This post was first published on April 1. It was a “sticky” feature for a week; scroll down for more recent items.
Spring Fundraiser 2019, Day Seven
Update from the Baron: Burnout
The theme of this week’s bleg has been the history of Gates of Vienna. My final update, which is somewhat tangential to the main theme, is burnout. Which is a significant concern for those of us who work full-time in this field.
But first the nuts and bolts of what we’ve been doing this week: This is a quarterly week-long begging exercise in which Dymphna and I blather on while asking our readers to drop money in our tip cup (or use this PayPal link). This is how we keep this website alive — we don’t have jobs, no foundation sponsors us, and there are no paid ads on the site. We don’t even get any Russian money, sad to say!
And now a few brief thoughts on burnout.
This is a tough line of work. If you pay close attention to the Great Jihad and related issues, you encounter nasty things that you’d really rather not see or hear about. Add to that the drumbeat of dhimmitude — the constant stream of news reports on the cultural and political submission of the West to Islam — and it gets pretty dispiriting.
To make matters even worse, there’s the vicious opprobrium that awaits anyone whose “Islamophobic” opinions and activities are exposed to public view. We’re fortunate to live out here in the back of beyond where most people are “deplorables” of one sort or another, and hardly anybody even pays attention to this sort of thing. But people who live in big cities, especially on the East or Left Coasts, can really pay a price if their opinions become public knowledge. Their lives can be made a living hell.
All of this is a recipe for burnout. I’ve seen a fair number of Counterjihadists burn out during the past fifteen years. Some of them were actually burned out of the game by flamethrowers directed at them during the Breivik crisis. But most just reached the limit of what they could take — “I really don’t think I want to do this anymore.”
This seems to be especially true of translators. In order to translate articles or videos, they have to pay close attention to the material, and read or listen to it over and over again. If, like most people, they had previously been averting their gaze from all that ugliness, the rush of evil information they take in day after day can really weigh them down. After a while their production starts to tail off, and they gradually retire from translation.
I admire the doughty folks who have stuck to the translation task year after year. They all deserve our gratitude for their persistence.
Vlad and I have been working together for ten years, and we help keep each other from going insane in the face of all the stuff we encounter. When we have to deal with something particularly vile, we get on the phone and discuss all the various aspects of it, which prevents the monstrousness from overwhelming us entirely. I remember how bad it got back during the summer of 2014, when the Islamic State was beheading its way through Syria and North Africa. We had to watch those nightmare-inducing videos all the time. I finally had to quit watching them — “I’ve seen enough, no more for me.” I don’t know how Vlad does it.
Anyway, I haven’t burned out, not yet. I plan to carry on with this work for as long as I possibly can.
Saturday’s gifts flowed in from:
Stateside: Alaska, Arizona, California, Michigan, and Virginia
Far Abroad: Hungary, Israel, and the UK
The spring fundraiser will be officially over this time tomorrow. I’ll post the wrap-up — including the final list of all the locations — a day or two later.
Dymphna’s Saturday Update:
With historical endeavors, it’s probably a wise thing to start with beginnings, though in this case we just jumped right into the middle. What were we thinking? Maybe it wasn’t thinking but more like enthusiasm — e.g. “Oh, let’s talk about that”. Whatever ‘that’ was… my mind begins to resemble a trackless waste with a few desiccated cacti.
Oh, before I forget again: at the beginning of each fundraiser post I’m supposed to make the plug for donations, please.
Dinero. Shekels. Dollars. [See the Baron for the etymological connections] In other words, money enough to keep us going to the next milestone, which is but a few months away, not counting timeslips. Or times’ lips — whichever touches us first.
Our donors have been a varied bunch. Their living circumstances run the gamut from pensione to mansion, with stops in between. Back when I could function I loved looking up all the places our donors lived. Coon Rapids?? Really? Why haven’t the PC town fathers ditched that one? Traverse City, from whence (I now know) come our cherries in summer. Looking up all those places meant it took me weeks to respond to donors and that would not end well: the B got nervous about the time lag. It still remains the case: give me a new donor to thank and I’m driven to know more about their locality. Betcha don’t know whence come many of the roses (plants) you buy at the nursery, hmm? I know now, or at least my knowledge was current a few years back. And it seems like nearly every American town has a Wikipedia page, no matter how small the hamlet. That’s a good thing.
For most of us, our equilibrium depends upon having a firm sense of place. Or as the nervous airplane passenger said, “the more the firma, the less terror”. [That’s a pun on “terra firma” and no, it can’t be removed.]
Gates of Vienna is now established as a place; a destination for those who read our random News Feed, just for one example. Some correspondents tell us this is where they go with their morning coffee.
For the B and me GoV has become where we live and move and have our being. It’s akin to housing a child who never leaves home, a permanent resident hunkering down in our divers computers, demanding attention. Electric outages and connectivity interruptions are far more freighted than they used to be before the advent of Gates of Vienna.
Many of you already know our beginnings, but I have the freedom of repeating myself at this stage. It’s one of the few privileges of age.
During the past week Dymphna and JLH have discussed Diana West’s new book, The Red Thread: A Search for Ideological Drivers Inside the Anti-Trump Conspiracy, which extends the theme of her previous book American Betrayal. I’ll take this opportunity to recycle a graphic I made several years ago. It didn’t draw much attention at the time, because by then the intense controversy over American Betrayal had faded into background muttering. But it was one of my better productions, so here it is again:
This delicious and nutritious breakfast cereal requires some explanatory context.
In the early months (summer and fall of 2013) of the “barroom brawl” prompted by Diana’s book, various indefensibly nasty things* were written by a number of neoconservatives, most of them stars in the David Horowitz constellation.
In one of several vituperative pieces, Conrad Black called her “a right-wing loopy” who had not yet been “house-trained”, and described her book as a “farrago of lies”. In reference to Diana and those who agreed with her, Mr. Black decried the “unutterable myth-making and jejune dementedness, as they hurl the vitriol of the silly and the deranged” (August 16, 2013).
As soon as that little literary delicacy was published, Ronald Radosh sent Diana a triumphant email with the subject line “Conrad Black tears you apart”. To make sure she understood, he enclosed the text of Mr. Black’s essay, with the introduction: “Sorry to upset you once again, Diana, but I’m afraid you’ve lost, big time.”
David Horowitz himself said that she had “organized a kook army”.
Since then Mr. Horowitz and Mr. Radosh have supposedly had a falling-out. I’m not sure about Conrad Black; I haven’t heard much about him recently. However, if I recall correctly, he’s an adamant #NeverTrump guy.
This is just a little taste of the background for the discussion we’ve been having for the last few days.
|*||For additional source links to these and other ad-hominem insults, see “An Addled Barroom Brawler”. But it’s been six years; some of them may be stale by now.
The Baron and I were discussing this latest unfortunate incident in the Yellow(ed) Vest demonstrations. [They’re getting yellowed with age on those French streets, y’all. That poor woman was a “jolie jeune fille” when these marches started so long ago. Now she’s a discard being lectured by Macron.]
Macron! Of all people!
Rumors are he has a helicopter on standby… when the going gets tough, he evidently plans to get going.
Well, those Yellow Vests used a forklift to open some gates, remember? Emmanuel had better hope one of them doesn’t have an anti-aircraft gun in his sac à dos.
Here’s the late Alan Sherman, a favorite of Americans of a certain age, warning Louis XVI what was gonna happen. Macron should pay careful attention.
Mr. Sherman’s lyrics are below the fold.
It seems that forbidden information is circulating on paper currency in Canada:
Samizdat on loonies! Who’da thunk it?
Our long-time reader and commenter leCanadien, who sent us the photo of the bill, explains how he came by it:
I just received this interesting $5 Canadian bill from a bank machine.
You could call it: ‘News Dissemination Iron Curtain Style’
It says: Senate Committee on the Trudeau Regime Letting ISIS Terrorist into Canada
On the left side it says: Google You Tube
Just think of the ramifications of this remarkable new medium for expressing dissent. In the Soviet Union, the government inhibited the production of samizdat by (among other methods) making paper difficult to obtain. But there’s no shortage of loonies in circulation — in fact, as the value of the Canadian dollar drops, more of them will be printed. As long as the government continues pretending to pay people, there will be plenty of paper for dissidents.
I suppose the government could always restrict the supply of felt-tip pens, however. In that case the dedicated producer of samizdat will have to draw his own blood and scratch his message on a (CAD) $1,000,000 bill using a toothpick or torn-off piece of fingernail…
Credit for the idea: Steve Sailer at TakiMag.
The latest on the Minstrel Show in Richmond:
The Virginia Legislative Black Caucus has called on Lieutenant Governor Justin Fairfax to resign. They were one of the last holdouts in the Democrat Party still supporting the lieutenant governor, so Mr. Fairfax basically has no political supporters left. That alone should seal his fate, but the Democrats in the House of Delegates are also preparing articles of impeachment against him if he doesn’t resign by tomorrow, as they have demanded.
As for Governor Coonman, he’s still hanging in there. He’s vowed to leave the party and become an independent if necessary, in order to hold onto his office. However, the NAACP has now called on him to resign because of the WAYCIST picture in his med school yearbook, so his position is getting shakier.
The main protection for the governor is the fact that Attorney General Mark Herring is also admittedly guilty of wearing blackface, which means that he, too, would have to resign. The imminent fall of the lieutenant governor means that the last man standing in the chain of succession would then be Speaker of the House of Delegates Kirk Cox, who is not only white, but — gasp! — a Republican. He would become the interim governor, pending a special election. So my bet is that the Democrats will allow Northam to hang in there as a vestigial figurehead, devoid of any real political power.
But who knows? The whole mess has attained its own momentum, with its own internal dynamics, so anything can happen.
I must go pop another big bowl of popcorn — this farce may go on for quite a while longer.
Thanks to Nash Montana for the meme pic.
The Baron has been compiling a file of material and links on the ongoing Governor Coonman crisis. To entertain himself he includes nicknames, side remarks, etc. of his own composition. I’ve become alarmed, because it seemed he might crack a rib from laughing at everything, so I thought I’d better post this and put his mind at rest.
Note: I’ve redacted some of the naughtier soubriquets.
- Governor Ralph Northam (white Democrat) a.k.a. Coonman
Had a photo of someone in blackface & the KKK in his med school yearbook. Admitted putting shoe polish on his face to do a Michael Jackson act, including a moonwalk.
- Lieutenant Governor Justin Fairfax (black Democrat), a.k.a. Junior Assistant [Clown]man
- Attorney General Mark Herring (white Democrat) a.k.a. Ras[cal] Honky
- Next in line: Speaker of the House of Delegates Kirk Cox (white Republican)
- Supporting cast: Virginia Rep. Bobby Scott (black Democrat), a.k.a. Congressman [Clown]
You’ve got to admire the Germans — when life hands them lemons, they make lemonade. Or, in this particular, case, it hands them Merkel Legos and they make Merkel Chairs.
German pedestrians no longer have to suffer the presence of those ugly concrete bollards — a.k.a. “jihad barriers”, “Koran blocks”, or “Merkel Legos” — they can sit on them instead!
Here’s a brief summary by MissPiggy of this exciting project:
Not Satire — Mario Pitsch and his business partner Oliver Schau, from Chemnitz, have converted concrete barriers that are intended to protect busy squares into imaginative seating furniture, and won the German Design Award for it.
The barriers, which originally had a bad image, are brilliantly changed into brightly-colored street furniture.
One wag on Twitter said:
The color red is practical: you will not see the blood so well!
I must admit I was disappointed when Dr. Ralph Northam (D) was elected governor of the Commonwealth of Virginia. After he won the election in 2017 I mostly averted my face from the goings-on in Richmond — it just wasn’t interesting enough to watch.
Then last month he voiced his support for a bill that would legalize abortion in Virginia up to and beyond the point of childbirth. Now, that got my attention.
But yesterday he really rose in my approval when it emerged that his yearbook page from med school contained a photo of a man in blackface next to another man in a Klan outfit. And later in the day it was revealed that his nickname as an undergrad was “Coonman” — that’s when my regard for him was heightened even further. I mean, how could you NOT love a guy named Coonman?
Then today my esteem for Dr. Northam reached stratospheric levels. It seems he woke up this morning and said to himself, “I’ll check my memory and I’ll check it quick, yes I will.” His enhanced recollection of the yearbook photo informed him that neither the cove in blackface nor the Klan guy was in fact he. However, in the interest of full disclosure, he allowed as to how that many years ago he had darkened his face to play the part of Michael Jackson in a theatrical production of some sort.
That’s when I decided that I wanted Ralph Northam to remain the governor of our sovereign commonwealth in perpetuity. Virginia needs a man like him at the helm.
In honor of the occasion, I’ve put together this meme pic:
I hope Coonman resists the calls (by both Democrats and Republicans) to resign, and toughs it out for the whole four years. Then after that he can follow the usual career path to the U.S. Senate. And from there, who knows? He could very well be presidential material…
If you want to see the now-famous yearbook photo of Rastus and the Grand Kleagle, visit virtually any MSM site; it’s the hottest story of the day. This CBS article, for example.
JLH has torqued a well-known poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow to produce this synecdoche for current events in the squalid politics of Washington D.C.
Update: JLH’s stanza on typhus has been added.
A Greater Wreck Than the Hesperus
(with apologies to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)
It was the Speaker, Nancy,
Who cruised the House’s aisles,
With lies upon her lips,
All covered up with smiles.
She’d gone from strength to strength,
Buoyed up by voter fraud.
Her funny little ways
Becoming downright odd.
Her city awash in culture,
And feces in its streets,
The rich and poor estranged,
And ne’er the twain should meet.
Yet meet they may, and very soon,
In ERs everywhere
For governing rats bring typhus rats,
Just to keep things fair.
The massive camps of homeless
Lined up on heating grates
Were, by themselves, not quite enough
To expand the electorate.
So though she’d already voted yea,
Had had no objection at all,
She prepared now to leave her body behind
To block the hated Wall.
It wasn’t only the votes, my dears,
But the principle of the thing.
And the principle in this case
Was giving The Donald a ding.
“What’s good for Chuck and Nancy
Is good for the country too.
Forget what you think we told you once;
Just believe what we tell you to.”
Then up spoke an old representative,
With the experience of many years.
The Wall was perhaps not so much to hate
As other things were to fear.
This is why I got a Matteo Salvini t-shirt for the Baron for Christmas:
What is the Italian equivalent for “joie de vivre”?? Salvini has it. His cup is full and running over.
Dr. Turley’s assessment of other leaders’ risks is spot on. TPTB don’t like populists. But regular folks do indeed like the way things are going in countries that don’t want to surrender to the EU machine.
I’m a better man than you are, Gunga Din
You may talk of love and truth
When you woo the voting booth
And primary in your little, local race,
But bigger races need the dollar
And you are glad to wear the collar
Of anyone who helps you keep the pace.
Thus it happens in the U.S.,
In that political noisomeness,
Where the voters’ hopes have often flared and died.
Of all the Machiavellian crew
Who have swum that fiscal brew,
Just one has kept his head above the tide.
And it’s Trump! Trump! Trump!
How the hell did you make that jump?
Now stop this awful farce.
Don’t say things that we can’t parse
And go back to being the old, familiar Trump.
Tie is red, shirt white,
Suit blue both day and night,
Unless he’s going golfing with some friends.
So he’s red and white and blue,
And what he wants to do
Is help this ailing country try to mend.
The economy was failing,
And the middle class was flailing,
From eight socialist years of derring-do-do.
“Oh is there even one
Who’ll do more than simply run,
And, if elected, find something good to do?”
So it’s Trump! Trump! Trump!
Now that you’ve made the jump,
Make it pay, once more, to work,
Never mind the greedy jerks,
Who earn their obscene wages from the Sump.
He won and started work,
Unmindful of what lurks
And slithers in the corridors of power.
His thoughts are on the job.
Disdainful of the mob,
He focuses on using every hour.
He has both wealth and fame
And will spend them in the name
Of raising up the “deplorable” working class.
He takes no pay except for thanks
Moves lightly as a Patton tank,
And leaves his mark wherever he may pass.
So it’s Trump! Trump! Trump!
Pay no mind to Nancy Frump
Or her comrade, Cheesy Chuck,
Who are roiling in the muck.
Sail over them and you’ll hardly feel a bump.