I seem to be writing quite a few of these H & H entries as of late; rest assured that more varied programming will resume in due course.
I read of the ECHR’s decision to uphold France’s burqa ban with a characteristic contempt last month; nothing more than a bureaucratic endorsement of the kind of piddling, pathetic social-engineering shite so beloved by Jacobins. In short, textbook Gallic governance galvanised.
As if all that didn’t suck enough cock, the slurping became all the more audible once news of it crossed the Channel to Slave Britannia. From a springboard of “debate” over a British burqa ban, pundits and punters piled on praise for the measure, saluting the state of France for standing strong against the sartorial scourge, the fabric of which threatened to unravel that of the secure secular state and its aim of “living together”. Of course, sure and spirited dissent made itself heard, only to be drowned by a deluge of determined, dimwitted demagoguery and the demos devoted to it.
In service to their desired end, the would-be burqa-banners marshal a litany of lamentations, amongst them being concerns about security, social cohesion, and female “oppression”. As I see it, all these gripes rest on dubious premises indeed.
Take the notion of the burqa – or more commonly the niqab – as a ”security risk”, for starters; it’s rarely actually explained what the nature of such a risk entails. To their credit, niqab-naysayers Cherson and Molschky actually elaborate on the notion, citing folk hiding their faces from the paparazzi (as if plenty of non-Muslims don’t use coats and scarves to achieve the same effect), veiled women being allowed to board planes without ID checks (as if that wasn’t just a problem with airport staff procedure), and cross-dressing prison-escapees and armed robbers (as disguises go, wearing a body-length of cloth strikes me as impractical for on-foot getaways). Of course, the main point of panic, on those rare moments of elaboration, comes down to fears of suicide-bombing, disregarding the fact that fashion-wise, Muslim martyrs tend to blend in with their fellow human sacrifices; besides, given the whole “suicide” aspect, I doubt they’d flee the scene of the crime as anything other than blood ’n’ viscera.
The argument favouring the ban for the sake of social cohesion, of “living together”, strikes me as the kind of communitarian claptrap so beloved by Procrustean people-planners. It comes as no surprise to see such a state of affairs endorsed by the EU or French bureaucrats weaned on Jacobinism; to see such measures hurrahed by supposedly PC-hating, nanny-state-naysaying Brits, however…
Still, my dubious taste in humour allows for at least a smirk at the situation, one which gives way to a full-blown belly laugh once I take note of the ban’s effects on French social solidarity. Beyond the odd kuffar being provoked to righteous rage against the odd ingrate failing to
ingratiate integrate, France’s Muslims have had themselves a riot of a time since 2010.
In any case, a bit of restive rancour seems a small price to pay to save the shrouded sisters-in-Allah from sartorial slavery. After all, everyone knows them binliner-bedecked bitches be benighted, suffocated both literally and psychologically by their fundie fathers, frères, and fiancés; given this, what better way to strike a blow for female freedom than for a bunch of ballsack-bearing bureaucrats to prescribe and police its parameters? Never mind the niqabettes who insist they swathe up out of choice – the silly mares need to learn that some choices – and clothes — can never be adopted freely – ever.
Why do the lyrics of a certain Who song spring to mind?
Whilst some might well call this newly acquired Western appetite for banning the burqa and nipping the niqab in the bud “anti-Islamic”, I say it’s better described as a manifestation of counter-Islam: a secularised strain of submission, in competition with its more brazenly theistic counterpart. With or without the state, this unwitting emulation shares several key traits with its ostensible enemy, including a fervent-yet-fragile set of adherents, censure of “inappropriate” attire and literature, and a desire to impose a jizya on non–adherents. The counter-Islamists unwittingly give themselves away when they spout shit like “They’d tell us what to wear in their countries so why shouldn’t we?”, implying that Western countries should become more like ultraconservative Islamistans to fend off the veiled Muslim ghouls haunting their heads. Kinda like the “logic” of nuking a village in order to preserve it, or that of a father beating his daughter to death to save her from male predation.
Of course, this counter-call to submission shares more salient overlap with the tourniquet of thought referred to as “PC”, which strikes me as even more hilariously ironic, considering the British bell-ends backing a ban slander those opposing them with the label. Here we have a screed of skirt-clutchers so mentally scourged by the sight of expression contrary to their tastes, they need police and politicos to apply the sweet salve of censorship and make everything alright again.
In other words, the thrust of this pathetic, snivelling, burqa-ban campaign can best be summed up by the sentiment: “Your freedoms end where my feelings begin.”
Apparently such a line of “reasoning”, correctly dismissed as oversensitivity when employed by authoritarian leftists, assumes a renewed reverence when appropriated for populist purposes. From my vantage point, the whole thing looks like a thinly-veiled campaign of special pleading.
For a group of people so negative toward the niqab, the burqa-bashers possess some severely shrouded vision!