Yet again…sorry, but hope to have it cleared up soon.
Yet again…sorry, but hope to have it cleared up soon.
The Canadian government has recognized the difficult situation the Tibetan refugees are in and has permitted a number of them entry to Canada as sponsored refugees. This means that, unlike other immigrants who are ‘sponsored’ by the government and thus get support from it to help them settle, the sponsors of these Tibetan refugees are the ones responsible for all.
Now, don’t get me wrong – they sponsors are quite happy with that! And charity delivered directly from those who want to help to those who need the help is always kinder, more human-touch as well as more efficient than any help government would provide!
Yet, the more of us are helping, the more of us will feel great – and the more people will benefit, become happy Canadians, and lend a helping hand in their own turn. I know, because earlier in my life, when I first escaped the persecution in my native land, I was so grateful for all the help I received from individuals first in Austria, then in Canada that now I am doing well, it makes me very, very happy to lend a helping hand in my turn.
So, please, help if you can – you’ll feel better for it!
Update: For those for whom the above graphic does not show up (my apologies):
Come celebrate Tibetan New Year
February 21st, 2014, 6:30 – 9:30 pm
First Unitarian Congregation, 30 Cleary Ave., Ottawa
Suggested minimum donation is $30.00
RSVP Jose 613-263-2388, email@example.com
As I have been busy for the last few days attending Essentials of Freedomconference in Edmonton, Alberta, (they have been kind enough to ask me to say a few words on the topic of Cultural Marxism and Political Correctness), I have been a little busier than usual. (More on this later!)
CodeSlinger has been very gracious and has stepped in with a most excellent guest post (note – edited to insert source links):
In a two-year-long experiment, four elementary schools in New Zealand got rid of all safety rules governing playtime at recess and lunch break. Kids could go back to climbing trees, skateboarding, bike-riding, or playing such barbaric games as dodge ball, bull rush, or tag. Just like they used to, before the nanny state ruined everything.
Of course, the playground immediately descended into mayhem, the infirmary was flooded with injured children, and the learning environment was hopelessly disrupted…
Actually, when you let children play vigorously, and you give them freedom, the children are better behaved overall, more able to concentrate in class, and less likely to get hurt at play.
Oh, the horror!
The progressive matriarchs and their metrosexual disciples, who hold the school system in their politically correct clutches, were left palpitating in scandalized disbelief. To them, vigorous play is violent and dangerous, and freedom is the deplorable result of inadequate supervision. And evidence to the contrary is simply not acceptable!
These same progressive matriarchs and metrosexuals, who manufacture clueless, helpless, fearful people by never letting kids take a risk, were shocked and outraged to find that kids are actually pretty good at not hurting themselves or each other when you let them do what they want.
“The great paradox of cotton-woolling children is it’s more dangerous in the long-run,” says Grant Schofield, a professor of public health at Auckland University of Technology. We need a university professor to tell us this? Well, apparently, progressives do. You can tell he’s talking to progressives, because he calls this a great paradox. Normal people just
call it obvious.
These same progressive matriarchs and metrosexuals, who think that social order can only by maintained by breaking young spirits to the yoke of collectivism, were confused and distressed to discover that kids have neither the time nor the inclination to get into trouble when they’re busy playing interesting and energetic games.
“The time children get into trouble is when they are not busy, motivated and engaged. It’s during that time they bully other kids, graffiti or wreck things around the school,” says Bruce McLachlan, Principal of Swanson Primary School in Auckland. But his words are lost on progressives, who are too intent on undermining religion and tradition to admit the truth of
age-old proverbs like, “idle hands are the Devil’s playthings.”
These same progressive matriarchs and metrosexuals, who think the purpose of a primary education is to turn boys into little girls, were perplexed and disturbed to observe that kids have a much easier time sitting still and concentrating in class when you let them burn off enough energy during recess.
This is especially true of boys. Girls don’t find it that hard to conform to the sedentary, structured classroom setting. But healthy young boys have enormous amounts of energy, which they simply cannot keep bottled up. Therefore, progressives forbid them from burning it off, and then punish them when they can’t sit still. And when that doesn’t work, reach for the
drugs. Progressives call this “positive socialization,” but normal people call it punishing boys for being boys.
Four schools in Auckland were involved in the experiment and all reported similar findings: bullying and vandalism dropped sharply, the time-out area was completely emptied out, playground accidents were reduced, and classroom performance was improved.
In spite of these dramatic successes, only one of these four schools cared enough to make this way of doing things permanent. (Note: the principal of that school was a man.)
Still, one is better than none, and we can hope that this is the first hint of the beginning of the end of the politically correct progressive stranglehold on our public schools.
But as of right now, it’s obvious that the vast majority of school principals care much more about the politically correct progressive agenda than they do about the well-being of your kids.
Remember that, next time progressives exhort you to think of the children!
Am experiencing some connectivity problems….will be in touch as soon as I can.
Today, my son and I were discussing that whole York University misogyny-accommodation fiasco on the way home from school. We discuss a lot of things during our drives – best time of my day!
‘TORONTO – After permitting a student to be excused from course work on religious grounds so he would not have to publicly interact with female peers, the Dean of York University is also permitting another student to have the right to ritually murder people to appease his gods.
“We are legally obliged to heed to the student’s wishes of human sacrifice” said Dr. Martin Singer, Dean of the faculty of Arts and Science at the university. “This wouldn’t affect many students as the festival of Tlacaxipehualiztli only lasts 20 days to celebrate the spring equinox and sometimes occurs during reading week. Additionally, the student has assured me that obsidian blades are so sharp that you will barely feel them.”
“I understand that people may be uncomfortable with the idea of firing arrows at someone tied to a wooden board until their blood fills a copper bowl, but York University is an inclusive campus that appreciates the values of all religions,” the Dean added.’
Yes – very funny.
But that was not my point…rather, having forwarded this article onto several people, one of them actually believed it.
Sad, very sad…because as we discussed this, my son pointed out that if the intended human sacrifice were the one demanding this religious accommodation on the grounds that they have a terminal illness and believe that being a human sacrifice to the sun god will cleanse their soul and therefore their belief ought to be accommodated – this becomes a much less far-fetched scenario than most of us would like.
Which brings me to the title of this post…
As we drove on, and as we left the uncomfortable reality and resorted to levity we got to the title of my post. Please, put on your best Dalek voice, but, instead of ‘Time Lord DNA has been detected! Must exterminate! Exterminate!!!’ we changed the wording a tiny bit:
RELIGIOUS* DNA HAS BEEN DETECTED!
Later on, trying to relax before bedtime, I checked my YouTube subscriptions to find this little installment in the accommodation insanity:
What I find most disturbing is that this martial arts instructor caved in, segregated the class – and even let the Muslim student proselytize at the dojo!
And the young woman, being told by her sensei to get used to it – outrageous!!!
My own experience with a dojo and Muslim demands for accommodation are refreshingly different!
Let me tell you the story.
I was always fascinated by martial arts. But, while I lived on the wrong side of the iron curtain, being a daughter of a political dissident, this was a closed door for me. Once in the refugee camp in Austria, I traded babysitting and tutoring a martial arts’ master’s kids for lessons…but, it was barely a taste…
Once in Canada, I pursued my dream of learning martial arts. And, to my parents’ credit, even though they were rebuilding their lives from nothing, they did send me to martial arts classes. But, being new in the country, my parents could not afford to send me to the dojo of my dreams: Takahashi Dojo.
Oh, how I dreamed of it!
So, once my sons were old enough to start learning some martial arts, guess what place I picked?
Because of their age difference, they were in consecutive classes, which worked out very well. And what worked out even better was that during my younger son’s class, I could take Tai Chi classes at another part of the dojo. The dojo was then run by June Takahashi (then in her late 70′s or early 80′s) and Tina Takahashi was the principal teacher, with Phil Takahashi teaching some of the classes, too. How much better could it get?!?!?
What a pleasant surprise it was for me that June Takahashi had decided to take the Tai Chi class too! All of a sudden, I was classmates with one of my idols. It was awesome.
After the Tai Chi class, I would still have an hour to wait while my older son’s class was on, but, being classmates and all, if she was not too busy, June would often spend that time chatting with me. I learned so many things from her! She told me about her childhood in BC, where she and Masao (her husband and founder of the dojo) met as children during WWII in one of those shameful camps the Canadians of Japanese descent were sent to, and much, much more.
One day, she was busy in the office and so I watched my older son’s class. He was about 11 at that time, and had been going to classes for a while – and though still a novice, he was diligent and thorough and knew all the ‘rules’ (typical Aspie!). So, it was natural that he got assigned to take a new student who was there for his first class under his wing, explain the ceremonies, why and how and what, what the significance was, and so on. He was good at this and loved helping out.
In this role, he was teaching the newbie how to bow properly during the opening ceremony, that it shows respect, and also how to show respect by bowing to your opponent before you commence working or sparring with them. So far so good – except that the boy’s father started yelling at him from the sidelines, saying ‘No bowing!’ and being loud. The father got asked to wait for his son in the changing room and the rest of the lesson went well. The new student was a good kid and did all he was asked quickly and well and with respect. End of story, right?
My younger son and I were waiting outside for my older one to come out of the dojo – but so was this boy’s father. He was a big man, 190+cm tall and very buff. As soon as my son came out, he marched right up to him (my son came barely up to his chest), loomed over him and, gesticulating wildly, started screaming at him: ”We don’t bow! We are Muslims! How dare you tell my son to bow!” I was afraid he was going to hit my son!
He did not get the chance because I ran over and stepped between them. Though he was much bigger than I, I put on my best mamma-bear face (and body language) and told him in no uncertain terms that he was not going to speak to my son in that manner! I have been told that in that mode, I can look a tad intimidating – and the man stepped back and visibly shrank – but continued to tell me to tell my son not to tell his son to bow during judo.
Well, I was not having any of it. I explained that my son was in the right and invited him to go back to the dojo and discuss it with June, Tina and the other instructors there. Without another word, he left rather hurriedly.
The adrenalin was coursing through my veins with so much fervor I was shaking. With my sons in tow, I went back to the dojo and spoke to June in the office. Since we were on friendly terms, she knew I was not likely to make something like this up. And, my sons were both quite pale following the experience and confirmed my story’s veracity.
So, what did June Takahashi do?
Right there and then, she looked up the kid’s record: the dad had pre-paid for a full year of classes. Not cheap. But, to June, some things were more important than money. On the spot, she reversed the credit card payment and said that neither that man nor his son would ever step into her dojo again!
June Takahashi is a true Canadian hero!
All of us felt very bad for that man’s son…
* ’Religious’ refers to both theistic and non-theistic religions like ‘big-satetism’, communism, feminism, warmism and other irrational yet dogmatic belief systems.
Today marks a bittersweet day.
10th of December, 1980, at the age of 13, I arrived in Canada to start my new life!
While in the refugee camp, I did a little bit of looking after some sheep on a hobby farm. Through an unbelievable coincidence, the owner of the farm had a son who had the male version of my name – and who was born on the very same day I was (day and year). SO, he took a bit of a shine to me. When I told him we got into Canada and would be leaving, he gave me parting gift – some Canadian cash!
Aside: he would occasionally give me presents of Austrian money for looking after his sheep and for helping his octagenarian mother (who was afraid of strangers, especially the emigrants, but seemed to suffer me OK) with whatever she needed – something I was happy to do, presents or not, as it gave me things to do…the boredom of endless waiting to learn your future can be deadly! From this money, I was able to save up enough to buy winter boots for myself and my parents: something I was very, very proud of!
The journey was long and tiring – we were collected from the hostels in the foothills of the Alps where emigrant families had been stationed starting shortly after midnight and did not get into the main camp of Traiskirchen, just outside of Vienna, until well into the afternoon. (No, we were not hungry – we had boxed meals with us, just tired and excited.)
There, we were split up into empty beds in many large rooms of 30-or-so people. But, the residents whose numbers we were supplementing made it clear that we were disrupting their routine and were not welcome. It was also there that we were told the weight restrictions on our luggage, so we had to get rid of some of the few things we had carefully chosen to bring along to help us tart our new life. I had to give up the only book I had managed to hold on to till then (by Karl May) – perhaps this explains why now I collect books rather obsessively.
At 5 am or so the next morning, we got up and boarded the buses for the airport. It was very exciting! As I knew I had to leave the book behind, and since there were no lights out in my room, and since I was very, very excited, I calmed myself down by re-reading the book during that night. Well, most of it, anyway. It was a calming mechanism and saying good by to a book that had gotten me through difficult times in the past. (I credit this book with having made me so curious about Egyptian culture.)
Once at the airport, we saw the airplane on the tarmac. It stood there, all by itself, with stairs at the front, middle and back. When, after a few hours, the doors opened, releasing us emigrants onto the tarmac, people started sprinting towards that airplane!
And I started sprinting towards freedom with the rest of them!!!
I got in and saved 3 seats for me and my parents, we got settled, and that is all I remember of the flight. I have a vague recollection of my parents talking to some of the other people, but, after 2 nights of not sleeping, now that I was safely away from Europe, I relaxed and fell into a deep sleep.
My dad woke me up as we were descending into Montreal. Disoriented by irregular sleep and time-zone-change, I had no idea what time of day or night it was – I just saw that it was dark outside. Once we landed, an announcement went out over the airplane that people who are to go to Toronto or Vancouver were to stay put, and only those going to Montreal and Ottawa are to de-plane.
It turned out that there were two families going to Montreal – and that we were the only family going to Ottawa! A full 737 – and everyone but our 3 families was going to Toronto or Vancouver. In retrospect, it was rather nice of them to have stopped in Montreal instead of making us go to Toronto and then backtrack.
Once on the ground, we were no longer emigrants – now we were immigrants! Oh, what a glorious difference!
At immigration at the Mirabel airport, the two families going to Montreal were me by their immigration officer. However, nobody knew anything about us. The kindly lady there offered to call the Ottawa office, and we waited a couple hours for a response. It turned out that they forgot about us. They asked if we had any money. My dad had some German Marks and my mom had some Austrian Shillings, so we said yes. They told us to use the money to buy a bus ticket to Ottawa and, by the time we got there, someone would be there at the bus station to pick us up.
We went to buy the bus ticket – the last bus for the night was leaving in 20 minutes, but they would only accept Canadian currency.
We went to the foreign exchange kiosk to get some Canadian money for the Marks or Shillings, but it was closed. A security guard told us we could try the one at the other end of the airport. So, suitcase and carry-on each (we did not know the trollies were OK to use for everyone), we rushed to the other side of the of the airport to get our money exchanged. That kiosk was also closed…and these were the only two currency exchange kiosks at the airport.
My parents were beginning to panic!!!
This is when I pulled my going-away present out and wondered if it would be enough! My parents were reluctant to use my money, but saw no other way out. It was just enough – we only got about $2.00 back in change.
So, off we were to Ottawa!
Everything looked so exotic and strange and, well, ‘wild west’! The houses did not even have stucco on the outside, exposed bricks showing! I’d never seen anything so exotic! In retrospect, it seems to me that some of the other passengers found my excitement, well, amusing…
When we finally pulled into the bus station in downtown Ottawa, it was well past 11 pm. A guy in a fancy-looking coat and an expensive scarf picked us up in his car, drove us to the Bytown Hotel in downtown Ottawa, booked us in on his personal credit card, gave us breakfast vouchers, and told us to report to the immigration office at 300 Laurier Street the next day.
Thus ended my first day in Canada!
This memory is sweet – but I cannot remember it without noting that 10th of December also marks the death of Aqsa Parvez in 2007.
Here was another young woman who, like I once was, had been filled with promise, with hopes of living the full life of a Canadian woman! Yet, she had the misfortune to come from a different immigrant background than I. My parents helped me become a true Canadian. Hers killed her for daring to try…
Aqsa Parvez – as long as I live, I will mourn you!
If you don’t live in North America and do not illuminate yourself with contemporary philosophical commentary, you may be unfamiliar with the most important cultural institution that Black Friday has become.
Some people may scoff at is as an expression of rampant consumerism, but others take it deadly seriously. No, not as deadly seriously as some Danish Cartoons, but, for a populace as complacent as the current US citizens have become, it seems to rate somewhere above voting, yet still below ‘getting your free Obama phone‘!
But, do not hang your head down in shame: Black Friday is not a sign of decadence or moral decay – though, it certainly looks it on the surface. To the contrary – it is a very, very good sign! (And, no, this is not a praise of Austrian economics, though, I am considering starting an online petition to deify von Mises. No, this is something much, much deeper!)
In our society – and, here, I speak about us ‘Westerners’ in general and us Western-urban-dwellers in particular – we are getting more and more out of touch with our natural roots. We have become so disconnected that our kids think that meat comes from a store shelf, when one needs money, it magically self-generates in an ATM machine and, (and this brought my father-in-law to tears of laughter when he over-heard it), while traveling and staying in a hotel, at least one kid asked: “Dad, where are we – in the real world?”
Some of us have begun to wonder whether the infantilization of the adult citizens, which is so defining of our era of the rise of the unsustainably large civil servant class, has done irreparable damage to the psyche of most of the Western citizenry. This would be a bad sign because, if one looks back in history, the larger and more entitled the civil servant class becomes, the closer the end of that civilization is. If the damage were so deep as to be beyond repair…
Which is precisely why Black Friday gives me such a hope for our society!
Please, indulge me in a tangential anecdote: recently, I have lost an aunt-in-law. We only got close in the last few years of her life, but, she was a true warrior!
Her husband (who had predeceased her by only a few years) was a most dashing General of the Canadian Army with movie-star looks and charisma by the bushel – and was one of my favourite in-laws. His ‘breaking-ice’ joke was:
Q: When does a General obey a Major’s every command?
A: When he is married to her!!!
And, indeed, my auntie was a true warrior! She may have been a General’s wife, and they may have received invitations to fancy parties addressed to ‘General and Mrs. …’, but, because of her competence and the resulting high profile in the Canadian military, they also got a lot of invitations to fancy parties addressed to ‘Major and Mr. …’! Being in charge of the food supply for all the UN Peacekeepers in Egypt during the Suez crisis was just one of her many, many accomplishments.
Due to their military duties, this wonderful couple never had kids – they sacrificed all, including their own procreation, to protect all of us. So, when she passed, we – the nieces and nephews – had to do our part in helping to close out their estate. It was not till then that I discovered the true depth and breadth of my auntie’s love of hunting for ‘deals’!
It was not about acquiring the actual stuff – once she received it, she would, as often as not, never even open the box or take stuff out of its packaging. It was all about the hunt: hunting for the highest quality stuff at the bestest possible deal!
This was no passive consumerism: if you had mentioned to her some obscure little region of Earth, no matter how remote or unknown, she would always know of the particular ‘stuff’ that could be bought there – and only there and nowhere else on Earth!!! Not only would she know what was available there, she would also know its health benefits, its particular cultural significance and its current market value, so you would know when you were getting a good deal on in!
And, at one time or another, she had probably bought some…
Once she had acquired it, she had no interest in the object itself, frequently donating large amounts of very high quality ‘stuff’ to charities. I know, because after she fell ill, I often served as her driver…
Her interest was in ‘The Hunt’!
In way, it reminded me of my great-grand-mother, who had lived through both WWI and WWII, and, who would compulsively save ‘everything’ – including empty boxes from sugar cubes which she would flatten and cram behind her credenza: saving them ‘for the next war’…
It was a different expression of the same instinct: my auntie was the hunter while my great grand-ma was the gatherer!
And, this is the same thing that triggers the Black Friday mania!
In my never-humble-opinion, the Black Friday phenomenon awakens our primal instincts as ‘hunter/gatherers’ on a deep, subconscious level. Pre -’culture’, pre-snobbery, pre-nature-isolation. But very, very human.
It proves to me that, regardless of the veneer we present to the world, somewhere, deep down inside, we still have the human survival instincts and they rule us more than we are willing to admit…perhaps even more than we are aware of.
In other words, this craziness we call Black Friday proves to me that however dormant or masked, our truly human instincts are still there, intact, lurking just beneath the surface. That, given the chance, these instincts will surface and permit humanity to survive whatever cultural upheaval is coming in the next few centuries.
It proves to me that we, Westerners, however out of touch we may think we are with our origins, are still true to our humanity! That, though our culture may soon be crushed beneath the entitlements of the civil servant class and conquered by the colonial ambitions of a particular religious minority, our progeny shall not perish with our culture!
Our survival strategies may be warped, but, deep inside, they do survive!
And that gives me great hope for our future!!!