Delingpole: ‘Pillocks! Dozens of ‘Em!’ – Snowflakes Try to Ban Screening of Zulu

ZULU

A tiny bunch of left-wing loons with no lives, shrivelled penises, and the collective IQ of a pickled herring is trying to ban a screening of the classic 60s movie Zulu at an armed forces fund-raising event in Kent.

Before I go on can I absolutely stress that while it has been widely reported – eg here and here – this is NOT a news story? The only reason I am writing about it is because it’s an excuse to say what a marvellous film Zulu is: one of those character-building experiences that every boy should have on his route to manhood.

It teaches the important virtue of keeping a stiff upper lip even as your small, thinly-manned outpost is surrounded by Zulus – farsands of ’em – and you are in grave danger of being disembowelled by one of their fearsome assegais. You learn that if you keep your head, suppress your urge to flee and stand with your comrades you may yet prevail, just like the 150 or so British and colonial troops did at the Battle of Rorke’s Drift in 1879 when they successfully held out against a vastly superior of perhaps 3,000 Zulus whose spears were still bloody from the 1,300 imperial troops they’d helped slaughter the day before at Isandlwana.

It’s also the film where Michael Caine really established himself as one of the greats, playing against type as an upper class English officer (Lt Gonville Bromhead). Plus Stanley Baker and sundry other fine actors are in it. It has a fine score by John Barry. And the Zulu king Cetshwayo is famously played by his great grandson chief Buthelezi.

If you want more on why Zulu is so wonderful, here’s a piece I wrote on the subject earlier this year.

This was in response to a similar incident also involving a tiny minority of Social Justice Warrior killjoys. On that occasion, a worker on the London Underground had written an “on this day” historical notice on a billboard, informing commuters that it was the anniversary of Rorke’s Drift.

Some random offence-taker took offence. And like a shark scenting blood, in came pop star Lily Allen burnishing her woke credentials:

Even so, complaints were made by the usual suspects and – as is the way of modern officialdom – Transport for London swiftly caved in, apologised for the sign and scrubbed the message.

This prompted a jubilant campaigner to crow on a video: “That [noticeboard] is supposed to be for uplifting comments, not for celebrating colonialism, so I’m glad you’re wiping it off.”

Lily Allen shared the clip with the message “too right” – and later used her Twitter account to engage with people who disagreed. She said she found celebrating Britain’s colonial past “disgusting” and mocked one critic as someone who based his history on having “watched Zulu once”.

Do you see the pattern here?

Here’s how it works.

99.99 per cent of the population just wants to go on living their lives in a normal, happy way free of lunatic interference from oppressive busy-bodies. One chap might want to celebrate an historical date on a billboard – something which, no doubt, 99.99 per cent of those who passed it would have appreciated. Some other chaps might want to raise money for an armed forces charity with a screening of a popular classic film.

But the 0.01 per cent (actually the true percentage is probably even smaller than that) insist on spoiling everyone’s fun with their immensely tedious and small-minded political point.

And amazingly, instead of ignoring the 0.01 per cent as you do with the bad smell when someone farts in a lift (elevator), everyone feels compelled to take their witterings seriously. Institutions and individuals apologise to them; newspapers report on their antics, often in the manner of this version of the story in KentOnline.

Campaigners are calling for a charity showing of epic war film Zulu to be axed over claims it contains “racist overtones”.

The weasel word in that sentence is “campaigners”. It gives these vexatious pests a credibility, an authority they have neither earned nor deserve. I’ve read about six different accounts of this story. They usually mention the “28 people” who have written an “open letter” to Folkestone’s mayor demanding the screening be cancelled for the following pathetic excuse of a reason:

“(But) we believe that the choice of the film Zulu, with its inaccurate portrayal of historical events and its distortions and racist overtones, could have a negative effect on relationships within the changing and richly diverse communities here in Folkestone.”

None of them, though, gives any clue as to the identities of these 28 people.

Who are they? And why should care what they think anyway? Folkestone alone has a population of nearly 50,000, mostly the kind of elderly white people for whom a classic 1960s movie starring Michael Caine is meat and drink. Just because none of them has bothered to speak out on this non-issue, whereas 28 obsessive, small-minded, troublemaking SJW activists have, are we, therefore, to conclude that the SJW activist line should predominate?

Of course not. This is no more than common sense. Almost everyone, not just in Britain, but in the entirety of the West feels this way. And we’re sick of having our freedoms disrupted by this irksome minority.

It’s probably why the recent Tracey Ullman sketch ‘When you so woke you asleep’ has been going viral on social media.

It is set in a self-help group for “people who are so woke that they are finding it impossible to have any fun at all”.

The final line – in response to a Social Justice Warrior who has taken offence at some incredibly minor, microaggressive infraction one too many times – is: “Fuck off, Jamie.”

And that’s how, from now on, we should respond to these people every time. They do not deserve media space. They do not deserve air space. But if we’re going to insist on giving these irksome tossers their time in the sun, then let’s make it clear, at every stage, that we hold their rancid, pettifogging opinions in nothing but contempt. Otherwise, before you know it, the little bastards will have won – just like the Bolsheviks in 1917…

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