Ugliness For Its Own Sake 

Have you ever had the displeasure of meeting a racist 3-month-old baby? Perhaps you’ve encountered on your travels racially biased 5-year-olds who display racial preferences and a strong bias in favor of whiteness.

Just yesterday, I endured the iniquity of such a dreadful scamp. These suppurating little bastards, doubtless dragged up by Brexit-voting bovine, are more common than one might like to admit.

I was en route to the off-license to restock my ever-dwindling supply of tobacco and Portuguese wine, when a single mother with a stroller in tow accosted me. A traumatic encounter ensued.

When one is confronted with the underclass, The Guardian’s advice is to make no sudden movements and to avoid direct eye contact lest one tinder the brutishness resident in such troglodytes. Unschooled in the grunt language of such curiosities, I nodded my head and hoped for the best.

In the stroller beside her lay a white, blonde, blue-eyed boy with a cigarette dangling from his chops. His mother had bequeathed him one of those fancy names of which proletarians who voted for Brexit lavish upon their hopeless sprogs in lieu of any decency or grasp of French verb tenses.

Little Boris, aged just “free munts,” she divulged, could “aw-reddy tork!”

Impossible! I thought. Little Boris then looked me square in the eye and said: “We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children.”

They grow up so fast!

Racist Babies?
Yes, Racist Babies

Perhaps you’ve never met a racist baby. Perhaps you’re not entirely gone in the noggin. Congratulations.

To celebrate the 10th anniversary of our culture’s descent into primitive madness, Islington Council in North London recently decreed that babies as young as 3-months-old can be racially biased and that toddlers are often racist.

Home to noted intellectual Jeremy Corbyn and a sea of green-haired nutters fluent in gender studies and Mythical Melanin Theory, Islington is London’s answer to Berkeley, California. (Some say residents of Islington consume 98 percent of the world’s falafel, which might explain a great deal.)

Burping into the social Chernobyl that is Twitter, Islington Council shared a poster replete with helpful diagrams, skull measurements, and the typical physiognomies of these racist babies.

“Children are never too young to talk about race,” say those employed chiefly to talk about race. Apparently, two-year-olds “use race to reason about people’s behaviours,” and to choose their playmates. By age five, “white children are strongly in favour of whiteness.”

“At three months,” it reads, “babies look more at faces that match the race of their caregivers.”

Perhaps those babies search for a face matching that of their parents because those babies are utterly dependent on their parents, their parents being the center of their universe. When I’m poleaxed via whiskey and wine, I consult my memory for the color of my front door and the rough location of the keyhole. So far, this method has proven 97 percent effective across my 15-year career as a semi-professional carouser.

Researchers neglected to divulge whether nonwhite children also displayed racial bias.

I’d suspect such an omission is telling. The answer is likely “yes,” yet such findings prove unhelpful to those desperate to keep their ludicrous raison d’être in vogue amid a precipitous decline in those concerned with the density of another’s melanin.

According to those paid handsomely to detect evidence of racism, racism is everywhere. Racism is so prevalent, they say, it often cannot be seen, heard, felt, or smelt without the expert guidance of a diversity officer with stainless steel dangling from their nostrils.

Fear not, good burghers of New Salem, armies of larcenously compensated diversity consultants, their minds mangled by magic mushrooms and Marxist madness will “decolonize the mindsets” of racist babies.

Kids who struggle with the relentless desire to stuff peas into their nostrils shall absorb the very latest in Mythical Melanin Theory and the nonsense to which it pertains.

As usual, progressives diagnose the ailment before digging around every orifice in search of the correct symptoms. When one concludes that everyone and everything is racist, one can find ‘evidence’ to support such contentions.

Go Easy on The Reality, Please

After recovering from my traumatic encounter with the racist baby, I called a therapist who, would you believe it, specialized in Traumatic Racist Baby Syndrome. The problem: he charged an unreachable $1,200 per hour.

Anyway, I did my own research.

I soon learned that British Africans often do better than British whites who do better than British Caribbeans. British Indians do better than everyone, yet British Pakistanis and British Bangladeshis fare worse than most. All three are lumped together as “Asian.” Indeed, British Indians are the most successful group in Britain, while white working-class boys do the worst in school.

Despite “white privilege,” several ethnic groups in America outshine the white majority. 

So, either structural racism is curiously favorable to groups under the same racial banner, or the diversity loons tell porkies for emotional, social, and political profit. Heaven forfend!

It appeared that the differences within groups were down to whether they have two parents at home and whether their culture emphasizes education, industry, and delayed gratification.

At this point, I called the therapist back with my findings. Audibly melting, he screamed something about “calling the police” before the line went dead.

As T.S. Eliot observed, humankind cannot bear very much reality.

Where the Money Is 

Could it be that the race profiteers cannot and will not fathom the loss or even the curtailment of their lucrative enterprise?

H.L. Mencken wondered why so many people “love ugliness for its own sake,” and harbor a “lust to make the world intolerable.” Such a culture, he said, “hates beauty as it hates truth.”

Perhaps those profiting from the promise of Utopia too love ugliness for its own sake. Perhaps they too lust to make the world intolerable.

After all, there’s more money in the treatment than in the cure.

Editor’s note: This article first appeared at Christopher Gage’s Substack, Oxford Sour. If you haven’t subscribed yet, please take a moment and do so. The man needs to buy more books and Port!

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About Christopher Gage

Christopher Gage is a British political journalist and a founding member of the Gentlemen of the Swig. Subscribe to his Substack, "Oxford Sour."

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