Waves of Feminism

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For the record:

The “1st” wave was the suffragettes.  Not so much an ideology as a movement.

2nd-wave feminism happened around the seventies.  Started off as a movement, but quickly became infiltrated by cultural Marxists.  Would later be used to rationalize much of the third-wave feminist nonsense.

3rd-wave feminism started off with the riot girl scene — female punk rockers with little to no talent or concept of propriety.  It would eventually make its way to the universities to merge with what second-wave feminism had become (Womyn’s Studies) and the growing push for diversity and multiculturalism.

4th-wave feminism is characterized by intersectionality.  (Because multiculturalism wasn’t “diverse” enough.)  This one originated squarely in the universities with the feminist appropriation of LGBT issues and the advent of modern “Gender Studies”.

(“Gender Studies” actually used to refer to the branch of Womyn’s Studies that dealt with male/female relations.  Back when there were still only TWO genders.)

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Liberty’s Kids

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I recently recommended this to the guy who turned me on to American history back in hi skool:

It’s an animated series about the American Revolution, as seen through the eyes of three kids — an Amer’kin, a Brit, and a Frenchie. My kid loves it, and so do I.

It does a great job of presenting the war from ALL sides — not just the mainstream American and British perspectives — and it doesn’t shy away from sneuflake-triggering issues such as slavery, the treatment of free blacks, and the oppression of civilians who remained loyal to the crown.

But it also paints a very noble picture of what the Patriots were trying to accomplish, even during such times when they clearly stray from those goals.

And the level of detail is astonishing. I highly, highly recommend. ❤️

My Father the Hero

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Yesterday I ventured out into the great outdoors — as opposed to the lesser outdoors between my front door and the top of the stairs, which I visit regularly while seeing my kid off to school.

There was a thing for my dad, and a lot of relatives showed up, including a few I had not even known existed whom I am related to in ways that remain as lost to me as their names.

There was a lady who was not actually a relative, but is nevertheless considered more of a relative than most blood relatives — who aren’t actually MY blood relatives because I am in fact adopted.  (Also a Russian bot.)  She fussed over me and held my water bottle, and for this service I shall remain eternally grateful.

There were cake pops, exactly two dozen of which I managed to take home with me because red velvet and white chocolate were being heavily discriminated against.  (NOTE: The red velvets proved unworthy of rescue.)

There were also over a hundred people who were even less related to me than the cake pops and relatives.  None of these people were Russian bots; all of them had gathered to honor my dad in ways I never would have imagined possible.

I learned yesterday that my dad is a hero — a legitimate American hero.  The stories I heard about him were so incredible, I am still struggling to process it all.

Never in a million years would I have guessed the extent of what he’s managed to accomplish in his forty-two-plus year career; never would I have thought my dad capable of inspiring so many damned people.

What they’ve credited him with is truly astonishing.

To be told that my dad is mononymous within his field feels amazing, but also a little strange.

Still, it goes a long way toward explaining the behavior of people who used to come up to me and introduce themselves, then continue to stand there staring at me as if there were something remaining to be said.  I used to think they were hitting on me, until I finally concluded that my dad simply favored hiring the socially awkward, possibly for reasons of national security.

I’m looking forward to reading the books they say will one day be written about him.  The knowledge that my dad will someday be mentioned in the same breath as people I’ve only read about truly blows my mind.

My Thoughts on 9/11

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In Europe, people are afraid to call out Islamic terrorism for fear of being targeted — or otherwise violating some ridiculous “hate speech” law, resulting in fines or even imprisonment.

In America, we’re afraid to call out Islamic terrorism for fear of being labeled “racist”.

The verdict?  The terrorists won.  And Islamic terrorism is going to keep on winning unless we can agree to speak openly and honestly about it without fear of unwarranted reprisals.

This doesn’t mean we need another round of Team America World Police or any further invasions of our privacy.

What it does mean is not being afraid to identify the motives of people who have dedicated themselves to the destruction of an entire civilization.  It means recognizing religious extremism for what it is rather than drawing from an arsenal of ad hominems, red herrings, and false equivocations whenever someone proves bold enough to raise the subject.

It means recognizing that while Christians have indeed been responsible for some of the worst atrocities in human history — and Hindu extremists seem poised to slaughter Muslims over every little religious beef (lol plz) — the predominant form of religious terrorism the world faces today is Islamic.

It also means recognizing that condemning radical Islam does not make one Islamophobic.  (Nor a racist, seeing how we’ve managed to extend the concept of race further than any other society in human history.)

Why aren’t we as willing to identify acts of Islamic terrorism as we are so-called “hate crimes”?  Is it somehow more acceptable to despise an entire civilization, rather than an ethnicity or skin color?

If so, would it not follow that the man who kills a stranger over the color of his skin is somehow LESS guilty than the man who kills over a personal grudge?

Facts may be swept under the rug to keep our Safe Spaces looking pristine, but Reality has a way of creeping up behind us.  And sooner or later, Reality will sweep the rug right out from under our feet.

To those who seek to hold Western Civilization responsible for Islamic terrorism:

Can you imagine blaming the Jews for the Holocaust?

Can you imagine blaming the slaves for the bloodiest war in our nation’s history?

Was the rape victim “asking for it” because of the manner in which she dressed?

If you answered ‘no’ to all three questions, then you likely hail from a modern, liberal society — be you from the East or the West.  For this very reason, there are people who would like to see you dead.

We need to stop whitewashing the past and present for fear of offending Muslims — most of whom don’t have a goddamned thing to do with terrorism anyway.

And to anyone looking to blame the Western world for the overall violence in the Middle East: I encourage you to open a history book, because the Middle East has been a hotbed of violence since the dawn of civilization.  It predates Israel, it predates America — it even predates Islam.

FACEBOOK: Henry “Black Death” Johnson

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Been reading up on World War I, and the prize for Most Epic Badass undoubtedly goes to Henry “Black Death” Johnson of the Harlem Hellfighters, who — despite a rather modest upbringing in North Carolina — fought Germans in the style of the berserkr, presumably after dedicating each bloodletting to Odin. (He would later go on to slay the dragon Fafnir and help bind Fenrir with dwarf-forged cord of silk — which was how he came to lose use of his hand.)

Johnson was promoted to the rank of Sergeant and decorated with the highest honors the French military had to offer. Yet despite receiving a hero’s welcome upon his return to the States, neither his wounds nor his valor were officially recognized by U.S. Army, and the man who single-handedly fought off 2-3 DOZEN enemy soldiers at Argonne was denied disability pay. A clerical error, I’m sure.