A couple who named their child after a bougie Middle-eastern dip favored among Great Britain’s woke classes have decided not to reveal the gender of their child.
Chanti Annette Humphrey and Jake England-Johns have even kept secret for one-year the sex of 14-month-old Anoush from the knowledge of their doubtlessly proud parents.
Yes, the Baba Anoush, whom with a “G” preceding the “A” would share its name with the aubergine purée, is subject to the wokest of the woke.
They, which according to Merriam-Webster, now means both the couple and their child, told British media they just want “they,” or Anoush, to be themselves.
They dress Anoush in both male and female garb, and let “them” play with any toys “they” so wish.
The couple say the whole point of this flit in mild Munchausen avoids any “unconscious bias” foisted upon their child.
Anoush, who back in 2015 likely would have been a boy, will pick its sex when it is good and ready. And, I’d hazard, plot with quiet vim “their” escape from the compassionate clutches of their/they/them’s parents. (Woke grammar and syntax can be so exhausting.)
Spawned within a progressive petri-dish, the woke parents are also circus performers, and live on a houseboat near Bristol—the British Berkeley, incubator of this kind of thing.
It gets better, dear reader.
Chanti, 38, and known as “Hobbit,” (honestly) told the BBC: “When I got pregnant, we had a discussion about how we were going to mitigate the unconscious bias.”
Which, of course, should be the first subject leaping to mind when the heady magic of life’s creation first flickers.
“We figured the only way we could do that was just not to tell people,” she continued, “and create this little bubble for our baby to be who they are.”
“Eventually, they will get told by somebody that pink is only for girls and blue is only for boys, and you can’t play with that because you are a particular sex,” Chanti said. “That’s still a thing that happens these days. We’re just trying to protect Anoush from that.”
Which is Orwell and good, I guess. And the latest mutation in an epidemic of competitive wokeness.
Remain’s Last Stand?
This flutter of mentalism is just a taste of modern Britain—a formerly serious country. Delusion reigns and roams from the proles to the plutocrats.
Remainers this week have argued in the Supreme Court that Prime Minister Boris Johnson’s decision to suspend parliament was unlawful.
Moreover, it is “undemocratic.” That Boris Johnson is a “fascist”! Yes! Without a sheen of self-awareness, his decision to suspend parliament is literally a “coup.”
One such crusader is Gina Miller, a high-charged lawyer and defender of democracy. The night of the 2016 referendum made her vomit.
Gina’s silks argue that shutting down parliament to stop lawmakers overturning the votes of 17.4 million people is an affront to democracy.
Yes, welcome to modern Britain—a banana republic, with clement weather.
Miller is fighting for my kind, you see. Those confused by numbers on a red bus, cajoled by the media to vote against three decades of trickle-up.
Those too stupid, too old, too poor to understand the vast benefits of the European Union . . . for people like Gina.
A regrettably American import, our revolution now rests on the whims of unelected 11 judges. The losers will litigate.
The issue? Johnson has prorogued parliament for five weeks from September 9 through to October 14. This compresses the time lawmakers have to overturn . . . sorry, “defend” democracy, by overturning a democratic vote.
Of course, Gina and her monied mates pity the opinions of those condemned to peer over the gated contours of their Gatsby bash. Now they must correct our foolish spasm.
Not Democracy, But Oligarchy
Delusion reigns. The Pimm’s sucked dry, Remainers, unkeen to reconcile with the noisome majority, are brazen in their attempts to crush Brexit.
Scotch the syrupy defense of “democracy.” They want us to know who owns this country.
To oppose Brexit peacocks oneself as above the rabble. Embosomed in this need is the Remainers insist that the majority got it wrong. That we didn’t know what we were voting for. That the mince-thick majority is easily fooled.
It is little wonder why we proles still refuse to absorb the grand counsel of our betters and still would like to leave the European Union—deal, or no-deal.
A planned meeting between Prime Minister Johnson and Xavier Bettel, prime minister of Luxembourg, underlined why we still clutch that hope.
After Johnson withdrew from a press conference teeming with anti-Brexit protesters, Bettel empty-chaired his British counterpart. So bravely did he berate our absent prime minister to rapt applause from protestors.
Yes, the prime minister of Luxembourg—a country of approximately seven people, a goat, some pinot noir, and a wheel of cheese. An adventurous Friday night, in other words.
Perhaps, such a lurid display reveals that reality dawns. Brexit, that flutter of the unwashed, is no protest vote. We are actually leaving.
Indeed, those who blocked a no-deal Brexit have yet to applaud developments suggesting the Irish border question is close to conclusion.
Great Britain, reports suggest, has formally tabled alternatives to the Irish backstop. A deal, I hazard, is in sight. With the help of 20 Labour lawmakers, Boris will push it through Parliament. We will leave by October 31.
Not that it matters to the ultra-Remainers. They’ve swam past denial and into the cold streams of anger. That buoy of acceptance bobs past, toward the sand.
They’d rather live in a world filtered to their tastes. One forever severed from the untouchables.
Like the parents of little Anoush, they’ll never understand why their children broke free from such madness.