Suburban_elk relates this snapshot of life in far-northern United States:
[These] two or three approximately 20-year white girls get on the bus, just good-looking in the way that works for me which is to say bright and bushy. … But i am looking my best, as i often do, and they are totally friendly in a local way that is refreshing and almost hard to believe. Springtime. Life.
But the unfunny part is that the only seats that they can get are right next close to this immigrant fresh off the boat African…
… who is here because a chain of people — in the U.S. State Department and on down to their dimwitted fronts in Lutheran Charities — thought that having him here rather than swatting at flies outside of his dung hut is a good idea.
… and these girls are bursting with their sexiness and they have that high school casual posture that is often inappropriate, where they might sit with their legs and crotch forward and exposed, not literally but so to speak.
I know exactly how that looks. Sort of slouched, legs relaxed. Tight jeans, her crotch is very warm. Those girls seem endearingly oblivious to the effect they have on older men because only two kinds of men live their world: hot guys their age and people dad’s age. And it’s not even a salacious effect they have on us; it’s more like a knowing and an appreciation on our part, like our ancestors’ smiling at the girls with wreaths of flowers on their heads dancing around the maypole.
So not modest, and in Africa it would get them beat down by their uncles and patriarchy. But the look on the African’s face was comic incredulity, he could not believe it. These girls are on the bus and unchaperoned.
Clitoridectomies for everybody! The craggy alien hardly registers in those girls’ consciousness, except as a backdrop object you must be nice to because Rosa Parks. If those girls have little cognizance of a middle-aged American man delighting in their frolics, then an East African’s chagrin lives somewhere in the Kuiper Belt.
What Elk captures in that simple vignette is the dissonance between our own Paleolithic echoes of joy at the first bursting of spring and the pietistic boorishness of an unwanted trans-Nile squatter whose arid neurowiring lacks our connection to seasonal rhythms.
Because it is the commonplace things that chip away at human dignity under a bad political system, it’s those mundane stories that most clearly reveal that system’s dehumanizing nature. Under multiculturalism, that commonplace thing is an awkward moment on a bus, where a perceptive man’s appreciation of a girleen-gaggle — and those girls’ own joy at the dawning of spring — is shot through with shame. In their innocent wanton, those girls are an unwitting instrument of our embarrassment, as well as their own, because a walnut-brained man who isn’t supposed to be living here feels free to cast judgment on them as whores and deign instruct us, even if only through his disapproving expression, on how to raise our women.
Elk concludes thusly:
Those are good girls. Twenty years old and healthy. Who is going to bang them and what is going to happen. Every childless bang they get diminishes their value as a mate and a mom. Is that a actually a true statement though, or is it just cynical?
This segues into another subject: is a liberal-feminist society a responsible steward of young women? About a year ago, I connected that question to the news of false-rape allegations at college campuses. My thoughts, as I originally wrote them at Chateau Heartise, follow with some revisions:
One way to understand these false-rape allegations is that our society is flailing in response to the threat of extinction. The most valuable commodity on this planet is not gold, it’s young fertile White pussy. For people of European descent, good stewardship of that resource is the difference between life and oblivion. But society’s flailing is not the most effective and rational method of protecting the quality fertile wombs. A rational method would be to secure homelands in which our people court and form families accordance with our customs and temperaments. That measure is called “borders.” And internally, given any a-priori extremes of genetic diversity, you allow for freedom of association at individual and community levels.
But the above-described measures have been dismantled under the guise of civil rights. And as Pax Americana has made it clear over the bodies of thousands of murdered South Africans, the body writ-large shall have no protective skin and no autoimmune system.
And so today, you have genetically gifted, young, ripe for marriage girls. Many represent the best of our stock. And to our hindbrain horror, they are just fun-rutting and with each drunken fuck, a vision of a young mother with four radiant children fades from view. Therefore in panic, society lashes out at its nearest safe target, the young man who serviced her itching, unproductive gash.