Multiculturalism watch: seems like there’s more work to be done yet

Repeat after me, so I can hear you:

Our culture is no better than any other, just different. Louder! It’s no better! Just different! And, when all is said and done, not that different either!

Good. But now that we’ve added our voices to the received mantra, let’s consider just how different.

For example, do you agree there ought to be a law banning young women from going out with men from another village? And that any transgressor must be sentenced to be gang-raped half to death?

If you don’t, you haven’t grasped the full meaning of multiculturalism. You should be sent to West Bengal to complete your education.

There, in a village just a few miles from the birthplace of the great humanist Rabindranath Tagore, a 20-year-old woman was tried by a kangaroo court for having an affair with a man outside her own community (and its religion).

By way of an improvised dock, both she and the man were tied to posts sticking out of an elevated bamboo platform. The judicial process was swift, none of that adversarial nonsense complete with dithering juries or loud-mouthed barristers.

At first the transgressor was sentenced to a fine, just £490 in our currency. Yet neither she nor her family could cough up that princely sum, which represents a fortune in that nuclear power capable of launching satellites into space. (Obviously we must urgently up our foreign aid, but that’s another story.)

The elders discussed the situation and, being sage men well-versed in the intricacies of tribal law, came up with an alternative punishment. The woman was to be gang-raped by all comers.

The verdict was hailed as just by all villagers, except perhaps the defendant’s family. They begged for a night’s reprieve, so they could scrape the exorbitant sum together. Their request was denied: just like in Stalin’s Russia, where the guilty were shot immediately after the verdict was announced, there was no delay.

“If the family does not pay up, go and enjoy yourselves,” the chief judge told the male villagers, and enjoy themselves they did, proceeding to execute the punishment with unbounded vigour. Some of the 13 rapists were barely post-pubescent children, some others men old enough to be the victim’s father.

Those not taking direct part in the fun watched it with relish, cheering and filming the action with their mobile phones (the village obviously keeps abreast of modern technology). The poor girl’s family were in a distinct minority and could do nothing.

Her cries reverberated through the night, by the end of which she was dumped at her doorstep, bleeding profusely from severe internal injuries. She’s now in hospital, fighting for her life.

Far from showing any repentance, the villagers barracked the police the next day when they finally arrived. The women were in especially fine voice, insisting that their men had done nothing wrong and the girl had been punished justly.

They even tried to prevent the police from arresting the criminals, and eventually reinforcements had to be brought in to take them into custody. But no government official has visited the scene of the crime yet, or talked to the victim’s family.

So far it’s unclear what action, if any, will be taken against the arrested men. It is however crystal-clear what action will be taken against the half-dead woman and her family.

“We will never allow the woman and her family to return,” vowed the villagers. After all, she had been warned not to continue the affair, or else. It’s because of her lackadaisical response that those good men ended up in prison, though, the villagers hoped, not for long. And the family had no business grassing up to the cops.

Actually, I have faith in India’s justice, and I doubt the savages will see their native village in the near future. Nor am I trying to suggest that India at large is in any way similar to that Bengali hellhole.

However, I doubt that a similar incident could have occurred in Cornwall, Bordeaux, Andalusia, Calabria or Brabant. This isn’t to say that our culture is inherently better, God and the Equality Commission forbid – only that it’s so different that any attempt at homogenising East and West will be as futile as Kipling once suggested.

Spanning such a chasm even within the borders of a Western country seems like a losing proposition – unless Eastern arrivals desperately wish to abandon their ways and adopt ours. It may be an optical illusion, but one doesn’t readily observe any effects of any such desire in Britain.

On the contrary, having reached a certain numerical critical mass, many ethnic and religious groups resident here openly preach contempt, often hatred, for everything British and indeed Western (except mobile phones, trainers, cars and I-Pads). For example, even though they’re born in this country, some Muslim youngsters join the ranks of suicide bombers murdering their fellow Brits.

Cultural and linguistic alienation is in full flow, whereas genuine adaptation is increasingly rare. Just think about it: those Bengali rapists are unlikely, one hopes against hope, ever to be admitted here. But their accomplices, all those cheerers and photo snappers, may well end up in Birmingham or Leeds. How British do you think they’ll become?

A harrowing thought, that, but an utterly realistic one. For our rulers are hell-bent on destroying our society and its culture, with dilution being one of the most effective stratagems. The less our electorate is British culturally, the more troubled the waters in which our spivs like to fish politically.

They proceed unimpeded for they’ve sold to the public the toxic myth of multiculturalism, realised in practice as a free-for-all for all cultures except that of Christendom. Few dare raise their voice against this newly hatched orthodoxy, and those who do are either hushed up or ostracised.

You know, like the family of that poor girl in West Bengal.  







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