Diaspora, of Course

Gstaad—I had the rather subversive idea of offering a six-figure sum to Oriel College, Oxford. On one condition: that the college immediately terminate the Rhodes scholarship for the South African Ntokozo Qwabe, the hypocrite who led the campaign to remove the statue of Cecil Rhodes, as well as any other recipients of Cecil’s munificence who are blackening his name a century later.

It is the least these hypocrites deserve. Oxbridge has become a joke by trying to emulate the LSE in radicalism and other such ludicrous poses. The group that called Jihadi John a beautiful young man should be allowed to speak at Oxford, according to some jerk who is the warden of Wadham College, Oxford, yet Germaine Greer is banned, illustrating the perversity of our universities. I debated four times at the Oxford Union, winning three out of four, and my only defeat was due to a politically incorrect remark I made when an extremely obese black female student complained about almost starving to death following Hurricane Katrina. (“You could use a bit of a diet, honey.”) I have never been invited back and am rather glad for that. It takes too long to get there, the dinner in black tie is rather sloppy, the wine quite poor, and the students not very respectful. But dim. PC reigns supreme. The only good that’s ever come out of the four trips is that three times out of four I brought some girl students back to London with me. Mind you, that was long ago.

Radical do-gooders are a pain in the ass. They are driven by moral rage, and PC is their bible. They are basically fanatics who mask their radicalism in pretend sainthood. Andrei Sinyavsky was such a moral do-gooder, a famous dissident in the Soviet Union until he migrated to Israel and joined the extremist group of settlers who would like to “disappear” the Palestinians on whose land they live. Some saint he. Reducing the world’s suffering is a noble idea, but those who get the most publicity have more often than not terrible double standards. Some American neocon recently wrote how a rational saint would rescue two strangers from drowning rather than one person, his mother because saving two souls is better than one. Not me. I’d rather rescue my mother any day—I’m not English, after all—and to hell with two or three or four strangers. I guess that makes me a bad guy in the eyes of the moralists.

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