professed identity?

Also by Mr Cooke and very much related:

I would like to know who is fooled by this. My suspicion is that almost nobody is fooled by this, but that almost everybody is scared to admit that in public.

The cost of indulging transgender activism has been illustrated here before, quite vividly.

Via Darleen.

Christopher Rufo on Victoria’s Secret and social-justice lingerie: 

The company presented the new spokeswomen not only as representatives of their intersectional identities — the original line-up included an African refugee, a pink-haired lesbian, an obese biracial woman, and a male-to-female transsexual — but as social-justice activists committed to “systemic change.” […] It would be a ghastly faux pas to point out that some of the women… are, to put it delicately, not as beautiful as their predecessors. To the contrary, the public must affirm [“LGBTQIA+ activist” Megan] Rapinoe and [overweight “body advocate” Paloma] Elsesser as at least equally beautiful as the outdated and oppressive standards embodied by Heidi Klum and Tyra Banks. One cannot point out, either, that the Collective’s social-justice activism is mostly a self-serving scam.

Needless to say, the results of this woke rebranding have not been entirely positive.

And Mr Rufo again, on woke Disney: 

The core of Disney’s racial program is a series of training modules on “antiracism.” In one, called “Allyship for Race Consciousness,” the company tells employees that they must “take ownership of educating [themselves] about structural anti-Black racism” and that they should “not rely on [their] Black colleagues to educate [them],” because it is “emotionally taxing.” […] White employees, in particular, must “work through feelings of guilt, shame, and defensiveness to understand what is beneath them and what needs to be healed.” Disney recommends that employees atone by “challeng[ing] colourblind ideologies and rhetoric” such as “All Lives Matter” and “I don’t see colour”; they must “listen with empathy [to] Black colleagues” and must “not question or debate Black colleagues’ lived experience.”

Or put more simply, “You are guilty by default, so just stand there while we scold you.” With seemingly unintended irony, employees are also informed that thoroughness and punctuality are “white-dominant” values and products of “white supremacy culture,” and therefore, presumably, bad. As a measure of woke perversity – one might say, unhingement – a pretty good indicator.