Or, The Orange Man Wrecked My Marriage:

By now it’s a truism to point out that the election of Donald Trump… [has] prompted a wholesale realignment of American politics. But it’s also sent shock waves through heterosexual romance.

In the piously left-leaning New York magazine, Molly Langmuir invites us to sympathise with the inner turmoil of activist ladies who are blaming their unhappy marriages, their divorces and estrangements, and pretty much everything, on the continued existence of Donald Trump. There’s quite a bit of mental jungle to hack through, so bring a packed lunch:

29 percent of respondents to a May 2017 survey said their romantic relationship had been negatively affected by Trump’s presidency. And even people ostensibly on the same side of the issues as their partner have run into challenges, with the climate exacerbating or revealing new fault lines. 

Ms Langmuir introduces us to several pseudonymous couples and singletons – people for whom the merest deviation in thought has proved too much to bear. First up, we meet Kirsten:

Growing up, my parents were very liberal. My dad’s gay, he’s been with his husband now for over 40 years. That was my normal. My mom remarried a guy who’s very liberal.

Okay, then.

In high school, I also had a major drinking problem,

No. Don’t. We mustn’t rush to judge.

I was an art major at this big university…

Though, admittedly, she’s not making it easy.

Writing in the Guardian, Hannah Jane Parkinson bemoans a modest reduction of the Arts Council’s budget:

This philistine government is betraying the arts. 

It goes without saying that the 6% budget trim, £39m of a total £622m budget, is presented in the most ominous possible terms, using a four-year figure, presumably to induce gasps of outrage. We also get the line, wheeled out repeatedly by the Guardian, that,

The creative industries contribute £90bn net to the UK economy.

A framing that not only jars with demands for further public subsidy, but which slyly conflates actual, self-supporting businesses, including TV production companies, designers and games developers, with the kind of fare more likely to be subsidised by the Arts Council. 

So far, so Guardian. And then there’s this:

There seems to be no recognition of how powerful the arts can be in educating audiences, reflecting current events, exploring different views and opening up dialogue. In the past year alone, I have enjoyed Nicholas Hytner’s version of Julius Caesar at The Bridge, influenced by Trump’s America; The Jungle’s tale of life in the Calais refugee camp; Alan Bennett’s Allelujah!, a celebration of the NHS. 

Readers will note that the artistic projects deemed exemplary are somewhat uniform in their default politics, which seem unlikely to differ much, if at all, from those of the typical Guardian columnist, or the typical Arts Council employee, or indeed the typical beneficiary of Arts Council largesse. Perhaps, then, we can hazard a guess as to Ms Parkinson’s definitions of “opening up dialogue” and “exploring different views.” 

Or, The Mao-lings’ Unhappy Id Spills Out In Portland.

“You’re inherently violent,” screams an unhinged blue-and-purple-haired woman named Hannah McClintock, while repeatedly spitting on people and trying to punch them in the face:

Andy Ngo on media dishonesty and racial shakedowns: 

The genre of “white people doing something to black people” is, by now, a well-established media genre that generates easy clicks. But there is also an unsettling subplot that few seem willing to discuss. Rashsaan Muhammad and Mattie Khan, the two people of colour who star in last week’s viral video, both act abominably toward a young woman they’ve just met… And it was Ms Khan, not the pedestrian, who instantly racialised the incident, while her male partner called the woman an “idiot” and told her that she doesn’t belong in the neighbourhood. Who’s the racist—not to mention segregationist—here?

The couple’s abominable behaviour didn’t end after that encounter and the publication of the video, however. Within hours, Ms. Khan named the bicyclist publicly and posted her photo on social media. Friends and followers of Ms Khan then continued the doxing, publishing more photos and personal details of the woman… Sha Ongelungel, who was recently profiled glowingly as a racial justice activist in the Guardian, published the woman’s employer information on Twitter and encouraged others to call or email them. They obliged and demanded that she be fired. Ms Ongelungel stopped responding after I inquired if she took any steps to verify the couple’s (false) allegation.

Previously and somewhat related: When “dismantling the white supremacist hetero-patriarchy” trumps little things like opening hours. 

Heather Mac Donald on pathological academia and the barking left: 

The epithets used by the left are simply reflex actions. They have nothing to do with reality. “White supremacy” is now the favoured term of art and it’s trotted out in situations that are ludicrous… We saw this during the feminist hysteria over the Brett Kavanaugh nomination. Those who defended the idea of due process… were accused of supporting “white supremacy” and “white privilege.” What was left out of the equation was that his accuser was also white. So how does race come into this?

And in unambiguous hate-crime news: 

Men, listen up… Join me, with due diligence and civic duty, and publicly claim: I am sexist!

In the pages of the New York Times, a philosophy professor named George Yancy is gushing his little heart out: 

It is hard to admit we are sexist. I, for instance, would like to think that I possess genuine feminist bona fides, but who am I kidding? I am a failed and broken feminist. 

Upon which revelation, I suppose we could all just stop and go home. But no, let’s press on.

More pointedly, I am sexist. There are times when I fear for the loss of my own entitlement as a male. Toxic masculinity takes many forms. All forms continue to hurt and to violate women.

The word toxic, by the way, is deployed no fewer than nine times, excluding various synonyms, as if it were an incantation. Now brace yourselves for some full-on testosterone-jacked beastliness.

For example, before I got married, I insisted that my wife take my last name… While this was not sexual assault, my insistence was a violation of her independence. 

To reiterate. Asking a fiancée if she’ll change her surname upon marriage, as is still the custom, perhaps to avoid confusing people as to whether you’re actually married or not, and possibly to avoid imposing on any children lengthy hyphenated surnames… this is not sexual assault. I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.

However,