Castro’s Foppish Fans Fawn
And so it begins. Without missing a beat, Canada’s boy-king, the foppish progressive Justin Trudeau — son of foppish neo-Maoist Pierre Trudeau — has leapt into the abyss to praise his father’s dear friend, the butcher Fidel Castro.
Trudeau, who is attending the Francophonie Summit in Madagascar, expressed his deep sorrow at learning of Castro’s passing.
His statement offered condolences on behalf of all Canadians and at the same time acknowledged that Castro was a controversial figure.
But Trudeau also referred to the late president as a “legendary revolutionary and orator.”
The prime minister went on to say that “Mr. Castro made significant improvements to the education and healthcare of his island nation.”
Would Justin care to name a few of these “improvements”? Of course not, for that would require knowing what the hell he was talking about, rather than merely spouting politically correct talking points about a fellow leftist and “legendary revolutionary and orator.” Right. Castro was a legendary orator in roughly the same way the Peloponnesian War was a legendary skirmish — where “legendary” is a euphemism for painfully interminable. As for being a revolutionary, I guess that depends how loose you wish to be with the term. If Lenin and Stalin were revolutionaries, then Castro was a revolutionary. But in an age of more precise language, people used to reserve words like “revolutionary” for men trying to have a positive effect on a nation, rather than to destroy decency and civilization for all time. Color me old-fashioned, I guess.
As usual with progressives when they are immersed in praising themselves and one another, the innocent victims are to be swept under the rug. They don’t matter. They are mere collateral damage, the necessary price of progress. That they might not have agreed with this judgment of their worth is of no consequence. Their betters in the state apparatus and the intelligentsia have declared their death, imprisonment, poverty, and/or exile useful fodder for the “revolution,” and that’s the only perspective that matters.
“Young Trudeau,” as a defensive idolator once named him to me, continues to distinghish himself in the manner of an obsequious schoolgirl desperate to please the teacher by saying exactly what she believes he wants to hear. The schoolteacher, in this case, is Chairman Mao, but no matter. Nitwits can’t be choosers.
