We’ve all heard and seen the famous aphorism about sausages (vegans should cover their eyes): You might like the end result but you don’t want to see how sausages are made! If you’ve ever seen an uncooked sausage, you might have a clue; if that’s not enough, remove the casing but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Narratives–especially “social justice” narratives–are like sausages. The truth–like the cow or pig or fowl–gets ground up in the machine. A casing of feel- good lingo is wrapped around the mess to hold it together, and the finished product is sold to the unsuspecting
carnivores public. In the coming days, we will touring the factory in all its glory, section by section, set in the glorious kapital of our nation, D.C. With that introduction, my fellow social justice warriors, let’s tour the narrative sausage factory.
Some of the narratives we will see crafted here include: inequality is bad, equity is good; inequality is de facto evidence of discrimination; diversity of color is our strength, diversity of thought is our weakness; free speech is not hate speech; attacking those who disagree with you is not tyranny, as long as you are more moral; the campus should be a totally safe space; a safe space should be a place where you are not exposed to disagreements; historical wrongs should give a people group extra rights in the present; groups matter, individuals don’t; academic freedom entails a professor teaching whatever Xe wants to; college tuition will continue to increase forever because it’s so valuable; everything is a social construct, except homosexuality #BornThisWay; anyone who disagrees with the preceding narratives is evil and deserves to be suppressed by any means, especially violence.
As you can see, this factory is never out of narratives; it runs on the ancient hydra principle: Cut off one limb, and another grows. The beauty of modern narrative sausage technology is, that we can go the hydra one better, actually many times better. Cut off one narrative, three more take its place, often at taxpayer expense! It’s a beautiful thing. The enemy also makes narratives, and I secretly filmed their factory in Philadelphia. Some of their’s include: My country ‘tis of thee; sweet land of liberty; of thee I sing; land where my fathers died; land of the Pilgrims’ pride; from every mountainside let freedom ring. What absolute garbage! At least it rhymes. The following narrative about Jane Fonda is not a digression, but you’ll have to slog your way through it to find out why it belongs here. These accounts come from the UK Daily Mail and a program, Jane Fonda in Five Acts.
For 16 years, 60’s radical icons Tom Hayden and Jane Fonda were married, had children, then split up. Of Fonda, Hayden said, “when you are internationally famous, and have Hollywood studios and public relations firms working 24 hours a day to make you larger than life, everything and everyone becomes a prop. Our bedroom was a prop, our kitchen was a prop, eventually I felt like a prop.” If this revelation was too much for him, he got his revenge. One day, at the height of her fame in the mid-70’s, Jane Fonda turned up on the doorstep of her ex-husband, Roger Vadim. She was lugging a bulging sack. Vadim’s glamorous new girlfriend let her in, thrilled to meet the movie icon at last. But her excitement soon turned to disbelief. The star of Julia, Klute and The China Syndrome had come to do her laundry. Why? Because her second husband, Tom Hayden, a Left-wing activist with a bulbous nose and acne-scarred cheeks, had forbidden her to have either a washing machine or dishwasher. Far too bourgeois. Not only that, but he’d made her sell her comfortable house in Los Angeles and buy a shabby two-bedroom shack in Santa Monica that smelled of mildew, where the couple shared a mattress on the floor. She couldn’t even wear her Cartier wristwatch any more, because Hayden disliked any show of possessions. Many of her friends looked on in disbelief as she once again subjugated herself to a man. Instead of procuring women for threesomes—as she had in her marriage to Vadim—she was now working herself to a frazzle to raise millions for her husband’s political campaigns. Hayden had a grandiose fantasy of becoming President of the United States—and Jane was determined to make him famous. To that end, stories about ‘Tom and Jane’ would appear in the Press—it was never ‘Jane and Tom’ because Hayden insisted on his name coming first.
Knowing Tom needed vast sums for his next electoral campaign, Jane looked for a way to earn more money. She launched an exercise studio called Workout in 1982 that spawned a $20 million fitness empire. More than $1 million of her profits went into his ‘war-chest’, and she poured $17 million into his Campaign for Economic Democracy, which he’d founded to promote progressive causes. In the mid-80’s, she was at her lowest ebb. Hayden had ridiculed her at a big benefit dinner and told people he resented being called Mr Jane Fonda. He was also spending a lot of time with Vicky Rideout, a sexy political speechwriter 20 years Jane’s junior. On the night his wife turned 51, Hayden told her he was in love with another woman. Jane threw him out after discovering he’d brought Rideout back to their own bedroom. Gathering all of his belongings into large plastic bags, she tossed them out of a window.
Hanoi Jane was soon to undergo her third radical makeover — as a trophy wife. Yet again, she would subjugate herself to a man, but this time he was a Right-wing billionaire who would lavish on her every luxury she’d once rejected. She ended up marrying Ted Turner, and for ten years, it worked because Jane was willing to give herself up to his need for control. She said she finally realized that she was stronger and braver than he was, that he couldn’t bear to be alone. Her revelation, the reason for leaving was, as she put it, “as long as you stay, you can never be authentic.” She also admitted to having plastic surgery, while hating the fact that she couldn’t bear to have a “lived in” face like Vanessa Redgrave. Relevant to this post, she summed up her quest to know who she was: “I had to find my own narrative.” If you’ve been wondering, “why stick Jane Fonda into a perfectly good satirical post?”, that one sentence is why. The story of Jane is the story of how many, if not all, social justice narratives, are the product of broken, narcissistic people who need a cause to make them feel worthwhile, while in private, they trample those who love them into the dust or subjugate themselves to same. Keep that truth in mind as we tour the narrative sausage factory in the coming posts.