Stop Your Sobbing

Anyone who’s articulate, can hold his or hers debating knew right off the bat once American society succumbed to political correctness, going way overboard by making “trigger words” valid knew our nation would plunge into a semantic sump.

And here we are. Mired up to our hips in one side claiming antisemitism roils the nation, while the other side twists the very tools which finally started making America more equitable and fairer for the historically marginalized. Now, these methods work in favor of those who’ve always been advantaged in our nation.

Here’s some plain talk – there is no organized structural antisemitism in the United States. Anglos are not being discriminated against.

Yes, there are in our nation individuals and groups whose Jew hate was sucked from the curdled milk of their mothers’ breasts. However, that whole institutions conspire against Jews, Jewry, Judaism, and whatever else crowd the Old Testament is false. We should all be stunned, we should all be rational enough, we should all be sane enough, to refute these scurrilous charges out of hand.

My fellow Americans, our nation does not contain a Pale. Cossacks do not lurk in the shadows among the hills. Pogroms do not happen, have not happened in the United States. Whether the Founders even knew of such incidents, thank them anyway for keeping faith on one side of a wall and governing on the other.

As too many of us have readily forgotten, or who knows, these days maybe never learned, witnessing how state-sponsored, state-sanctioned faiths rived the Old World, the Founders decreed our experiment in governance would not contain a book of common prayer; we would not be beholden to kneel to a regent through which the Almighty directed mortals.

We are citizens, not subjects. Why is it necessary for Americans to read that in the 21st century?

We may speak freely. That said, responses may be just as robust as what’s been stated. While any American may claim what’s been said is injurious, no American should declare what can and cannot be said.

We possess rhetorical abilities to reply. Use them. Rather than preemptively forbid what we may find disagreeable, instead rejoin, refute, rebuke, rebut. Take up the glove. Use it to find the weaknesses of others’ arguments. By stating from the start something can’t be said, it’s been validated as true by the very persons targeted.

In recent decades Americans have struggled mightily to repulse all notions ours is a “white man’s land.” Since the country’s founding, whole generations have been raised on the canard having the “wrong” complexion, bearing the “wrong” ethnicity somehow diminishes one’s stature here. Or worse, being an Anglo – particularly a male one – somehow exults the occupant within that skin.

As a nation, we have benefited by recognizing the diversity of the tiles composing our mosaic. The formerly excluded have helped further propelled this country to the global forefront. That despite Herculean efforts of titanically resistant segments willing to stall society if it means those believed their “lesser” will advance. Particularly if that advance comes at the expense of someone whose entire existence is based on being among the elect.

Alone, birth is a good start. But in egalitarian, meritocratic America, there are no noble bloodlines; there is no lineage descended from above which vaults anyone undeservedly to the forefront. That goes double for Anglo males who don’t strive, live laggardly, yet expect winding up atop the heap.

There’s been too much empty discussion, way too many articles and books, tantrums really, about “the plight of white males in America.” Adult juveniles frustrated they’ve fallen behind because they’ve made little effort to get ahead.

They’re choking on dust not because groups once looked down upon with impunity have been awarded all sorts of “unfair” advantages. They’re hastening their own irrelevancy because those who got the short end of the stick by law and custom finally got chances prove themselves and excel. If there was a magic wand, it was bursting through doors which had finally cracked ajar and exerting themselves with focus and diligence.

Perhaps if the practitioners of such today weren’t dark complected or adherents of faiths barely acknowledged by mainstream America, those feeling threatened from “below” would recognize in them the same drives that catapulted waves of late 19th/early 20th century Eastern and Southern European immigrants out of gaslight-era tenements into solid American lives. Today’s “strangers” are climbing those same paths to elevation.

To any believing themselves threatened now it must appear odd because the faces and voices don’t reflect theirs. Probably the same dissidence that jarred colonial descendants after they heard the first dialects from Ireland, Italy or Russia, people whose customs and manners of worship also contradicted early Americans own comprehensions and systems of belief.

Just imagine how the United States might’ve developed if Catholic and Jewish immigrants had arrived in a categorically Protestant America. How soon would that chafing have become irritation as such on the levels as had been left across the sea?

In their need to “get even,” to “restore balance,” to laughably “level the playing field,” weak Anglos have perverted the remedies those who really had been suppressed, repressed, and oppressed in America. Justice applied fairly got knees off their necks. It let the forcibly supine rise off floors where they’d been kept.

Today, though, thanks to funhouse mirroring, groups who’d benefited from lifelong innate advantages are claiming “discrimination.” They are twisting court rulings which now purposely misread then misapply prior judgments. Those earlier corrections, or, better, extended rights for more Americans to enjoy. They opened gates towards equalization. Now, biased jurists are assisting right-wingers by reinstalling the old impediments against populaces mainstream society had once piled in the underclass.

In diversity, equality, and inclusion, shiftless Anglos rightly see the movement which leaves them behind. With DEI, or any other framework that promotes entry and advancement of groups historically excluded, mediocrity inside the right complexion no longer automatically confers seats at the table. All those Anglos, particularly males, who’d enjoyed careers just by skating, or the up-and-coming presuming the same effortlessness awaited them, are in discomforting positions of having to defend then prove their worth.

For them, a whole new world.

A difficult task for anyone who’s never been challenged. Made excruciatingly so when the likely challengers are figures always comprehended as having been regarded as marginal.

Bad enough that institutions and businesses that once advocated the purpose and goals of their DEI divisions have chickened out under the least amount of pressure. Doing away with them alerts America what had been considered noble establishments or forward-thinking enterprises lack mettle. Expanding a faculty or erecting a management hierarchy that encompasses more of America can only add academic luster or improve the how the firm is gauged.

Worse, these surrenders then allow ignorant and intolerant Anglos to mistake every remaining non-white male presence above certain grades as only occupying those positions through race or gender. Because such myopic blockheads see those beyond their narrow ken vaulting to such heights as otherwise impossible. Of course. Anyone not possessing the necessary drive and desire themselves to reach those heights – like the critics of unsuitable faces seen in unfathomable places – can’t imagine men and women believed below them rocketing above them.

Bad as scouring DEI from corporate America is, it’s all the more pernicious in academe. The forces that wish to take this country backwards into a Retrograde America understand it best to stop progress where it’s most fertile and fervid. On college and university campuses.

Generally, furthering one’s education also exposes students to varieties of people outside what are often narrow acquaintances. In classes, minds are tasked to think beyond the familiar.

Or should be.

In the swirl of college life, there are magnificent possibilities for circles of acquaintances to expand and overlap. Meet different people. Who in themselves provide other educational avenues.

That threatens the hidebound. The mossbacks prefer their young remain incurious. They also prefer students quarantined from anyone they’ve been indoctrinated to regard as “bad, unclean, impure.” Amazing how white fright dissipates when the “monsters” are met and turn out to be exceptionally human. Humans, yes, just different, not menacing as had been proclaimed.

It’s these sorts of realizations that make questioning other precepts that have been hammered home easier. Enough of that and control over those once held firm dissolves enabling them to roam and develop their own designs for living.

Defection is bad enough, but apostacy may make those who pushed the stringencies question worthiness of their own efforts hewing the line.

The blowback against inclusion and fairness on campuses has become especially petty. Vindictive Anglos are going so far as eliminating organizations constructed to ease the passages of students from groups historically limited or excluded altogether from colleges and universities.

Now, these aren’t radical cells intending to usurp American education. Far from it. The associations being singled out merely seek to smooth campus experiences for students whose backgrounds are slim insofar as having much presence in higher academy. Let’s face it, having finally managed escaping a system which for the longest dedicated itself to keeping certain segments out of the academic groves, finally being in it may present challenges. The clubs help with navigation, maneuvering, as well as serve as sounding boards. Because it’s human nature to confide among those sharing similar traits as the stressed party.

Certainly, it’s so with people who’ve led a proscribed lives have suddenly entered the mainstream’s variety. Only once newcomers find comfort in the wider, deeper environment might the distinctions become less pronounced. But until that comfort, there is little to no trust. Therefore, not only are the faces friendlier, the sounding boards more accepting, but exchanges may be easier and more forthcoming with mentors who themselves have endured the same.

Right-wingers have perverted the above remedies. They claim such associations are discriminatory. (!?) That by nature and function their charters restrict membership. Taken to extremes, lengths right-wingers habitually go, the guilds in which they find fault solely exist to serve narrowly defined bands of students. Mislabeling such as “segregation,” these cures must be prohibited under Title IX. They cannot be allowed to operate as sanctioned institutional adjuncts.

Real Americans should find it incredible that the legal implement which raised the percentages of formerly denied students into higher education is today being used to curtail methods that’ll give them greater access to learning processes. Right-wingers claim they’re only motivated by “fairness.” In reality, and this so obvious the crackers keeping straight faces is commendable – commendable, not admirable – they’re simply moved to impede the aspirations of non-Anglos and women.

One should wonder rather than expend energy thwarting people seeking to excel, why don’t right-wingers channel their efforts into helping laggard Anglo males advance? Get those boys off the couch. As it is, all the “America is a white man’s land” evil cabal does is work to keep bête noires within sighting range of good-for-nothings. Hindering the formers’ progress as it does, it nonetheless does not halt their forward steps.

Even a nation of millions cannot hold them back.

Why don’t right-wingers use one of the old tried-and-true motivations? Appeal to Anglo males’ pride. Not in the get likkered up then get a rope manner that gave plenty of simpletons jolts of empty deadly power, but by turning it into a goal.

Probably one of the first real ones presented them during their layabout lives.

Naturally that would indirectly make the polar pairs equals. However, if one heeds what researchers and fearmongers proclaim of declining male Anglos, most of the newly “disadvantaged” wouldn’t hear the insult intended by putting them on par with those who ought to be inferiors.

That’s how negligently they’ve been raised.

This will take some prestidigitation. After lifetimes of filling empty heads with “white man” entitlement, now the narrative must pull a 180 and emphasize hard work. Kind of tough to go 60 when one’s been at zero throughout an entire life. The wrong kind of Anglo males have been spoon fed to believe the world owes them for merely being themselves. Mind, not through any accomplishments, just by breathing and taking up space. Can’t cruise through life easier than that.

Rather than question this or even notice the furious activities of those whose pursuits are getting them ahead, they’ve accepted an idleness as reward they somehow believed their due. Shouldn’t this alone suffice to leave them behind on the heap?

How does one improve after a lifetime of never having been prepared? How is a cohort which has lived barely stirred lives motivated?

Without a doubt they must be jarred into motion. Sweet persuasion won’t get these lumps moving. Our nation cannot have a sizable portion of Anglo males, their numbers most concentrated in less dynamic, only growing fat through resentment. For America to truly and fully progress, we need them to contribute; by that benefit to us all will thereby lessen their self-pitying feelings of obsolescence, uselessness, and whatever other state best labels human superfluousness.

“Redundancy” might’ve fit in there but that only suits anyone who’s worked to the commonweal and have fallen out of favor through necessity. The indolent do not apply.

Unfortunately for them, Anglo men needing this encouragement won’t hear any from Donald Trump. While less informed, less intelligent American males somehow idolize his sloth and adolescent behavior, worshipping the scab’s utter uncouth nature as if it embodied “manliness,” the grifter in chief’s superficiality, selfishness, and self-centered manner couldn’t let him provide those suckers any kind of help anyway.

Plenty of insults and juvenile observations? Yes. Any constructive advice? Nah. Never.

None of his deepest adherents are remotely clearsighted enough to have much going on between their ears to see the First Felon as he truly is. Nor what he is truly. The mirage they see is a man of stature. He epitomizes and embodies that to which they aspire.

True Americans know the joke is on Anglo men idolizing him. We know what the Queens mook is. Donald Trump is the worst sort of white man there is. A lazy one.

(To be continued.)

© Copyright 2025 by Slow Boat Media LLC

Sunset on the Susceptible

What’s possibly the best word in the German language?

Schadenfreude.

Venomously translated it means “taking pleasure in another’s misfortune.”

And while there’s plenty of that available now, over the next three years there will be more. Much more. Continue reading Sunset on the Susceptible

Why Should We Fight?

For any Americans knowledgeable of our nation’s history, the first quarter of the 21st century begs again asking the same questions raised in 1917 and 1941: Why should black Americans (as well as other non-Anglos and women) bother serving in our nation’s armed forces? Why should we defend the United States? Continue reading Why Should We Fight?

Foundation

Visited Quarropas, New York, in early June. Hadn’t been back to my hometown since relocating to Las Vegas, Nevada, 12 years ago.

I figured now was the time because shortly every reason to return may be gone. I still have a few best buddies there. But this year they turn 65. I have no idea what their financial situations are and didn’t ask. However, I suspect each has one foot out the door for Florida.

No way I can express how terrific it was to see people who knew me as I was becoming who I am, and seeing those who I knew when they were on the way to becoming the adults they are. Seeing how we’ve transformed might’ve astounded us then. Ah, probably not.

I will not be seeing them in the Gator State. Continue reading Foundation

Del Submarino a las Películas

Stepping into the low degrees of a Selknam night had Lisa McKenzie-McKenzie and Matt Pfarrer bundling inside heavy coats PDQ. He yanked his watch cap from a coat pocket and rolled it down his ears. Like any magician pulling a rabbit out of her tophat, McKenzie Squared jerked a trapper hat from somewhere then set it deeply upon her head. Had the flaps been any longer both would’ve draped her chest.

When they exhaled or spoke, their breath condensed.

Seeing her headgear, Pfarrer asked, “Is that your Sergeant Preston of the Yukon hat? Can dogsleds be far away?”

McKenzie Squared made a face. The kind that showed what she thought of his weary jibe. Continue reading Del Submarino a las Películas

Saliendo el submarino

Upon reaching the driver’s scheduled break stop where passengers might stretch their legs as well as grab compressed bites to eat, that was while letting off those who’d reached their destination but before boarding any joining the journey, strange thoughts of oxidation and reduction struck Matt Pfarrer. He hadn’t needed to consider the processes since high school. He wondered why they arose on the way to Near the End of Argentina.

The motorcoach to Selknam had steadily emptied southward bound. Watching the transport’s rows open up after every arrival, he noticed replacement passengers never equaled the departures. Standing in the midst of one of those towns anywhere in the world that solely seem to exist, no, to serve as way stations for long-haul busses, modern-day stagecoaches really, Pfarrer asked himself did those boarding them ever balance or, better, exceed the departures.

He asked himself had there ever been a full bus whose terminus was Selknam. Continue reading Saliendo el submarino

El submarino está detrás de nosotros

Each sailor’s recollection started sometime in early April 1945. And he remembered exactly where he was, doing what, if any, task he performed on that fateful May 8th when the news that became known as Zero Hour arrived.

To a man, none thought he’d survive the war. The submariners knew Germany had lost World War II on D-Day. While there were fanatics, hardcore Nazis among them, most sailors remained clearheaded. They must. Putting ideology ahead of seamanship increased the likelihood of disaster.

God never entered their deliberations. There would be no absolution asked from Him. Everyone knew what he’d done for Germany. Better to express that sentiment as “for Germany” than the leader. Duty to country made their conduct palatable.

In their minds, at least. Continue reading El submarino está detrás de nosotros

Hier Ist ein U-Boot

A few days after dining with Lisa McKenzie-McKenzie, Matt Pfarrer sat at a workspace desk. There, he made final preparations for his portion of their southbound journey. Recalling what McKenzie Squared had told him about Florencia Cardinale, the workspace receptionist, her circumnavigations around the office floor when he appeared, this time he charted her various courses.

Indeed, the Porteña did manage turning every room crossing into station-to-station ellipticals which invariably swung by his desk. Coming and going.

He did what he could to avoid any gazes McKenzie Squared cut at him. However, her determination outlasted his. Her ruthless smirk ignited his uncontainable guffaw. If the object of their observation noticed, she remained coolly undemonstrative. Continue reading Hier Ist ein U-Boot

Dies Ist kein U-Boot, sondern ein Feuilleton

Dropping in at the Buenos Aires Film Museum (Museo del Cine), a beleaguered Argentine cinematic facility bearing its sponsor’s name, Pablo Ducrós Hickens, either inspired or led Matt Pfarrer astray.

Although the repository rising by an elevated roadway had now occupied constant premises since the 1990s after years of being spread across several sites before permanence, it didn’t enjoy any real centralized catalogue. After upwards of four decades, staffers and researchers were still coming across new easter eggs among its shelves. In fact, nearly a generation ago missing elements of Fritz Lang’s German silent classic Metropolis were discovered there then reintroduced to cineastes after almost 80 years of absence. That is after almost 80 years of knowing those spools had disappeared but not a whit of knowing to where they’d vanished.

Pfarrer roughly likened el Museo del Cine to a played-out gold mine. One some prospector makes a quit claim hunch on in mere hopes of finding nuggets enough to make his efforts pan out but then strikes a seam instead.

And yes, the gold mine analogy proved more apt than a box of chocolates. Continue reading Dies Ist kein U-Boot, sondern ein Feuilleton

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