I Do Not Like That Ham-I-Am

Our German translator JLH has a few things to say about the latest “News of the Weird” story from South Africa.

One of the many things you can learn by reading the news at Gates of Vienna

by JLH

Let’s see if I understand this. Burger King is removing the syllable “ham” from “hamburger” in South Africa so as not to offend anyone. The best statistic I can uncover is that Islam accounts for 1.5% of the ca. 56 million South Africans. The largest single religious group is Protestant Christianity. In second place are those who profess no religion. It makes you wonder whom Burger King consulted (or was directed by). Certainly not the local Jewish lobby. When is the last time you ever heard the owner of a Jewish deli complain to the ADL about the BBQ bar and grill next door advertising spareribs?

This is a pioneering alteration to the language. The word for a type of sausage originally named after its city of origin is reduced to a severed trunk (-burg) that means “fort.” In US English, at any rate, calling somewhere a “burg” is not particularly flattering. I know because I come from a state with a lot of burgs. If I were a citizen of one of the largest cities in Germany — an international port, a center of trade, and an original member of the Hanseatic League — I would not like to be told that I was living in -burg.

This presents a whole new vista of linguistic change, calling up fond memories of the Hitlerian desire to expunge foreign words and phrases from the German language.

Where else in English, for instance, can we find this insidious infidel word “ham”? Perhaps in the Broadway musical about one of the Founding Fathers — you know, Alexander -ilton. Or in the name of a cute little rodent — the -ster — that is so fond of treadmills. Or, if you don’t want to call a small town a burg, you could call it a -let. And if you damage that place down in the back of your leg, you could say that you hurt your -string. This could lead to some confusion, so it may be better to take the high road and say that you pulled one of the tendons that laterally and medially border the depression in the popliteal fossa. That’s a little clumsy, but there are no infidel words in it. (Unless some really picky Muslim scholar objects to the use of the language of the Roman Church.)

And what if we can’t just remove the offensive syllable? What if that’s all there is? Like “Don’t ham it up.” We just have to substitute, and tell show-offs “Don’t steak it up!” “Don’t be such a steak!”

Just to be safe, we should also do away with the term we use for that crispy stuff we often eat in the morning. The morning special might be called “two eggs any style, with choice of ground infidel meat or infidel crispy stuff.” Alternatively “Canadian infidel crispy stuff and eggs.”

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The Strangulation of Democracy

For the a change of pace, here’s a new pastiche from JLH, who has a knack for this sort of thing.

The Strangulation of Democracy

by JLH
(In memoriam Sam McGee, and thanks to Robert Service)

There are strange things done in the Silicon sun
By the men who spin the gold,
And the cyber trails hold their secret tales
That could make your blood run cold.
The city lights have seen bad sights.
But the worst they ever will see:
Is not far away from San Francisco Bay,
Where they’re strangling democracy.

Now the men gathered there are from everywhere —
But they are here, we all know why.
They all play the game and their goal is the same —
A slice of the American Pie.
Oh, the wages of sin! They are raking it in.
The billions come rolling along.
To the wealthy comes power, and now is their hour
To buy the world for a song.

But it’s not simply greed, there’s also the need
To determine what’s good and what’s bad.
If you’re not in their group, then you’re out of the loop,
You’re as old as yesterday’s fad.
Join the crowd, show your face, tell us what you embrace,
Give a glimpse of your shy little soul.
This service is free, no psychiatrist’s fee,
Since you’re telling the world as a whole.

It’s a magical realm with no one at the helm.
Your entrails exposed on the ground
Attract the trolls first, and they’re not the worst;
Carrion-eaters in this place abound.
And so you’ve been shilled, your guts have been spilled,
And the vermin crept into your life.
There’s no magic spell to conquer this hell.
Just chill out and witness the strife.

Sit back and relax, pursue some fun facts,
But be careful what questions you ask.
Algorithmically speaking, the answer you’re seeking
May incite a tortuous task.
Seek President Trump, and you may soon be jumped
To trumps in the game of Whist.
Should you next try to reach for freedom of speech,
You may find yourself on a list.

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Greta Fights Cultural Enrichment

Update: Greta’s spelling has been corrected.


“School strike for the repatriation of foreigners”

Our Swedish correspondent LN tipped me to the photo above*. I had always thought Greta Thunberg — the Nordic Joan of Arc — was an agitator against climate change, but apparently she has become a xenophobe and adopted a new cause: Skolstrejk för hemsändandet av utlänningar, or “School strike for the repatriation of foreigners”.

A shorter slogan: Nej! Ut! = “No! Out!”

*   Yes, the photo of Greta has been digitally altered.
 

We Were Socialists Once… and Young

The Deplorable Wing of the Internet — which is where I usually hang out — has been convulsing itself with mirth for the past couple of days over the shenanigans at the Democratic Socialists of America convention that was held last weekend in Atlanta.

If you watch enough footage from the event, it becomes clear that there is only one commandment in the Socialist catechism: “Thou shalt not trigger a comrade.” All other policies are simply elaborations on, extensions of, and footnotes to this woke mantra. Social justice stuff is what doesn’t trigger them, so that’s what they do. Anything that runs counter to it triggers the comrades to varying degrees, making them hightail it to their safe spaces to recover their composure.

It’s not surprising that the non-canonical use of gendered pronouns was a central preoccupation of the convention. See this Fox News report for more on this important topic.

Below are three videos with highlights and commentary on last weekend’s events in Atlanta. The first includes a selection of brief excerpts that provide an overview of what the policy wonks at the DSA consider really, really important:

The second clip contains an exhortation by a moderator about triggering, and how not to do it. Notice that just before the end he inadvertently uses the word “trump”, and then realizes the gravity of his error. That must have been a Category 5 triggering event for his audience:

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“Bless Her Heart”

This “greatest hit” from Dymphna did not actually appear at Gates of Vienna, but at Dymphna’s other blog, “The Neighborhood of God”. She set up TNoG not long after we started Gates of Vienna because she needed a place to post things that weren’t about the Counterjihad or politics. She sometimes jocularly referred to it as “my real blog”.

The future Baron suggested this selection for the Greatest Hits. It’s one of his favorites.

“Bless Her Heart”

by Dymphna

Originally published on September 6, 2012

Over at the other place I’d been discussing the latest liberal meme, one more artificial — but no less hateful — than usual. I’d mentioned Michelle Malkin’s recent essay at Townhall, “The Condensed Liberal Handbook of Racial Codewords”.

As often happens, my thoughts diverged from the main subject; in this case, the subject being quite ugly accusations against candidate Mitt Romney, claiming he used coded messages in speeches to tell purported insiders — i.e., white people — what was really going on.

I began with a great video from Bob Parks and went on to talk about Ms. Malkin’s essay and those “SEEKRIT” words.

Every single group or culture, or sub-culture within a larger one, has code words. It’s simply human nature. What makes the process poisonous is when one group is falsely accused of publicly using code to say vicious things about another group as though the second group were too stupid to catch on.

The tipping point of paper-thin-skinned black grievance neurosis may have finally been reached. I certainly hope so. By now the accusations of — as Ms. Malkin puts it so well — RAAAAAACISM!- have been done to death. For the most part, average people find the whole rage and pity-pot victimhood simply tedious. It has become like trying to reassure a child who stubbornly hangs on to his giant refusal of reassurance because he needs his anger more than he needs justice or harmony.

At any rate, that essay led me far afield, into pondering the kinds of social dog-whistle talk that exists among all groups. I often found myself in social hot water in New England because I didn’t know the rules — rules that others had long learned by heart.

However, being raised in the South, I knew most of the Byzantine rules and moves of Southern social intercourse — without even knowing I knew them until I moved back here and found myself moving within in a more familiar milieu. A fish back in her own lily-padded pond once more.

In order to truly understand it so that it’s part of your being, you have to have lived immersed in a local culture from before you could think. Being a first-generation American, I missed some of the finer points. On the other hand, being a not-quite-outsider makes one a kind of participant observer; thus you notice more than the born-and-bred folks, the people who ask, “Bless your heart, you’re not from around here, are you?”. When I studied Anthropological Methods in college, I was surprised to discover I’d been living those methods all my life. I called what I did “standing in the doorway”… less academic, perhaps, yet more evocative for born outsiders.

But I want to relate it back to the so-called dog-whistle political talk of that earlier essay, and to make the broader point that group talk always partakes of some dog-whistle undertow. Those currents are meant to carry the stuff at the bottom swiftly along without every little detail having to be brought to the surface for discussion.

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Here’s an example from my own experience.

American Southern women (black and white) have a number of expressions that sound for all the world like innocuous fluff. To insiders, though, these phrases convey volumes without ever having to say anything that smells bad. It’s difficult to pick a favorite, but since one in particular has been exposed of late, let use it for the purposes of demonstrating social dog-whistle.

This one was perhaps my favorite of all until some Miz Big Lips had to go blab it to the world just to get a laugh. Some folk are desperate for attention, as I’m sure you’ve noticed: anything for a laugh, including betrayal of your own. Now it has become harder to employ this useful filler while maintaining a straight face or, more importantly, a polite fiction.

I’m talking about this all-purpose expression, used for generations by Southern women to cover a multitude of social emergencies: “bless her heart”.

I’ll give you a hypothetical situation, sans much context. The setting is a kitchen table around which three women are seated. Two of them are talking, the third is simply observing. There is a fourth woman, not present, who is the focus of this snippet of conversation:

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Mark’s Latest Mailbox

In his inimitable style, Mark Steyn looks at where the world is going and why. He sorts it all, beginning with the tradition of seat-warmers.

Enjoy:

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See also his essay on the anniversary (today) of the Grenfell Towers conflagration. His details make it come alive again, especially his observations about the Queen’s visit to the site.

Empathy for the Devil

Yesterday was Empathy Day. Or maybe today is; I’m not sure.

I was going to post a link to the official Empathy Day website, so I did an Internet search. In doing so, I found no fewer than three different official Empathy Day sites, and no fewer than four different dates for this year’s Empathy Day: March 5, March 29, June 11, and June 12. And probably more.

Evidently the Empathy movement has been by schisms rent asunder, so that there are now multiple sects, each claiming to be the one, the true, the only source of Empathy.

Anyway, the tweet below was posted yesterday by an amusing fellow named Zuby:


Hat tip: Power Line

Zuby’s escapade reminded me of a meme pic we posted a few years ago. I constructed it based on an original (smaller) version by someone else; can’t remember who:

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Why Big Brudder Will Never Thrive in America

These guys are “Right Angle” – Bill Whittle of Eject, Eject; Stephen Green, aka Vodka Pundit; and Scott Ott, better known to old bloggers as Scrapple Face. They’ve all been around for a long time.

This tripartite discussion is interesting as anthropology if you’re not from here. On the other hand, it’s got a familiar ring if you are from around here. They’re right: this is where the dinky hall monitor ends up in adulthood and he’s still a dink.

We need a laugh, so enjoy.

Integration Isn’t Working, Time to Go!

In the following video, Rasmus Paludan leads his colleagues in a little song while they burn a Koran. Mr. Paludan is a Danish lawyer, anti-Islam activist, and the founder of the Stram Kurs party, which is expected to earn enough votes to win seats in parliament next month.

Many thanks to Nemo for the translation, and to Vlad Tepes for the subtitling:

Video transcript:

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Old Sobersides

JLH sends the saga of Miz Hillary in verse form. One can only hope that the shade of Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr. (father of the Supreme Court justice) is not overly agitated tonight…

Old Sobersides
by JLH

Ay, tear her tatty logo down!
Too long has it made us sigh,
And many a face has had to frown
At what “justice” let go by.
Vince Foster, Seth Rich and others, too —
What is it they may have seen:
Travelgate, Filegate, Whitewater all true,
In the service of the Queen?

Erupting bimbos, Tammy Wynette,
The little woman wasn’t pleased.
Hillary Care was not a good bet.
Nuclear secrets for the Chinese,
And who knew pork bellies could be so swell,
If their futures were bright enough?
And who knew the Russians would pay so well
For that radioactive stuff?

Now, a former first lady has little to do,
When hubby’s not home at night,
Unless public office comes into view…
Get that carpetbag packed up tight!
So she walks the Senate like one who belongs,
And fades right into the crowd:
How to look brave while going along,
And skim off whatever’s allowed.

When Bill said “Two for the price of one”
No one could have guessed the price.
This inexorable couple is just never done.
They are back like undaunted lice.
The only way to stop this first woman’s run:
A black man’s program of hope.
As Highlander says, “There can be only one”
And Hillary runs out of rope.

But all is not lost — to the victor come the spoiled.
Run the Department of State?
So what if you’re looking a little bit soiled —
After Kerry, who needs to be great?
First, our uranium buddies of old
Need a friendly re-start.
The wording is wrong, so we are told —
Google Translate’s not worth a… damn.

Her greatest achievement was Ghadaffi’s demise.
Some minor Americans died too.
Parents, wives and children apprised:
There was nothing we could do.
We came, we saw, we made a mess.
Move on; there’s nothing to see.
“What difference now if I should confess —
I’d get off on a guilty plea.”

This time is different, there is no Barack.
We all know that now it’s my turn
No one has the guts to mount an attack…
But I think I “Feel the Bern,”
Doesn’t he know everyone has been paid?
Why is he still around?
This is not how the game is played.
I’ll pound him into the ground.

So what if I fixed some things here and there?
He can whimper all he wants.
So what if he doesn’t think it’s been fair?
Who asked him to leave Vermont?
And now I am off to the race of my life,
And I’m running against a clown!
Dirt and rumor against him are rife,
He’ll likely be run out of town.

Hey! Why am I not way ahead right now!?
Where are these polls coming from?
Who are they talking to, anyhow:
Deplorables, reactionaries, dumb!
I KNEW it — that damned electoral thing —
Now it’s gone and cost me the race!
Who cares what tune the “flyovers” sing?
They’re a colossal waste of space!

I will not be Trumped by that arrogant jerk,
But my hands are not lily-white…
Oops, I mean: Now y’all gots to git to work,
‘cause we gots us a rilly tough fight…
Ze basket of deplorable sink zey have won over us;
We’ll show zem “Si, se puede, señor”…
And we are woman, just hear us cuss!…
And we are gayer than ever before!

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