So much for the Great Diversity Experiment:
As the world watched in awe five years ago, new faces were welcomed into Germany with balloons and banners proclaiming ‘We love refugees’.
More than a million strangers headed there from faraway lands at the height of Europe’s biggest migration crisis since World War II hoping for a new life in the West.
In a rallying cry to her nation, the German chancellor Angela Merkel declared in the autumn of 2015: ‘We can do this. We are strong and can manage it.’
Even as Mrs Merkel’s historic speech was broadcast on German TV, reports flashed up on the screen that trainloads of men, women and children were clamouring to be let in at her borders. And they were.
In astonishing scenes a few days later, thousands of bedraggled, tired migrants turned up at railway stations in German cities to be met by local children blowing soap bubbles and handing over teddy bears as the country threw off its dark, xenophobic past to become the humanitarian face of Europe.
But today the celebrations for migrants are over in this powerhouse of the European Union.
Many of the foreigners who entered Germany in those heady days are being forcibly sent home to Africa, south Asia, the Middle East, Russia and the Balkans on secret flights, marshalled by security officers, after being frogmarched to airports from their beds by armed police.
I wonder why? Oh yes, because they can’t or won’t assimilate, their crime rates are astronomical, and far from being the fuel that would help Germany’s economy, most are pretty much acting as brakes, being totally dependent on Germany’s generous welfare state.
Who could ever have thought this this would happen?
Well, most of us, as it turns out; only we were called “racists” and “fascists” or worse, for the sin of being realists and not starry-eyed dreamers in thrall to the “magic dirt” theory of socialization.
As for “being frogmarched to airports from their beds by armed police”, I just wish we could do the same to our ingrate immigrants, but no doubt someone’s going to have a problem with me saying that, too.
Over the past weekend, Mr. Free Market obeyed the BritGov’s stupid social distancing rules in the proper manner:
Yes, I am insanely jealous. Why do you ask?
Also, re: my post about the Beretta 687 a week or so ago, he sent me this snippet:
…and a bonus pic from one of his earlier shoots, this time for vermin:
Because Mr. Free Market is a Foul Evil BastardTM, he decided to send me a few scenic pics from his current sooper-seekrit location in Scottishland. Here’s the general milieu (note the complete absence of freezing rain, for the first time ever in this event I’m told):
(Note that Mr. FM is not wearing a face condom, despite Scottish law.)
Then it’s off to the “boxes”:
Note the careful arranging of reloads in pairs, ready for the old Load & Slaughter routine in his Beretta O/U (gawd help us, but the man has such terrible taste in shotguns).
The group shot down several hundred grouse and partridge, but here’s a pic of one brace, taken by Mr. FM with a single barrel.
When I say “taken”, I mean “shot”, of course, not clubbed out of the sky with his shotgun (which would be poor form, of course).
I am so jealous I could spit.
This story got a lot of attention a little while ago:
A supermarket security guard has won the internet’s hearts as he stood in the pouring rain to shelter a patient dog. Morrisons security worker Ethan Dearman was photographed braving the elements outside the supermarket in Giffnock, Glasgow on Sunday. The picture, taken by Mel Gracie, 25, shows Mr Dearman holding a green umbrella over golden retriever Freddie, who is relaxing underneath.
And the pic:
Several people have commented that this is a typically-British story. I disagree (and my Brit Readers will back me up on this, I think).
What would have made this a typically-British story would have been if the security guard was fired for not doing his proper job — because if there’s one thing Brits excel at, it’s bossing people around just because they can.
It’s precisely the same mindset behind a parking warden booting an ambulance for parking in a No Parking zone while picking up an injured patient, or a pharmacist’s assistant denying a customer a purchase of a pregnancy test kit during a lockdown, because it’s not an “essential” item.
I love Britain and its people, and I have as many Brit friends as American or South African friends, but this is one character flaw I find particularly tiresome.
I see that we’re still not allowed to visit Canuckistan until June, but that’s okay. Montreal is only worth visiting for the three weeks of summer in July anyway.
Here’s a recent pic of same:
I am going to be taking New Wife up there soon. She’s never been to Canada, and I love Montreal — other than the fact that it’s in Canuckistan, I could live there quite easily.
If I may digress for a moment — and I believe I can — there are quite a few places in the world similar to Montreal, where I could easily live but for the fact that the countries in which they’re located are completely fucked up.
The first example is Wiltshire, England, home to Mr. Free Market, The Englishman and a couple of other Bad Influences:
Of course, there’s meine schönes Wien:
…and Paris — the Paris I knew back in the early 2000s, not the refugee-infested shithole it’s since become:
All these places, and so many others, captivated me utterly when I was there and I remember thinking at the time, “I could live here.”
Then I’d come back home, and realize that I loved my freedom more.
And our TV is better.
Don’t get me started on guns…
…none of which I’d be allowed to own in any of the above European cities.
So Montreal can wait.
Over at Instapundit, Gail Heriot has posted a decent summary of the England-Scotland alliance. But then there’s this:
In 1979, an effort to establish (or re-establish) a separate Scottish legislature via referendum failed. It did so, however, only because the Act authorizing the referendum required that at least 40% of the entire Scottish electorate vote in favor. While the referendum got more yes than no votes, turnout was poor. In 1997, another such referendum was held. This time it passed, a Scottish Parliament was established, and the process of “devolution” was begun.
In 2014, when an independence referendum was held, it came a lot closer to passing than union supporters would have preferred. Ultimately, Scottish voters went 55.3% to 44.7% in favor of sticking it out with England.
What interests me, and many others, is the fact that only the Scots voted on whether to leave or stay in the Union, which begs the question: why did not all interested parties — including the English and Welsh — vote on separation?
Had the population living south of the River Tweed voted, you bet there’s have been considerable support behind a “Toss the Jocks” movement — Mr Free Market and The Englishman claim that at least two-thirds of English voters would support expelling the porridge-monkeys in a heartbeat, had they been allowed to do so.
Such ravings should be taken with a grain of salt — especially when expressions like “Can we then finish what we started at Culloden?” and “Rebuild Hadrian’s Wall” are thrown into the mix. Nevertheless, we Murkins should not underestimate the depth of enmity that still exists between the Picts and the Angles even after all this time. It’s most openly expressed by the Scots, such as when supporting anyone playing England in sporting competitions, but the anti-Jock sentiments in England, while less overt, still run pretty deep.
We can talk about the Welsh and Irish situations on another occasion; but in the meantime, think of the situation as a (very) civilized Balkans, and you’ll get the idea.