Submitted for your approval: Ms. Helps is from Ontario, and I'm an immigrant. She has a job, and I'm looking for one. She runs the cops, and I run from the cops. Yet according to Intersectional Theory, I'm a male oppressor and she is my helpless female victim.
This topsy-turvy worldview stems from Marx's misreading of Hegel, whose work he famously "turned on its head". But if you actually read Hegel, as I do constantly, you know he thinks in circles, and if you turn a circle on its head you still have a circle*.
Marx didn't get that. All he got out of Hegel was Marx ― a reflection of his own Judeo-Christian mindset, but inverted, as in a mirror. Some would say a funhouse mirror.
This is why Intersectional Theory doesn't dismantle racial and gender hierarchies, it merely inverts them so that "white male" becomes the "nigger" of now. It doesn't change the system, it changes the batteries, puts them in backwards, and complains that nothing works. And it can't smash the Patriarchy because it is the Patriarchy, doing a head-stand.
Mayor Helps cut the public out of the statue debate because she sees us as children, unable to handle complex moral issues. You can't get more patriarchal than that without growing a handlebar moustache.
It's tempting to conclude that Ms Helps is behaving like that evil brat in the Twilight Zone, and that she needs a good spanking, with a studded paddle I bought on Etsy. But spanking the enemy is exactly where Intersectional Theory goes wrong. The whole point of Hegel is to embrace the opposite.
So here goes. I'm much more like that evil kid than Ms Helps will ever be, as a cursory examination of my hard drive will attest. Plus, spanking is just more Patriarchy, like the residential school system, which sought to reduce our North American cousins to children so we could have our way with them, remolding them in our own image, funhouse-mirror style.
This patriarchal attitude has taken a terrible toll on the original Canadians. We'd never put up with such a toll if they were bus drivers.
"Murdered at ten times the going rate, just because they're bus drivers? " we'd say, aghast. And we'd all get on board when they demanded change. Exact change, please. Because, well, you know bus drivers.
And there's the rub. We know bus drivers. We see them every day. But unless you've spent decades in some Godforsaken backwoods like Tofino, where I fell five votes shy of being elected Lefty Mayor myself in 1993, you might never even meet a native Canuck outside of a reconciliation workshop.
Tofino is more of a reconciliation sweatshop. The fish plant, for example, where I toiled seven winters, reliving the same ten gory seconds, like a time-lapse movie of Hell, got the job done. After ten hours of blood, guts and carpal-tunnel syndrome you could care less about the colour of the wage-slave standing next to you, only whether or not they're getting the job done.
As Marx would say, "Workers of the World, Unite!" Of course, Neo-Marxists like our mayor don't spend a lot of time in backwoods or fish plants. Too busy passing the feather round the healing circles at the University, whence this Intersectional madness spread like a distaff infection from Women's Studies to Sociology and Anthropology, and is now threatening the Biology department, where the sexist term "sex" was recently banned.
Anyone who objects is monsterized. And don't get me wrong, I'm not saying the Intersectional Brigade is coming your way, I'm saying they're here already!
"You're next! You're next!"
Sorry. That was the ending from Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Back to the Twilight Zone.
By the end of the episode the evil kid has wished the whole world away into the cornfield, except for his terrified parents and neighbours, who are forced to celebrate the little monster's party forever and ever. Russians called this the Great Terror.
We don't want to end up like that. And as Pink would say, the party has already started.
* Stolen from Peter Singer
** Act of Proscription, 1746