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[Music clip: From Haydn's Derbyshire March No. 2, piano version]
01 — Intro. And Radio Derb is on the air! Yes, folks, this is your metrically genial host John Derbyshire with all the news you need to know.
Following the departure of my research assistants Mandy, Candy, and Brandy, listeners are curious to know about staffing here at the studio. Well, Mrs Derb has been interviewing replacements. She insisted on taking this chore upon herself, for which I am most grateful. She tells me she has now found a suitable candidate and salary negotiations are under way.
I have not yet met the new hire, but Mrs D tells me it is a person of the female gender, name of Sandy. I'm hoping she will be able to start work next week.
That's it with the administrative bulletins; on with the news.
More and more people have noticed that what the media still calls "refugees" are overwhelmingly healthy-looking young men in leisure sportswear and newish sneakers, carrying cellphones. Where are all the women and kids?
One of Steve Sailer's commenters posted links to six news photographs of crowds of these "refugees," tallying them by sex. He concluded that, quote: "Overall, these migrants are more male than the United States Army."
There's been a lot of young-male behavior there among the "refugees" too. Here were several hundred of them confronting police in Budapest, September 4th. [Clip.] The police were trying to round them up, fingerprint, and register them, which is what a country is supposed to do when people claim refugee status. The migrants are chanting "f*** you!," although the website I took that from has beeped out the f-word.
And while people are pondering the word "refugee" in the media phrase "Syrian refugees," they may as well ponder the word "Syrian," too. The litter in camps that migrants have moved out from is full of discarded passports and i.d. documents from countries other than Syria.
The New York Times quoted a migrant telling their reporter, quote: "I am Syrian, you know, a real Syrian. Here, we have Pakistanis, Afghans, Iraqis, and they all throw away their papers and claim to be Syrian. Everyone is a Syrian now. It is a big problem." End quote.
In this context I note the September 5th report on National Public Radio from their correspondent in Iraq. Executive summary: Pretty much any Iraqi with anything on the ball is heading to Europe, or planning to. Sample quote:
Even as Hussein offers me a sharp, fresh juice, he's downcast. When I ask about the subject on everyone's mind here — the migrant flood into Europe — he laughs. "We were just talking about this!" he says. Several of his friends just passed by to say farewell.
Yes, folks, the Third World is on the move. This will get way worse before it gets better.
03 — Gaydar false positive. There are some lesser issues around the migrant crisis that need looking at, too.
When my September 4th Radio Derb was posted at VDARE.com it was illustrated with a news photograph taken from the Guardian, a Cultural Marxist London newspaper. The photograph showed an urban-domestic setting in which a metrosexual-type young white guy is listening with rapt attention to a handsome young black man. The caption was: Germans are signing up to host refugees — from Syria, Somalia, and Burkina Faso — in their homes..
The picture set off several listeners' gaydar. Are homosexuals instrumental in driving this bogus refugee racket? one listener asked.
I don't know about "instrumental," but I wouldn't be terribly astonished if this were a factor. Back in the 1960s, when I was living a louche undergraduate life in London and homosexual acts were still technically illegal in Britain, the favorite vacation spot for homosexuals was North Africa. For a modest cash outlay, the pub talk said, you could be buggered all day long by strapping young Arab men in Morocco. I refer interested listeners to Joe Orton's diaries for full details.
Is there some related factor in play here, with Europeans welcoming representatives of that 98 percent male refugee flood into their homes?
Well, possibly. I went back and checked the source for that news photograph, though. It's from the Guardian newspaper for September 1st, headline: "Airbnb for refugees" group overwhelmed by offers of help. Story: That metrosexual white guy is 31-year-old Jonas Kakoschke, one of the founders of the German website "Refugees Welcome" that I mentioned in my podcast. The black guy is 39-year-old Bakari Conan, a refugee from Mali, whom Kakoschke is putting up at his apartment in Berlin.
However, the story tells us that Mr Kakoschke shares his apartment with 28-year-old Mareike Geiling, who is definitely female, and not altogether bad-looking, in a Teutonic lefty-harpy kind of way. So no, just to close out that issue, I don't think this is a gay deal.
That some others might be, I would, as I said, not be astonished; but this one isn't.
04 — Sluices, Slavs, and suckers. The migrant crisis is highlighting some of the problems with the globalists' dream of European unification under authoritarian bureaucrats.
The path taken by the mass of migrants in fact resembles the flow of liquid over a curved surface — the kind of thing you wrestle with when studying multivariable calculus. Here the flood flows fast through narrow channels; there it is pushed away by a steep slope; over there in that gentle depression it pools and puddles.
Migrant-wise, Europe in fact breaks into three clear zones: Call them sluices, Slavs, and suckers.
Sluice countries are those like Greece and Italy where the migrants first land. These countries don't want the migrants. They're too poor and corrupt to have the efficient welfare systems the migrants seek, and both they and the migrants agree that the faster the flood sluices through them to elsewhere, the happier all will be.
The Slavs are the old Cold War Soviet colonies of Eastern Europe. Yes, I know, Hungarians, Romanians, Lithuanians, and Estonians aren't Slavs. It's just a handy and conveniently alliterative catchall term.
The Slavs would rather have nothing to do with the migrants, period. Poles, Czechs, Slovaks, Hungarians, etc. — and, yes, Russians too — kept the flame of national identity alight through half a century of communist tyranny. They have not yet sunk into ethnomasochism, and they are not about to let their nations' independence, barely one generation old, be overwhelmed by barbarian invaders. Some of their regions have folk memories from three or four hundred years ago of being ruled by Muslims.
The suckers are the decadent, self-loathing welfare democracies of northwest Europe, the ones putting up those "Welcome Refugees!" websites. That's where the migrants want to be; that's where the urge to national and racial suicide is strongest.
If the EU were capable of rational policy-making it would save the sluice nations all the trouble and expense of having the invader hordes pass through their territories, and just set up collection zones at the main source points and fly migrants directly to the sucker nations in cargo planes.
05 — Invasion is the new immigration. Mind you, not all of the migrants want to be in northwest Europe. Here's one, at least, who is glad to be in Austria.
This is from another report out of NPR, National Public Radio. Yes, I know it's a Cultural Marxist outlet; but Mrs Derbyshire has it on for background when she's making dinner, and I can't help but hear it. Besides, in my line of work it's instructive to hear from their own mouths what the CultMarx crowd are thinking — like listening to Tokyo Rose in WW2.
NPR had a reporter in the Austrian town of Traiskirchen, thirty miles south of Vienna, site of a big refugee center. Here is what I heard.
[Clip] Reporter: The refugee center is the largest in Austria, but it cannot cope with the nearly 4,000 people here. And more people arrive every day. Some are accommodated in tents behind the center, but many end up sleeping outside. Basil Saloukha and his wife, Dima, push a baby stroller down the sidewalk. They just arrived in Traiskirchen. The couple decided to leave Syria when their child was born.
That sounded to me like an interview with some regular immigrants. Where is the refugee component there?
[Clip: "In the war now, there is no place to raise a child."] Well, yeah, things are tough in wartime. Last week I obituarized British pop singer Joy Beverley, who had just died age 91. I mentioned that Joy and her sisters, when children, had been evacuated to my home town of Northampton because the East End of London, where their family lived, was having the crap bombed out of it by Herman Göring's Luftwaffe. Can't Syrians evacuate their kids to safe towns like we did?
And then: [Clip: "Saloukha says Austria was always his first choice, perhaps because he loves classical music."] Sheesh, it sounds like the guy's applying to college. His first choice?
As I said, it's as if these people are immigrants. Dissatisfied with their home country, they've decided to move to another — or to one of a list of others, ranked by desirability, with Austria as "first choice."
Nothing wrong with being an immigrant. I've been one myself, more than once. These people aren't bothering with the formalities, though: visas, skill sets, permits, health checks, waiting lists. They just got on a boat, then a train, then hiked over some fields, and hey! We're here! And our first choice is … Austria!
What I'm hearing is, there is no more formal immigration — not, at any rate, if you're migrating up the civilizational gradient, from a crappy country where something unpleasant is going on to a clean, orderly, prosperous welfare democracy. You just show up, in your first choice if you can manage it.
Even being a refugee didn't used to work like this. Refugees were corraled, tallied, fumigated, made to wait in grungy camps, then assigned to destination countries. Read Arthur Koestler's memoir Scum of the Earth. Even ordinary immigration didn't work like this. There were checks to be done, hoops to jump through.
No more, not if you have Third World privilege. You just have to show up.
Invasion is the new immigration.
06 — How collapsed is the Narrative?. Just a footnote here to the foregoing.
I mentioned Mrs Derbyshire there. This is an independent-minded lady who does not take her opinions from me and who keeps up with current events at an ordinary-citizen level via newspapers and the internet. In elections she votes Democrat; the family joke is that it's a waste of our time to go to the polling booth as we cancel each other out. She does have some robustly conservative opinions in certain areas, though. Like most of the Chinese-born people I know, she strongly favors capital punishment. She is a frank race realist. And she has that very pronounced Third Worlder wariness about being taken advantage of.
So I was not too surprised to find that she is an utter cynic about the migrants. I was somewhat surprised because the Narrative collapse I spoke of earlier is mainly visible at websites like this one, on comment threads, and among people like me who dig around obsessively in news stories to try to figure out the reality behind the news photos. At Mrs Derbyshire's ordinary-citizen level, watching TV news and browsing for health tips and celebrity gossip on Yahoo, the Narrative is being firmly shored up.
Yet she sees through it. If she does, a lot of others do, too — not just news freaks, conservative partisans, and angry contributors to comment threads, but ordinary citizens like Mrs Derb.
The globalist open-borders aspect of the Narrative is especially important to our goodwhite elites, whose dearest wish is to submerge badwhites for ever in a mass of nonwhites so that they — the elites — can live like their goodwhite friends in Mexico and Brazil, ruling complacently over brown peasant proles.
In the matter of the migrant crisis, our elites will strive mightily to keep intact the story that this is a flow of desperate refugees whom it is our moral duty to accommodate.
I see some small hopeful signs, however, that they are aware of the possibility of Narrative collapse, and fear it.
On Thursday this week, for example, President Obama announced that the U.S.A. will take in 10,000 self-identifying "Syrian refugees" this year. So far, so in line with the globalist project.
As Ann Corcoran points out at Refugee Resettlement Watch, though, this number is a lot smaller than those promoted by the refugee-contractor rackets, who want a hundred thousand.
And those 10,000 are to be taken from people already registered and in the pipeline, not from the hordes strolling into Europe this past few weeks.
Does this bespeak a certain caution on the administration's part, a creeping awareness that the tramping sound they hear in the distance is not pathetic women, children, and old folks begging for succour, but angry peasants with pitchforks marching on the palace?
I sure hope so.
07 — Nonwhite privilege anthologized. This segment I think comes under the heading "nonwhite privilege."
There is among us a poet, a middle-aged white guy named Michael Derrick Hudson. Mr Hudson wrote a poem, title: "The Bees, the Flowers, Jesus, Ancient Tigers, Poseidon, Adam and Eve."
That's the title. I shall refer to it as "The Bees, etc." The poem itself isn't much longer than its title: 178 words, organized in 13 stanzas of one or two lines each, for a total 20 lines.
"Organized" is actually too strong a word. Like most of what is published as poetry nowadays, "The Bees, etc." is free verse. It has neither rhyme nor meter. "Playing tennis without a net," was Robert Frost's judgment on free verse. "'Free verse'?" sniffed G.K. Chesterton. "You may as well call sleeping in a ditch 'free architecture.'"
Free verse even at its best is really just rhythmic prose. Nothing wrong with that, and I'm not actually as stern about the matter as Frost and Chesterton were. Rhythmic prose can be very effective. "The Bees, etc." is, however, not free verse at its best. It has no rhythms that I can detect.
Not only is "The Bees, etc." unrhymed, non-metrical, and non-rhythmic, it has no structure. It's not built from couplets, tercets, quatrains, or quintets. It's not a sonnet, a sestina, a ballade, pantoum, villanelle, or Pindaric ode. In fact it's just ten prose sentences arbitrarily broken at nineteen points, the twenty resulting fragments printed each on its own line.
The stanza breaks are as arbitrary as the line breaks. The fourth sentence, for instance, begins with the words, quote: "But they look so perfect together …" There is a stanza break between the words "so" and "perfect." "But they look so," new stanza, "perfect together."
Why? Beats me. Five'll get ya eight if you asked Mr Hudson why, he'd reply: "Why not?"
What's the poem about? Well, in the first five of his ten sentences, the poet is watching through a magnifying glass a bee pollinating flowers. In sentences five and six he wonders why he's doing this. In sentence seven he expresses general discontent with his life, comparing it to a vacation in which he is the incompetent tour guide. Sentences eight, nine, and ten are send-ups of the kinds of things tour guides say.
Why am I telling you about this poem? Well, Mr Hudson — the poet — is, as I began by telling you, a white guy. He wanted to get his poem published, so he submitted it to poetry magazines and literary journals. After forty rejections, Mr Hudson changed strategy. Instead of submitting the poem under his actual name, he made up a Chinese-sounding pen-name, Yi-fen Chou, and submitted it under that name.
There were nine rejections. Then an old and respectable literary magazine named Prairie Schooner, published quarterly by the English department of the University of Nebraska at Lincoln, accepted the poem for publication. They printed it with the pen-name Yi-fen Chou in their fall 2014 issue.
The comparison of the forty rejections with the nine suggests, though it does not prove, that the Chinese pseudonym helped the poem get accepted. Nonwhite privilege, see?
So far, so good. Things got better for Mr Hudson, though. Every September the publisher Scribner's issues an anthology of the best American poems published the past year. I used to buy it. The latest one I have on my shelf is for 1998, which was about the time I stopped reading contemporary poetry.
Well, "The Bees, etc." was selected for this year's volume; and there it is in The Best American Poetry 2015, $10.44 paperback from Amazon.com.
"The Bees, etc." was selected for the anthology by editor Sherman Alexie, himself a poet, prose writer, and filmmaker. Mr Alexie is an American Indian. His poems, prose, and films are all about being an American Indian. Yes, we are in the precious little world of identity narcissism here. Where else would we be, when talking about contemporary poetry?
So Mr Alexie, the American Indian editor, chose this poem by a white guy named Hudson writing under a Chinese pen-name, for this prestigious anthology he was editing. After he'd chosen it and notified the poet, Michael Hudson wrote back revealing his true identity.
This presented Mr Alexie with heap big dilemma. Quote from him:
I had to keep that pseudonymous poem in the anthology because it would have been dishonest to do otherwise. If I'd pulled the poem then I would have been denying that I gave the poem special attention because of the poet's Chinese pseudonym.
Did you get that? Mr Alexie admits that he selected poems for this anthology not, or not just, for their poetic merits, but to, quote, "address past racial, cultural, social, and aesthetic injustices in the poetry world." This fortifies one's suspicion that Prairie Schooner also selected the poem for publication on social-justice principles; or, to put it another way, on the basis of nonwhite privilege.
Having admitted it, Mr Alexie ties himself in knots trying to de-admit it. His apologia runs to 2,800 words; read it for yourself at the blog for The Best American Poetry 2015.
Michael's theatre has already taken up space a writer of color could have filled, his antics trivialize the experience of people of color, of growing up with a name that many white Americans refuse to fit in their mouths.
Asian-American activists of course were choking on their noodles. Several accused Mr Hudson of performing in yellowface. Korean-American poetess Franny Choi, who writes poems about being Korean-America — and also, to be fair, about her vagina — vented thus, quote:
For Asian-Americans, changing our names is a strategy to survive a racist and nativist America. Michael Derrick Hudson's pseudonym is cultural appropriation at its purest — it's stealing from the struggle of people of color for a white man's personal gain.
Now, we know to a good probability that Mr Hudson's poem only got published at all because of nonwhite privilege; and we know from Mr Alexie's own pen that nonwhite privilege boosted it into the Scribner anthology. As a commenter at mediaite.com put it very succinctly, quote:
Racist people accuse person who exposed them as racists of being racist.
That about sums it up.
I'm a poetry lover. I can recite yards of the stuff, some of it in languages I can't speak conversationally. Three whole shelves of my study are populated by poetry books. I'm going to take a break now for some quiet weeping.
08 — Miscellany. And now, our closing miscellany of brief items.
Imprimis: That story about the guy pretending to be Chinese to get his poem published reminded me of an actual Chinese poem.
This poem is by a talented but sadly neglected Chinese poet of the T'ing Dynasty, name of Tai Yüeh-han. I'll read it to you in my own translation. Could I have some background Chinese music, please? [Chinese music.] Thank you. Ahem:
Was your poem returned with apology?
[Note added when archiving: As spoken on the podcast, the second line was: "Just practice a little psychology." I have taken the opportunity to improve the line slightly for archival purposes. What, you never heard of poetic license?]
Item: A listener thinks I did an injustice to Glenn Beck last week. I had called Beck "our own homegrown ethnomasochist" after he praised the people in Iceland volunteering to open their homes to Syrian refugees.
My listener agreed that Beck is, quote, "a smarmy individual," but said he'd thought that Beck was referring to Christian refugees only.
Was he? I read my source story on The Blaze again, and it's not really clear. The Icelanders weren't specifying Christians, and Beck praised, quote, "the people of Iceland." But then a bit further down he says, quote:
I thought this would happen with the Jews … But it's happening with the Christians. So now what are we going to do?
End quote. So maybe he did just have Christians in mind.
At this point, to practice thorough journalistic due diligence, I should listen to the entire Glenn Beck broadcast to see how specific he was. However: (1) You have to register and pay a dollar, neither of which, but especially the first, is something I want to do. And (2) I have my sanity to consider.
So I'm going to give Glenn Beck the benefit of the doubt and assume he meant Christian Syrians, who are ten percent of Syria's population, though only three percent of the fifteen hundred Syrian refugees accepted for settlement in the U.S.A. so far.
Now perhaps Glenn will tell us how we distinguish between genuine Syrian Christians and graduates of the jihadi training camps' one-month crash course in pretending to be a Syrian Christian.
Item: It would be remiss of me to sign off without at least a passing comment on the jostling for position in the 2016 Presidential race.
All right, here's a new angle. Donald Trump, currently way out ahead of the GOP pack in polling, will, if elected, be our first Viking President.
So at any rate claims the blogger Dusk in Autumn; I confess I haven't checked this.
If our future President is more willing to go on the unrelenting attack rather than take a beating lying down, it may owe to Viking heritage on his mother's side.
Then we get into the genetic and historical weeds on Norsemen ancestry. Our blogger concludes that, quote:
The Norsemen may have failed to secure a foothold in North America one-thousand years ago, but they may be vindicated yet with the election of the first Viking President.
I can't judge the factual basis of this claim, but as a Trump supporter I'm not sure I want it to be true. When it comes to Vikings, be careful what you wish for.
If you don't know what I mean, or if your own Norse blood is boiling with indignation at my implied insult to your ancestors, here's a short story recommendation: "Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned," by Wells Tower. Check it out.
Item: Finally, the Angel of Death — and you can't get more final than that! — seems to have taken a troubling interest in showbiz celebrities from my obscure and humble home town.
Last week, as mentioned, I mourned the loss of Joy Beverley. Well, on September 3rd we lost Judy Carne, the "Sock it to me" girl of the 1960s TV comedy hit Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In." Ms Carne was 76. Other than being the "Sock it to me" girl, her secondary claim to fame was that she was married to Burt Reynolds for three years.
Judy came from Kingsthorpe, on the other side of town from us. My dim recollection, not to be relied on, is that she had a younger sister named Sandra, who went to school with my own sister.
Her life was a train wreck. She left Laugh-In at the height of her popularity, apparently because she thought Goldie Hawn was eclipsing her. Then she acquired a drug problem and quickly sank into obscurity.
She eventually returned to Northamptonshire, and the obituaries say she found inner peace at last in the pretty village of Pitsford, where the adolescent Derb learned to sail on the nearby reservoir. I hope it's true — the thing about finding inner peace, I mean. Showbiz, like sailing, needs grit, dedication, and a good intuitive sense of where the wind is blowing from. Goodnight, Judy.
Now let's hope the Angel of Death is bored with Northampton — not by any means a difficult place to be bored with — and will go swing his scythe elsewhere.
09 — Signoff. That's it, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for listening; and just a gentle reminder to my Northern Hemisphere listeners that Fall is almost upon us, time to start storing away nuts for winter.
To follow on from that last item, I was going to play Hank William's fine monitory ballad "The Angel of Death" to see us out. On reflection, though, it doesn't seem wise to provoke the Supernatural unnecessarily, so I'll default to Franz Josef Haydn instead. Where the Powers of the Air are concerned, one can never be too careful.
More from Radio Derb next week!
[Music clip: More Derbyshire Marches.]