13 Jun 2012
Vive la France! Vive la belle France!
I hope that this is a straw in the wind, a harbinger of greater things to come.
Perhaps this is the line in the sand, the place where the French fightback begins.
This is where the French will begin defending their culture, their society, their world.
I do not think it is at all a coincidence that the French were the first in Europe to ban the hijab in schools, the first in Europe, so far as I know, to moot a burqa ban - the men on grounds of chivalric feeling toward imprisoned women, but the women because they rightly perceived the wearing of the Slave Mask and Slave Rag as an act of aggression toward them, the Infidel women of France.
For France has been since at least the 16th or 17th century something like the acknowledged arbiter of female fashion in Europe. French culture understands the meaning of a woman's clothes. Trust the French - at a deep, instinctive level - to 'read' the Mohammedan female Slave Rag, and to detest it, and reject it. Robert Redeker in his little essay in Le Figaro that earned him Mohammedan death threats and cost him his job, zeroed in on two things - the banning of the wearing of 'le string' on the Paris-Plages, the beaches of the Seine, and the concomitant outrageous toleration of veiled Mohammedan females on the streets of France - as signs of the Islamic war against freedom.
What is France about, if not the celebration of the beauty of women? Watteau, Renoir, Degas and his ballerinas, Monet, Gauguin, Rodin...
From Paul Gallico, 'The Adventures of Hiram Holliday" (1939).
The protagonist, an American journalist, is visiting Paris in the late 1930s, just before the outbreak of WWII.
"Mainly, he was impressed with the complete femininity of the city...He was a man and lonely in a city of women,a city where every woman dressed exquisitely from the poorest shopgirl upwards, a city where when one walked on a great boulevard like the Champs-Elysees or the Capucines there was always the strong scent of perfume in the air, a scent that was ever changing as woman after woman drifted by, each with her own.
"He noticed with pleasure how beautifully the little children were dressed, like dolls in the windows of toy-stores around Christmas-time. He went to none of the places indicated by the guide-books, but sat in the lemon-yellow sunlight in the park at the end of the Champs-Elysees between the Rond Point and the Place de la Concorde, and saw the children ride the little wagons drawn by goats, and on ponies and on a tiny carousel, and watched the women go by, the women with which Paris adorned herself.
"He felt that Paris wore her women like gay flowers in her hair or lovely jewellery".
Mohammedan female chattels/ gang molls in their ugly Slave Rags, especially those who cover themselves entirely, concealing the face and even the eyes, so that they become nothing but a black shapeless faceless moving blob, are an obscenity - yes, an obscenity - in the streets of France. They are a deliberate blasphemy against beauty.
Either they take off the Slave Rag or they leave France; or, as in this particular case, - hurrah! - they are not permitted to enter in the first place.