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DF og Enhedslisten. Det er det svenske journalister kalder en “uhellig alliance”, hvad det så er, der  gør andre alliancer mere hellige……….Rejs østom eller  vestom, man risikerer at havne  på samme sted som Niels Hausgaard. (annonce i  24 timer)

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 »Alvarlig psykisk störning ? «

Jeg ved ikke om den findes i WHO klassificeringen, men i Sverige findes ovennævte psykiatriske tilstand,  en slags momentan  “Stockholm-psykose”, der går over  spontant. Da Rödeby faderen skød sine to plageånder, var han “alvorligt forstyrret”, men nu er han det ikke længere. (Bortset fra  at han er reduceret til et nervevrag over sagen). Derfor kan han ikke straffes  med fængsel, sagde  lægen i radioen til morgen. Og godt for det. Man skal ikke  straffes for at forsvare sig og sine, navnlig ikke når  samfundet var ude af stand til opfylde sine pligter overfor  familien. Selvtægt  går en stor fremtid i møde i Sverige. Andre, værre eksempler er  i frisk erindring . En sag der kaster et nådesløst lys over den svenske  retsstats impotens. Det er  snarere den, der er “alvorligt forstyrret” . Åh, Sverige !  –     Ulf Nilson:

1 Sverige har bara aningen över hälften så många poliser per hundratusen invånare som övriga EU-länder. Varför? Ja, pengar förstås. Budgethänsyn. Just därför ser man nästan aldrig en polis på stan – likamed fritt fram för våldsverkare och ligister. (Jag har mer än en aning om det jag skriver om. Min äldsta dotter rånades mitt på nyårsafton på öppen gata i en förort till Stockholm. Liknande inträffade, statistiskt sett, på styvt 200 platser i landet.)
2 Den nedbantade organisationen leder till att brottslingar inte straffas. I storstäderna klaras kanske tre procent av alla brott enligt strafflagen upp. Dessutom är fängelsestraffen, det är min privata uppfattning, alldeles för korta. Den som sitter inne rånar ingen, trackar ingen, misshandlar ingen – och riskerar inte heller att bli skjuten.
Rödeby visar att vi måste sluta håna kärnfamiljen

Per Bauhn i SvD: Kanske lag, men det är inte rättvisa

Det samhälle som gör anspråk på att ha våldsmonopol har inte kunnat eller velat skydda mannen och hans familj mot ett lokalt pöbelgäng, och nu vill samma samhälle döma honom som mördare, för det våld han använt för att freda sig själv och de sina, i sitt eget hem och mot individer som i ord och handling visat sin vilja och förmåga att skada familjen.

Skydd för inkräktare lag men inte rättvisa   Åklagaren “En ren avrättning”    Åklagaren utsatt för hot

Min fjendes fjende er kun en “allieret med forbehold” 

Den polariserede kulturdebat fører desværre undertiden til forenklede positioner og sympatier, også på ‘vores’ side. Én ting er at venstrefløjen tager det for givet at vi på vores side er pot i pande med den amerikanske administration i ét og alt. Det er vi naturligvis ikke sådan pr. automatik. Faktisk tror jeg en del af os er så kyniske, at vi godt ved at USA og Danmark ikke nødvendigvis har sammenfaldende interesser i alle spørgsmål. F. eks. at hensynet til europæernes livskvalitet, og måske endda frihed og fred på længere sigt, altid overtrumfer amerikansk behov for goodwill i den muslimske verden. Velkommen til den trøstesløse virkelighed:

Tyrkiet bør indlemmes i EU for fredens skyld. Det mener USA’s George W. Bush.USA’s præsident, George W. Bush, ser gerne, at Tyrkiet bliver medlem af EU. Det er “i fredens interesse”, siger Bush, der betegner Tyrkiet som en bro mellem Europa og den muslimske verden.Bush: Tyrkiet bør være med i EU

Som en lindring af det ubehag som denne historie medfører, kan man så i sit stille sind fryde sig over den kognitive dissonans det må give anledning til på venstrefløjen: Enighed med Bush. Så står verden da ikke længere. Kommer Tyrkiet med i EU, så står vores verden i hvert fald ikke længe.

LFPC

“Folkbildning”

Sindelagsbearbejdning af folket, de små kræ. Det er  i virkeligheden essencen i svensk politik og journalistik . Nu har de  virkelig prøvet alt – censur, smudskastning, accepteret vold og  berufsverbot, “dæmoniseret og brændemærket”, svinet Danmark til og brugt det som skræmmebillede –  og hvad sker der?  Folket vil stadig ikke makke ret, de længes efter  danske tilstande.  En betonsosse river sig i håret:

Parallellt med valförlusten 2006 och efterföljande analyser om orsaken till förlusten brottas socialdemokratin också med den främlingsfientliga opinionen i landet.Den opinionen går inte längre att nonchalera.
19 januari om halvannan vecka samlas ett hundratal ledande företrädare för arbetarrörelsen i Stockholm för att diskutera en ideologisk motoffensiv. Det blir starten på en lång folkbildningskampanj……..Massmedia har samtidigt ett helvete att hitta en rimlig hantering av främlingsfientliga partier……

Det går definitivt inte att demonisera och brännmärka sd:s väljare………

Den som förväntar sig en slagkraftig s-kampanj mot sverigedemokraterna efter socialdemokraternas möte 19 januari väntar förgäves. Så fungerar inte ett folkrörelseparti. Däremot blir det föredrag och studier av fenomen som populism, missnöjespolitik, främlingsfientlighet och rasism i Sverige och utomlands, läs Danmark………….

”Rörelsen kraftsamlar  mot extremismen.”

Kan Danmark godt have en kulturelite, hvis vi ikke har nogen kultur?

“Koncentreret selvhad” kalder Urias-Kim et udvalg af hårrejsende udtalelser fra den velkendte hjemlige ‘elite’. Hadet er ubestrideligt, og hvidglødende, men spørgsmålet er jo om Rifbjerg, Jensen, Sabroe et al. føler sig som medlem af dette foragtelige leverpostejs-Danmark? Er deres selvbillede ikke snarere at de tilhører en trans-national overklasse, som bare af historiske grunde har formelt tilhørsforhold til os udannede, snævertsynede pøbel? Uriasposten henviser bl. a. til denne citatsamling på Nomos, som kommentator Janne hos Urias har lavet dette destillat af:

Racister
Racistisk nation
Selvretfærdige
Selvgode
Egoistiske
Selvovervurderende
Provinsielle
Blonde og kornfede
Grin-selvretfærdigt sammenhold mod resten af verden
Ignorante
Hykleriske
Virkelighedsfornægtende
Danske penge stinker af sur komælk, fordærvet flæsk og Pia Kjærsgaards harske parfumer
Danskhed er det grimmeste ord, der overhovedet findes
Dannebrog burde afbrændes
Danskere er skide fremmedarbejdere
Danmark dejligt land uden danskere
Langtidsegoister
Onanistsamfund
Selvtilstrækkeligheden gennemsyrer alt
Den danske skizofreni
Neurotisk og krampagtig vilje til hygge
Hvis vi kun dyrkede hinanden, havnede vi i indavl og incest med en farlig degeneration med deformiteter som hareskår, misvækst, skæve hoveder og korte arme til følge
Det danske samfund: på talrige måder kuldsejlede og fallerede samfunds- og samlivsmodel
Maddikefarvede danskere
Bornert, middelmådig, småborgerlig kultur
Selvglad i egen usselhed, fedladen og mes tor færdighed i at trille tommelfingre
Dertil pylret, permanent småfornærmet og med skæv mistro
Dansk identitet er rugbrød, kogte kartofler og opbagt sovs
Vi – ærlig talt – ikke har så forfærdelig meget at byde på selv
Selvglad i sin egen usselhed, fedladen, pylret
Selvudslettende arrogance parret med en krybende storsnudethed
Mændene med deres fedladne ansigter
Kvinderne med deres elendige holdning, deres kluntede gang
Det sterile og indbildske lille land, hvis mennesker følte sig frie, fordi de kunne overhale hinanden og larme og svine luften til
Danmark du er svinelandet
Vi er kødeksport til helved
Vi er danske baconsvin
Slet det grimme kors af flaget – gør det rødt
En flok fede mus
Selvbedrageriske
Idiotiske danskere
Blafrende tåber og ideoter
Hva’faen er det for et land, mit skib er fortøjet til?
Jeg kan udmærket forestille mig, at Danmark en dag har sit Little Tyrkey
Danskere er ugenerøse og nærrige

De ikke-stillede spørgsmål har en særlig bevågenhed hos denne blogger. De var den direkte årsag til at jeg droppede nyheder på tv; temperamentet holdt bare ikke til mere mikrofonholderi. Således ville det være ganske i tråd med manglen på nysgerrighed, pågåenhed og professionel frækhed, hvis medlemmerne af ‘eliten’ aldrig er blevet konfronteret med dét faktum, at de som modtagere af statslige tilskud i stort omfang har ladet sig forsørge af os foragtelige leverpostejsspisere. Dét ville være så oplagt at spørge ind til, at man formentlig godt kan antage at det er det ikke blevet.

LFPC

 Slut med Tintin på arabisk 

Tintin er muligvis igen udsat for censur. I hvert fald har det egyptiske forlag, der i 30 år har udgivet albums med den kvikke, retsskafne reporter opsagt aftalen med Tintins forlag i Belgien.  
Tintin har ellers ofte besøgt den Mellemøsten. Hele fire albums fører tegneseriehelten til den arabisk talende verden. Han er ofte blevet beskyldt for at give udtryk for hvide, kolonialistiske synspunkter, ikke desto mindre har Tintin-hæfterne haft mange læsere. 180 Grader   (se også  Tusind og een krænkelser 1, 2 ,3 ,4)

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I Am But A Disembodied Voice, The Living Dead
What have I done that I can neither cross my own threshold nor enjoy human company?

Taslima Nasreen , My India Story

Where am I? I am certain no one will believe me if I say I have no answer to this apparently straightforward question, but the truth is I just do not know. And if I were to be asked how I am, I would again answer: I don’t know. I am like the living dead: benumbed; robbed of the pleasure of existence and experience; unable to move beyond the claustrophobic confines of my room. Day and night, night and day. Yes, this is how I have been surviving.
This nightmare did not begin when I was suddenly bundled out of Calcutta—it has been going on for a while. It is like a slow and lingering death, like sipping delicately from a cupful of slow-acting poison that is gradually killing all my faculties.¨

This is a conspiracy to murder my essence, my being, once so courageous, so brave, so dynamic, so playful. I realise what is going on around me but am utterly helpless, despite my best efforts, to wage a battle on my own behalf. I am merely a disembodied voice.

Those who once stood by me have disappeared into the darkness.
I ask myself: what heinous crime have I committed? What sort of life is this where I can neither cross my own threshold nor know the joys of human company? What crime have I committed that I have to spend my life hidden away, relegated to the shadows? For what crimes am I being punished by this society, this land? I wrote of my beliefs and my convictions. I used words, not violence, to express my ideas. I did not take recourse to pelting stones or bloodshed to make my point. Yet, I am considered a criminal. I am being persecuted because it was felt that the right of others to express their opinions was more legitimate than mine.

Does India not realise how immense the suffering must be for an individual to renounce her most deeply-held beliefs? How humiliated, frightened, and insecure I must have been to allow my words to be censored. If I had not agreed to the grotesque bowdlerisation of my writings by those who insisted on it, I would have been hounded and pursued till I dropped dead. Their politics, their faith, their barbarism, and their diabolical purposes are all intent on sucking the lifeblood out of me, because the truths I write are so difficult for them to stomach. How can I—a powerless and unprotected individual—battle brute force? But come what may, I cannot take recourse to untruth.
What have I to offer but love and compassion? In the way that they used hatred to rip out my words, I would like to use compassion and love to rip the hatred out of them. Certainly, I am enough of a realist to acknowledge that strife, hatred, cruelty and barbarism are integral elements of the human condition. This will not change; and how can an insignificant creature like me change all this? If I were to be eradicated or exterminated, it would not matter one whit to the world at large. I know all this. Yet, I had imagined Bengal would be different. I had thought the madness of her people was temporary. I had thought that the Bengal I loved so passionately would never forsake me. She did.

Exiled from Bangladesh, I wandered around the world for many years like a lost orphan. The moment I was given shelter in West Bengal, it felt as though all those years of numbing tiredness just melted away. I was able to resume a normal life in a beloved and familiar land. So long as I survive, I will carry within me the vistas of Bengal, her sunshine, her wet earth, her very essence. The same Bengal whose sanctuary I once walked many blood-soaked miles to reach has now turned its back upon me. I am a Bengali within and without; I live, breathe, and dream in Bengali. I find it hard to believe that I am no longer wanted in Bengal.

I am a guest in this land, I must be careful of what I say.

I must do nothing that violates the code of hospitality. I did not come here to hurt anyone’s sentiments or feelings. Wounded and hurt in my own country, I suffered slights and injuries in many lands before I reached India, where I knew I would be hurt yet again. For this is, after all, a democratic and secular land where the politics of the votebank imply that being secular is equated with being pro-Muslim fundamentalist. I do not wish to believe all this. I do not wish to hear all this. Yet, all around me I read, hear, and see evidence of this. I sometimes wish I could be like those mythical monkeys, oblivious to all the evil that is going on around me. Death who visits me in many forms now feels like a friend. I feel like talking to him, unburdening myself to him. I have no one else to speak to, no one else to whom I can unburden myself.

I have lost my beloved Bengal. No child torn from its mother’s breast could have suffered as much as I did during that painful parting. Once again, I have lost the mother from whose womb I was born. The pain is no less than the day I lost my biological mother. My mother had always wanted me to return home. That was something I could not do. After settling down in Calcutta, I was able to tell my mother, who by then was a memory within me, that I had indeed returned home. How did it matter which side of an artificial divide I was on? Now, I do not have the courage to tell my mother that I have been unceremoniously expelled by those who had once given me shelter, that my life now is that of a nomad. My sensitive mother would be shattered if I were to tell her all this. Instead, I have now taken to convincing myself that I must have transgressed somewhere, committed some grievous error. Why else would I be in such a situation? Is daring to utter the truth a terrible sin in this era of falsehood and deceit? Is it because I am a woman?

I know I have not been condemned by the masses. If their opinion had been sought, I am certain the majority would have wanted me to stay on in Bengal. But when has a democracy reflected the voice of the masses? A democracy is run by those who hold the reins of power, who do exactly what they think fit. An insignificant individual, I must now live life on my own terms and write about what I believe in and hold dear. It is not my desire to harm, malign, or deceive. I do not lie. I try not to be offensive. I am but a simple writer who neither knows nor understands the dynamics of politics. The way in which I was turned into a political pawn, however, and treated at the hands of base politicians, beggars belief. For what end, you may well ask. A few measly votes. The force of fundamentalism, which I have opposed and fought for many years, has only been strengthened by my defeat.

This is my beloved India, where I have been living and writing on secular humanism, human rights and emancipation of women. This is also the land where I have had to suffer and pay the price for my most deeply held and fundamental convictions, where not a single political party of any persuasion has spoken out in my favour, where no non-governmental organisation, women’s rights or human rights group has stood by me or condemned the vicious attacks launched upon me. This is an India I have never before known. Yes, it is true that individuals in a scattered, unorganised manner are fighting for my cause, and journalists, writers, and intellectuals have spoken out in my favour, even if they have never read a word I have written. Yet, I am grateful for their opinions and support.

Wherever individuals gather in groups, they seem to lose their power to speak out. Frankly, this facet of the new India terrifies me. Then again, is this a new India, or is it the true face of the nation? I do not know.Since my earliest childhood I have regarded India as a great land and a fearless nation. The land of my dreams: enlightened, strong, progressive, and tolerant. I want to be proud of that India. I will die a happy person the day I know India has forsaken darkness for light, bigotry for tolerance. I await that day. I do not know whether I will survive, but India and what she stands for has to survive.

Outlook India, log in

Official Homepage: Taslima, a physician, a writer, a radical feminist, human rights activist and a secular humanist.

Throw Taslima out, Muslim leaders tell govt.

Seven  top Muslim religious organisations have asked the central government not to extend the visa of controversial Bangladeshi writer, Taslima Nasreen, and have decided to meet Prime Minister Manmohan Singh seeking strict action against her for hurting the religious sentiments of Indians.
8.1.2008

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