Arrested by North Yorkshire Police for giving a girl a Christmas card
It was 11am on Christmas Eve and I was just about to get down to the day’s activity when a knock was heard at the door. I opened it to find PC Believer and another asking to come in. I replied with a question: “What’s this about?” The response was to inform me that I was under arrest “on suspicion of causing harassment, alarm or distress” and the two barged in.
PC Believer was trying to be friendlier than he had been before, and explained that a girl, named, had made a complaint about a Christmas card I had given her. He said that she had been upset. “If you’d told me that I would have come willingly” I said. As I prepared to leave the suggestion was made that they were doing me a favour by not coming to arrest me on Christmas Day (“We could have”) and allusion was made to taking my computers as well. That would have been illegal, but it hasn’t stopped them in the past.
I was loaded into the back of a police van again and driven to York, with an interruption while PC Believer stopped to issue a fine to a driver who had run a red light. My stomach churned all the way.
The new bonhomie lasted until part-way through the custody desk interview, when I objected to being fingerprinted yet again, and refused to sign my consent for it. I knew they would take them anyway, but I was damned if I was going to agree to it. Thereupon PC Believer’s promise of a cup of tea while he prepared his “interview plan” was pettishly withdrawn. I was fingerprinted by a female Detention Officer then shown to a cell while PC Believer went to work on his “interview plan.”
Around half an hour later I was brought out for the interview, which was recorded. PC Believer confronted me with a six-page statement by the girl (strictly: woman – it transpired she was 21), no doubt drawn up by a sympathetic policewoman.
My attempt to explain the sequence of events methodically, from the beginning, was cut short. All the incidents are so lame that they don’t warrant repeating. However they have evidently been so amplified, and are being pored over by State employees, that I have to make a response. This was the significant exchange, which took place in the foyer of the local post office.
I was leaving and she was entering, and we almost collided in the foyer of the local post office. I looked back and she looked back, and unless I’m mistaken, she spoke first. (This was notable: I mention in The Tyranny of Ambiguity instances where females believe they have spoken first while in fact they had merely signalled.) She said she had seen me before, recently. I explained that I cannot recognise faces, it’s called prosopagnosia and it was years before I realised what it was. “Do you work in a shop?” It turned out I had met her while trying to get blank card for the Christmas cards I was quickly running up. I said that if she told me her name I would give her one so she could see it. I would call with one the following Saturday I said, and we parted.
Apparently there were a couple of innocuous earlier encounters, going back months: “I stared at her” and “He said something about the cost of postage as we were leaving the post office at the same time.” I have only the dimmest recollection of these, and hadn’t associated them with the girl. I talk to lots of people, young and old, male and female, and always have interesting stories to tell. (Though perhaps my audience doesn’t always agree on their interestingness!)
The contents of that six-page statement, what little I know of it, are really not worthy of being repeated, not here, not anywhere. For instance, an occasion when I was walking past and tapped on her window to give a cheery wave, to be greeted by a wave and a cheerful smile in return, is transformed into me hammering on the window and “frightening her.”
Anyway PC Believer’s promise of a quick “in-out” interview was kept but the intimation with it that all would be resolved quickly and I would soon be home was not. I spent a further four hours in the cell.
My, this is difficult to write, so I fear this will not be one of my more entertaining stories. It may demonstrate however, the process of degradation which occurs when feminist ideology invades institutions. Gresham’s Law (‘bad money drives out good’) applies, as the environment becomes progressively inimical to males. They cannot withstand the constant offence to their natural authority, plus demands for “sensitivity” and all the rest. Every perceived male shortcoming is leapt upon, while the shortcomings of female colleagues are passed over (“Oh, it’s just so-and-so”). The perception of any particular male’s failings are efficiently transmitted between the women, with subtle inflections of voice and innuendo. I’ve seen this at first hand, in my local council office.
Again I am ‘the canary in the coalmine.’ My experiences, and the following, illustrate the lunacy which descends when people evolutionarily unadapted to holding power are given it.
Appearing on The Right Stuff website recently (December 14) was a story by Michael Enoch. A “feminist scholar” Arielle Schlesinger proposes a “feminist programming language” in which a variable and its inverse are true at the same time. “I think this type of logic represents the feminist idea that something can be and not be without being a contradiction” she wrote. Putting her various formulations a different way, she is saying that in this hypothetical programming language a variable can be both TRUE and FALSE at the same time.
In a computer program thousands of branches take place continuously. Has he pressed a key? Is it a command or data? What command? Where to put the data? The program would be useless without conclusive, accurate answers to every one of these questions.
Again, computing is a microcosm. We are all programs, although our logic may be somewhat fuzzy. (Has Schlesinger heard of fuzzy logic I wonder? One doesn’t hear much of that recently, probably for good reason.) We are all continuously branching, basing our decisions on tests of greater than or less than, weighing costs and benefits: making comparisons at every step of our lives and acting according to them. Our success, both individually and as a species, relies on our ability to accurately distinguish TRUE from FALSE.
So anyone with an ounce of common sense would not let this “feminist academic” or anyone like her within a million miles of a real-world project. To err is human, and our decision-making is rarely perfect. Schlesinger is in effect launching an attack on our very ability to branch, even when we have perfect information.
Enoch remarks that Schlesinger’s skill is in stringing together plausible-sounding, but in reality specious, phrases, having picked up enough about programming and its jargon to do so. This is what she calls “research.”
But here is the crucial point: all Schlesinger is really doing is applying absolutely standard female instincts. Perhaps her idea is novel (neglecting fuzzy logic) but if so, its only novelty is in the application of female instincts to a hitherto unchallenged male domain. The female strategy is to prevaricate, diffuse and avoid resolution. The evolutionary origin of these policies is set out in my books and no doubt elsewhere on this website. They chiefly derive (of course) from sex. That is, from mate-selection by the female which, evolutionarily and historically, was critical for her.
It was getting dark by 4pm when I was brought out to the custody desk, where the female Custody Sergeant informed me I was being charged. Asked if I had anything to say, I replied that the allegation was a complete fabrication and that the brief interview I had had was unsatisfactory. However my attempt to get this down accurately before I signed was cut short by the woman behind the desk snapping “Tell it to the court” and PC Believer exclaiming “Now you’re insulting me!” It wasn’t an insult, but a criticism, but PC Believer is known to be hungry for promotion. “What do you expect” I asked, “Really, what do you expect?” In true feminine style it was all supposed to be nicey-nicey, with us all on first-name terms, neglecting everything I had already been put through, never mind the future court appearance. My criticism of the interview led to PC Believer’s promise of a lift home being withdrawn, so I had to catch the bus.
I got home for a much-needed cup of tea and a smoke. Then, wanting sane company, I called upon a certain friend, also to hear more of an astonishing story he had briefly mentioned a few days previously. Told of what had transpired that day I was given a catalogue of local women who had made false allegations of rape to the police, then months later had withdrawn them. None of the anguish they had caused the men had resulted in any consequences for the women.
“I’ve come for my Christmas present” I said as he was pouring out our coffees. “All you have to do is talk.” So I got another incredible-but-true story, or at least the necessary notes, for the article I’ve been working on recently, ‘Tales of Yorkshire Folk.’ It’s intended for a future issue of Heritage & Destiny, but is already rather long, perhaps too long for the magazine. This particular tale couldn’t possibly be left out though: ‘The Tightest Man in Yorkshire.’
Then it was back home to pick up the job I had been about to start when I was interrupted. This involves manually processing the SAP text, about 80,000 words. After the stress of the day it was relatively unthinking work, so quite therapeutic to spend a few hours on that.
The impression carried away from this latest encounter with the police was of bullies exploiting the power of the State to work out their innate resentment and bitterness. I am an easy target for them. The big question for me is, how long was it before the complainant looked me up on the (male-invented of course) internet. Was it in the twenty minutes or so between being given the card and me asking if she would like to be taken out, or in the two days which elapsed before the production of that six-page masterpiece? Possibly I was part of long-term plan for Trading Up, or perhaps she felt cheated because I hadn’t allowed myself to be strung along for an adequate duration. I admit that I am speculating here, but the number of possible explanations is definitely finite. Those familiar with Procedural Analysis will recognize the girl’s complaint as an ordinary case of Inverted Proclamation of Enhancement combined with Indirect Invocation.
I am only one of millions of men who feel the absence of those comforts only the female can provide more keenly at this time of year. In my case in addition there are wounds to be healed – I haven’t mentioned this before, but the experiments documented in TOA, from which so much knowledge was gained, were not without personal cost. Perhaps my reader can imagine the state of one of Pavlov’s dogs after a particularly arduous, and long-running, series of experiments. Indeed Wolpe in his 1952 paper observed that the effects of experimentally induced neurosis were remarkably persistent, sometimes enduring for the life of the animal. I think most of my psychological scars have healed in the intervening years, but not all of them.
It seems that institutions can only survive the female onslaught for so long – they have inertia for a while with a robust masculine core, not least because the institution is itself a masculine construct. The teaching profession was an early casualty. With the police, we reach the position where female criminality is regarded as normal behaviour and normal male behaviour is treated as criminal. The political correctness, box-ticking, and imposition of patently absurd rules now pervading British officialdom resembles not so much Super Feminine State as Super Feminine Farce. Fred Reed is dead right about the feminocracy (his recent column 578): this cannot continue indefinitely – there will be consequences.
I only hope they are not catastrophic. At the moment Cameron’s feminine Tory party intends to allow the Chinese to operate nuclear power stations in Britain. So maybe a few decades from now what remains of the British people will only emerge onto a vista of what was formerly our beautiful countryside wearing radiation suits.