Skip to comments.(Islam) The Downfall of the Netherlands- Land of the Naive Fools
Posted on 03/05/2008 6:06:18 AM PST by dennisw
The Downfall of the Netherlands Land of the Naive Fools
Translation courtesy of Faust http://web.archive.org/web/20060617191123/http://www.childrenofmillennium.org/
Foreword by the translator
On December 16, 1992 the Pakistani cabaret artist Zoka F. was ordered to pay a sum of 2000 guilders. The Dutch judge ruled that it had been proven that his book, 'De ondergang van Nederland', published under the pseudonym 'Mohammed Rasoel' was a racist pamphlet written with the sole purpose of inciting hatred. This sentence was followed by a massive public display of political correctness with the book being taken from the shelves in most bookstores throughout the Netherlands, and quickly forgotten about.
When the political and social circumstances started to turn against him, the Muslim born author fled his Islamic country, after which he traveled for several years before finding refuge in Europe. Because he lived two lives, of which the second one was in the Netherlands, he observed the Dutch and their charming behavior, misplaced optimism, and disorientated urge for responsibility from an angle where they themselves were blind.
The author shows that the Dutch, if they don't adjust their policy regarding Muslims and set a drastically different course, will be repressed by the culture of Islam. In a worst-case scenario, they will have to admit they literally gave their already small country away. The author sheds light on the subject from different sides and clarifies with many examples that a seemingly far-fetched speculation is actually already materializing in the foreseeable future.
Whosoever reads the references to the evolution of mankind, to the argument about various forms of discrimination, and to the naivety of the Dutch, as well as the detailed explanations regarding the mentality of the Muslims, illustrated with quotes from the Koran, "Though if they oppose you, then kill them," shall not only reconsider their own position in society opposed to the Muslims, but also look differently at the reflection in the mirror, this time with the eyes of the author, who possibly, because he basically writes against himself, could be seen as truly objective. As a side note, the author kept his true identity and location confidential, afraid to make the same mistake as author Salman Rushdie.
My knowledge of human behavior and the differences between populations can not only be contributed to twenty years of interest and an equal amount of visited countries, but also because of a monkey I used to have. A companion who taught me that for some things no difficult explanations are required. A comrade who, when placed in front of a mirror, was at first excited to see a fellow monkey, to look behind the mirror to find out where it was, unable to realize how empty mirrors really are. Though I, when it comes to aforementioned insights and the writing of this book, have the assumed benefit that I'm not a Dutchman, I write strengthened by the knowledge that this book only depicts what many oppressed and silenced Dutchmen think. I must also add that I, as a completely independent person, have no ties to Dutch, Islamic, or any other organization of any kind.
In this book I will give the impression that I generalize continuously, and possibly that I'm convinced of myself being right. The scope of this book is so all encompassing that I, to avoid a monotony of 'besides' and 'according to me', categorized various peoples with a common 'they', without meaning every single one of those people, and expressed frank opinions, without entitling myself to being absolutely right. It may seem awkward that I oppose my own kind; but that's not so strange. After all, when the governments wants to build a railroad straight through Woensdrecht one can expect the village to protest, but it would only be truly objective if the construction company itself would object.
My early years
I was born from average Muslim parents in an average Muslim nation to live a life and do things unexceptional for a random half-blind person lost in Islam, kicking, screaming, and bullying, just like the other Muslims. I fell on my knees to say prayers which contained words I understood and took part in activities like with the goat, which throat I slit slowly while my parents held her pushed against the ground to stop her from shaking. My sister, at home the only one younger than I, was too small to help and my elder brothers and I knew the principle of dog eats dog. She asked me if she was allowed to go outside, and I asked the next, all the way to the eldest brother who was 25, who in turn asked my father.
When I was around the age of twelve my father bought me a He-Man, an air pressure gun that I had wanted for a long time. I went out to practice and after a tour through the surrounding villages where the other children accompanied me I came back home with a cluster of sparrows, crows, squirrels, and lizards attached to a rope behind my bicycle. My gun was better than the ones of my friends, but not powerful enough to kill wild cats and dogs. You could however make a cat jump high into the air or make a dog yelp, much to the amusement of the neighborhood that watched laughing. Back home I'd get a compliment from my father for my aim, but not quite from my mother, who slapped me around my ears for getting my clothes dirty. She didn't really have to be so difficult, because we had a washing lady, and she didn't get a beating with the stick each day for not washing well.
At school they broke quite a few switches on my knuckles, and at home perhaps even more, until my father found out one day that I had tried to smoke and wanted to punish me so severely he hired someone for the extra beating. But why should I complain? The boy next doors didn't hear me shout from four houses away like I heard him when he was beaten for stealing meat from the pan. I also endured less than the christian who murmured English to himself, which the children found so amusing they threw stones at him wherever he went. He bled continuously, not I. On the other hand he was one of the many exceptions like the crippled, retards, and blind who weren't spared either. The local authorities, tasked to take care of wild dogs, didn't need stones. Equipped with heavy iron grips which looked like an ice wrench the dogcatchers surrounded such a dog. One sneaked up from behind and slammed the grips into its hips with a quick movement. The whining of the dog was amusing, but not surprising, because the dog wondered what it had done wrong to deserve such a fate, and on they went, to where they would end his dog life. Dogs busy heaving intercourse and hence attached to each other, rarely finished the ride; they were taken care of by the men, women, and children of the neighborhood, who found the display so repulsive that they simply bashed in the dogs' skulls with sticks. How much sympathy can a whining dog expect from a people too busy whining themselves?
Once on a Sunday afternoon, if I remember correctly, I was seated on a chair next to my little sister and my mother, surrounded by three hundred people who were seated as well, and they all cried. A child, his mother's only, died in a car accident, witnessed by even more crying people in thirty other movie theatres in the city. Meanwhile the intercity was about to depart and there was no shortage of tears either; the entire train station cried. Not unimaginable, loved ones were about to leave, sometimes for as long as three months. Certainly, trains were riding, like there were roads and cars, and I was ten years when I learned to ride my bicycle, gained speed on a slope, lost control over the handle bars and hit a pedestrian, upon which both of us fell. It must have been the sight of my blood that made him stop already after two punches, and that was nothing compared to the collisions, which caused less broken bones than the arguments between drivers. The only accidents with severe consequences were the frontal collisions between busses on the small, dusty roads, where both drivers were headstrong and refused to move to the side first. With one of the busses that managed to reach their destination arrived a nephew who stayed over for the duration of the holiday. He had occult powers, he said, and sometimes his body was possessed and he went nuts and started to squirm.
Only after a couple of days it got to that point, and we saw him chew on spikes and bleed. A week later our sister was endangered by the same spirit who preferred to posses her soul instead, so he said, and he asked us to pray and guard all doors while he guarded her. That night he tried to sleep with her, which was the end of his holiday. My holiday once ended abrupt as well, and almost forever. When I walked through an alley one day with my shoes on without noticing that it was a mosque a big hand grabbed me by my collar and before I realized what was going on thirty men were holding me tight under a tree, waiting for one of them to return with a rope to hang me. I was fortunate that a rich friend passed by, and warned them to let me go; otherwise he would send the police to torch their homes. And that's how another day passed by.
After surviving this, almost passing out from the heat, I visited a holy place where people came to feed a holy crocodile and doing so gained redemption for their sins. I would have arrived a day earlier but a policeman arrested me for possession of an illegal document; a roadmap of the country. Anyway, each man placed a piece of meat in the crocodile�s mouth which the guard held open. I found out there were once two crocodiles. Mostly the crocodile wasn't hungry, so the meat had to be shoved passed its throat with a stick. That's why the second one was missing. A dead crocodile naturally was more unusual than all the mules, dogs, cats, and occasionally a baby that were decaying in the slums. But always fresh and on guard was our ability to lie. At school, at home, or on the street. Everywhere the lie was the basis of our daily lives. If we were asked for directions, our name, what kind of work our father did, how we paid for something, if we came with the bus, if we were hungry, even if a doctor asked where it hurt; on each question you came up with a fitting lie. Not only because lying had become a second nature, but because we often had started to believe in our own lies without realizing that we lied, but also our fear to lose prestige. We depleted our family members quickly because we used their deaths as an excuse for being late. But afterwards the dead family members praised us for our ingenuity when it came to lying.
The only time they did not appreciate our lies was when the results of the school exam had to be discussed, and the bad grades promised many hard hands, shoes, and sticks. For those cases alternative methods existed, like the one my brother used; he bribed his way through five school years without passing a single time. Oh well, bribery and being smart were one and the same, since only a fool wouldn't bribe a police officer if he could avoid prison time for some spare change. Rich people didn't get into these situations because a police officer who made the mistake of fining a rich person for something like speeding had the following options: fall on his knees and apologize, lose his job, or his nose. The people who didn't have to be rich to enjoy a general boost of status were the European tourists, who because of their good faith formed an easy target. It was our trick to approach them and warn them not to trust anyone and to watch their luggage carefully. This way we automatically earned some extra trust, and at the first opportunity: bye bye luggage. But those were all pranks; the big hits were arranged by the police force itself. Their method existed of placing hashish in the luggage of the tourists, if it was a couple that is, and then arrest the male and lock him up until the woman freed him by being cooperative with the inspector, in the usual fashion.
Among the tourists also belonged the hippies, who toured the middle east during the sixties. They took along new words and a new way of thinking, "Peace", "Flower Power', "Love", "Good Vibrations", "Ban the Bomb", "Make Love not War", "You don't have to fight to be a man", etc. We had never heard of that before. And though it remained at hollow words during those days, they helped me realize there was a whole other world outside of the scary world in which I had always lived. In those days before I left my country in search of a more meaningful world not only I, but also my father, started to lose high placed friends, because I had made the mistake to hang out with the bicycle repairman, the shoemaker, who due to their poverty belonged to a lower class. The time to depart had arrived.
From nation to nation
After leaving my family, friends, and possessions behind I crossed the first border filled with hope, to the neighboring country, to once there meet people who were hardly different from where I came from, that is, when it comes to religion and mentality. And so it continued, to my disappointment, one country after another, until I started to wonder if this was everything there was. Out of curiosity of the outside world I had traveled over the road, which meant staying for the night in hundreds of villages and the most remarkable experiences.
The trip took long, a year had already passed and there was still no trace of the promised land. With a glance at the compass I kept a north western coarse and arrived at the first European border, the one of Greece, to once again be disappointed, the meeting of a kind of people whose sense of humor seemed to range between cursing and running over luggage. From there I traveled criss-cross through Europe, without too much satisfaction of what I saw. "You must go to Amsterdam," they said, especially in Istanbul, and one day I found myself standing there.
It was the only city that didn't want to see me gone, even though I was frightful and kept myself hidden from the police, until I found out that they were too busy looking good and showing the way to the national museum to be bothered by illegal aliens. The following months I managed to get settled in the Netherlands and make friends, and thanks to the illegal help of the embassy I knew I could enter and leave the country without problems. Hence, driven by the desire to know even more of the world I started a new journey, which would last several years, interrupted by visits to Amsterdam, and to eventually end up back in the Netherlands.
My travel through time, a trip of five centuries, ended except for the Netherlands also in confusion. Keep in mind it is easy not to get confused when you're too stupid to see the difference. I had no idea there was a people like the Dutch. They were peaceful and quiet, polite and friendly, and in conflicts they admitted their mistakes. "Sorry, my mistake," they said, even when I was the one who did something wrong. If they had a difference of opinion they just said so, or it went like: "Oh no, come one, get real", while practically they agreed completely; and if they got upset their eyes went up and down with their gesturing hands. At other moments they criticize themselves "I'm an idiot", without seeing that as a lack of self-respect, pride, or manliness.
They spoke quietly and actually listened, making me imagine myself in wonderland. But besides those wonders the transition also brought pain. Like a fish on the beach who no longer belongs in the water but wasn't yet ready to walk the land, I started to feel dumb and got pissed off constantly, while incident after incident followed me and confronted me with the mirror asking me who I really was. Had I entered the U.S. the transition would have been easier to grasp. The Dutch way of living was something completely beyond me. Especially the calm behavior of the people had an irritating impact. Violence of voices and gestures was the only form of communication they knew and now they expected of me that I would restrain, and conform to the Dutch manners.
Within several weeks of my final arrival in the Netherlands I met a Dutch girl, who despite the intense cold of the winter, must have melted at the sight of my benumbed condition and asked me to stay over. "A roof above my head, free sex, and a license to stay", my advisors told me to search for; all that I had now found. Seated at the heater I told her interesting stories and she reacted like, "Ah yes", and, "I see", which made me furious and led to endless quarrels. I, who had never heard of such dullness, thought she sounded insulting, and she couldn't quite understand that. Other conflicts happened because of her refusal to do things out of principle, which was entirely unfamiliar to me. Her honesty was just as limitless as my distrust towards her, and if she had to visit a male medical practitioner I would go along and not leave her out of my sight while she was with him.
I accused her constantly that she lied, because I couldn't imagine the opposite, so there we were, she with her deep rooted feeling, and I with mine, so superficial and egocentric that it didn't take long before she got a nervous breakdown, right in front of my unseeing eyes. She endlessly tried to teach me things, change me, and patiently waited, in the trust and the hope that I would one day treat her the way she treated me. Till her faith one day became exhausted and she barely managed to get herself back up, but lacked the energy to kick me out, so she kicked herself out.
Introduction to the naive fools
If there were no Scandinavians, of who I don't know a whole lot, then without a single trace of doubt in my voice I would call the Dutch the nicest, most honorable, civilized, honest, objective, and outspoken people of the world, while my opinion about their social system, police, jurisdiction, education, etcetera, is equally high. I'm sometimes still surprised about the way of life in the Netherlands and the behavior of the Dutch, even though they form a rich source of entertainment and happiness in my daily life. But when someone doesn't agree with me or doesn't understand what I'm talking about it's either a moron or exactly one of those Dutchmen, while in other countries in their most ideal dreams people wish they could reach the same thing as here, or at least almost the same, because also the Dutch are not perfect.
How can a people be so advanced in their thought while being so naive at the same time? Or the other way around: how can people as smart as the drug lords of Colombia or the master minds of the mob and yet be dumb enough to ignore the lives they wreck? The answer is easy: we only develop our brains in those areas where we train them. The story of the Dutch is simply the story of a people who lived so long in a neatly arranged society, and developed its kindness so far that it not only forgot what a mess looks like, but never developed the intelligence to keep itself clean: the Dutch don't see the mess around them and hence do not see a good reason to protect themselves against it.
Despite my loftiest opinion of the Dutch I disagree with the line, "There is good and bad in everyone", that Paul McCartney and Steve Wonder sang together in the song 'Ebony and Ivory', even though I wonder why nobody sings after it, "How much?" After all everyone is everything; everyone is homosexual, sadistic, racist, anti-social, aggressive, suicidal, etcetera. The question is to what extent. But that seems irrelevant for the Dutch. As far as they're concerned evil is evil. And because the statistics show that among the Dutch occasionally someone loses his self control, a child stole some candy, a woman hit the table with her fist, a police officer pretended not to see his son j-walking, that means that they are just as short fused, thieving, aggressive, and corrupt as any other people.
And when it concerns money: The Dutch love money, so why would they be different from for example the Americans, for whom the first question is someone's wage when being introduced, and who spend half their life looking for another job that pays fifty dollar more, while they can't understand how the Dutch enjoy doing their jobs. So how exactly are the Dutch different from other people? Besides, the proof is crystal clear: On Sunday after going to the church the Dutch shoot sparrows with air pressure guns, speak loudly, as if they are having an arguments, occasionally pausing to spit; if they lose with sports, they blame the referee, declare a day of national mourning and close their stores, while the prime minister speaks of a 'disaster'; they bully old people and throw stones at people in wheel chairs, while loading their enormous families into busses at the end of the afternoon, with curtains in front of the windows to hide their women from lustful glances to drive to a restaurant where they eat the raw brains from the skull of a tied down monkey, who they put to sleep with a firm knock on the head, right?
So far I fortunately was never infected with this self-pessimism of the Dutch, but the little bit of optimism I had was totally shattered when I discovered the highest authority in the field of optimism were the same self-pessimistic Dutch, with the possible exception of the Ostrich, of course. Pleasant, nice, friendly, excellent, wonderful, classy, delightful, lovely are their magic words that can turn all evil into good and can straighten out everything that is bent. The weather man would never say that there'll be dog weather tomorrow, while Bob Marley fans have been singing for the past twenty years that, "everything is gonna be alright", without realizing that, if that was true, they would no longer have to sing it.
Cyclops chasing a dream
Considering the support for great institutes like the Pieter Baan Centre where the mental health of criminals is observed, and despite the many unemployed psychologists and social workers, the latest fashion in the Netherlands is psychology. About the only thing that goes on is the constant digging into the backgrounds searching for the justifications, which comes in handy, because all the freely floating intelligence has to be used for something. And that's how the Dutch fail to see, totally absorbed by the ever-increasing number of situations, that there doesn't have to be a difficult explanation for everything. If a dog compulsively barks that could be because he's locked up too often, but about his instinct to chase cats nobody has to wonder. If a Dutch boy grows up without problems and all of a sudden starts stealing or becomes aggressive, then it would make sense to find the reason for the deviation from his normal behavior.
But when I am aggressive, that is my normal reaction. For me controlled behavior would be a deviation from the normal pattern. In short, some people do something purely driven because of circumstances, while others do so because of their nature. Some people go nuts, others are already nuts. A worm living on top of the Himalaya didn't climb there. Still people like Cevjet, the Turk who killed six Dutchman in a bar in Delft, simply because they told him that a Dutch passport didn't make him a Dutchman (which he proved that day), end up in the Pieter Baan Centre, where he is observed for a sum of 30,000 dollars, raised by the people who were his victims, and their ever increasing sense of justice. Floating high on the wings of good intentions driven by a disoriented instinct for justification the Dutch see the world from a twisted angle: they make the mistake to judge people from other countries by directly placing themselves in their shoes.
This is a typical Dutch method, on which a Dutch friend of mine, who recently returned from India, doesn't form an exception. He told me with a lowered voice that he was often hit on by homosexuals. "Yeah right", I thought to myself, and explained to him that it was because of his white skin, which already partially transformed him into a white woman in their vision, in that sexually very frustrating society. Which leads us back to our monkey, who hadn't seen a female in eternity. Little monkey pulled himself free and jumped on top of the big monkey, regardless of its sex (He actually humped the other's back). A Dutchman if present would not only have labeled the monkey a homosexual, but also a backosexual. Not to talk about the cases where people screw mules, horses, dogs, and chickens, just because they have no alternative, or at least, not a whole lot more than those who walk hand in hand.
In my own street, in a comparable situation to the last one, a Moroccan woman who recently gave birth to a child all alone at home was surrounded by Dutch women from the neighborhood who were all sorry for her. "What a horrible experience that must have been", they said, placing themselves in her situation, without realizing how normal something like that in third world nations is. That's how guest workers, who used to live in groups and given their living conditions thought themselves as rich as kings, were forced to believe by their social workers that they were actually not happy, because the Dutch in mutual circumstances wouldn't be happy. Scientists discovered that some animals do not see like humans, but in infrared.
It's time the Dutch realize that other people don't look at this world with the same eyes. Or, more to the point, it's time the Dutch realize that all the bloody political incidents, the civil wars, the border disputes in the Middle East, the far East, or elsewhere, that continuously make the news, could rather directly spill forth from an aggressive nature, without there being a difficult explanation for this. And that when a pro-Iranian Hezbollah movement or any other kind of extremist Muslim group forms a fanatic army, while shouting, "Allah Akbar", any kind of reasonable policy or ideology is out of the question, but that we're simply dealing with a bunch of idiots, psychopaths, and imbeciles who do whatever they please. Of course the Dutch pigeon doesn't see everything in a twisted way. The Dutch do realize that in Bangladesh the people don't build houses from bamboo because they are tree huggers, and that the population of Ethiopia isn't on a hunger strike.
Beware of discrimination
No matter from what nation a fresh immigrant comes to the Netherlands, he will spend years figuring out the Dutch, unless he spends a couple of euro to buy the Dutch constitution which is available in most bookstores, and from which he can get some basic knowledge about them, including their sense of humor. He opens it, full of suspense and expectations, and wham! There it is, the first paragraph of the first chapter, what else could this be about? "Everyone who finds himself inside the Netherlands will in equal situations be treated equally. Discrimination because of religion, philosophy of life, political inclination, race, sex, or on any other grounds, is not allowed." The jewel of this statement is the words 'or on any other grounds.'
We'll get back to this later on. Meanwhile the only topic that has been babbled about has been discrimination, a word specifically used as the password of the Club of Good People while the paranoia it creates outside of that club is ignored. "It's only bread I have in my hand", is what I said to the suspicious and hissing swan, who behaved the same way as the Dutch when it comes to discrimination. This behavior is also comparable to the reactions to AIDS: when the disease became publicity for the first time about everything, kissing, giving hands, toilets, was labeled as contagious. Or take the recent disaster due to some clumsy research regarding incest, where the cuddling of one's children was labeled as sexual, and children were totally confused by the people who were supposed to protect them. There's no doubt that the history of discrimination is horrible and shouldn't be forgotten.
But somewhere in the campaign against it, with endless TV series about slaves in America, Jews in the second world war, South Africa, the Ku Klux Klan, etc, the Dutch lost track, short-circuited their brains, until they melted the various separate occurrences into one gigantic monster. Meanwhile they failed to see, intentionally or not, the word was used by either side like a gun against the head. Every Dutchman with whom I discussed this subject reacted according a set pattern, first the denial of their emotions, then, when I kept pressing, they started to loosen up, till the words and the anger flowed out of their mouths, like the lid was removed from all their stored annoyance. Others, who openly talk about discrimination, try to blame everything on skin color, as if they want to divert the attention from the real issue at hand. Skin color and discrimination have become, as it seems, the best buddies lately: they go hand in hand, day and night, from breakfast till bedtime, and woe to whoever that tries to separate them. I, personally, believe that the two have no legitimate relationship nor belong together. A black crow is shy, a white swan is aggressive, and a zebra is fast, not because of their color but because that's the way they are, with color being a side effect.
And though skin color doesn't matter, whites cover their bodies with sunscreen to get brown, and blacks put some other good on their skin to become white, but eventually, when all the empty plastic bottles went up in smoke and the rain fell down again, we all become yellow with black and white spots. All the nonsense, babble, and drama... And then to realize that nobody thought about there being more sides to the word "discrimination."
1. Direct discrimination: A ship got stuck at the pole. A helicopter comes to the rescue with warm meals for the whites and bread for the blacks.
2. Indirect discrimination: Whoever calls American people nice, calls at least one people not nice.
3. Subjective discrimination: An old Dutch woman is afraid of foreigners, and avoids them.
4. Objective discrimination: A Dutch moviemaker wants native Dutch actors for his Dutch movie - he doesn't want Moroccans.
5. Counter discrimination: A Turk who only rents rooms to Dutchmen.
6. Reversed discrimination: A Dutchman who isn't allowed in a bar for dark skinned people.
7. Inversed discrimination: Foreigners who are treated better and get more opportunities than the native Dutch.
I'll leave the various forms of discrimination for what they are, because the state prefers to keep the privilege to unite them into one big thick bat. One wrong word ('Moroccans live dirty') and the TV, left wing organizations, the police, the ministers, not to forget a group of recent graduates, freshly brainwashed students who want to use what they learned in practice, will be banging on your door. "What did you say? Come with us, you'll be put to justice." Once inside the courtroom, "You'll be made an example and we'll show the world how good we are here in the Netherlands," says the judge with a deep voice. "Pardon your Honor", interrupts the lawyer, "You just said 'How good we are here in the Netherlands', and according to the code of law, article 2 sub 2, regarding indirect discrimination, you hence state that the rest of the world is evil."
A month later the judge is trialed. Meanwhile other situations fall into the blind angle of the eyes of the judge: while the government is making a big issue out of the employment of foreigners and makes proposals to force Dutch employers to hire them, foreign employers only hire their own people, and nobody notices a thing. And speaking of work, a certain Venloo, head member of the socialistic party, thinks at least ten of the eleven seats should go to foreigners, something other parties rejected because it shouldn't be about heritage but personal qualities.
As a starter Venloo's proposal is indirect counter discrimination, and it also gives the impression that the other parties' word 'qualities' indicates that foreign solicitants would be of low quality and that's not what I said. What I did say is: why aren't there a proportional number of Islamic women, with or without a bikini, on the Dutch beach? And now the opening line of the constitution 'or on whatever ground'. Someone from the ministry of justice will have to do some prison time because of discrimination based on physical grounds, since the Dutch police don't hire solicitants smaller than 1.70 meters.
Regardless, we can conclude that the word 'discrimination' plays an important role in our society and serves a useful purpose. Because how could a man with a dark skin who's being trialed for selling drugs, better defend himself than by screaming, "Discrimination. They're after me because I'm black!" Of the various kinds of discrimination the objective one is probably the most important and precarious, because we're forced daily to submit to it.
Like we concluded, due to the death of a three years old, that a pit-bull terrier is more dangerous than the average lap dog, and because of that, on the grounds of objective discrimination, there is a law that obliges the owners of pit bulls to have their dog wear a muzzle, and not just the owners of pit bulls who bit once before, or all dog owners. Because that's the way the facts are. The choice is between acknowledging and denying the facts. If you choose for the latter, autistics could take seats in the government, and stutter at 911.
Discrimination of the wrong party is certainly wrong, but not more wrong than a wrong understanding of the meaning of the word, and not more wrong than the blatant accusation of others of wrong discrimination when that isn't the case. The word discrimination should be rebalanced and reevaluated, and it should perhaps be determined what forms of discrimination aren't entirely wrong. Imagine all the contact advertisements in the papers, where people ask for hair color, length, temperament, schooling, intelligent, eye color... Eye color? That on