I bought a different brand of diary for this year, and it has dropped Easter. Easter Day is plain Sunday 1 April. An April Fool’s joke? I’d say more a metaphor of the state of our ‘pluralist’ society. The most sacred festival of the year for those people (still a majority in this country) who consider themselves Christian, and the diary doesn’t want to know. It’s like something out of Orwell. A festival becomes an unfestival.
Good Friday gets a mention as a public holiday, and Easter Saturday is listed as ‘The Day After Good Friday (SA)’, which is a strangely oblique way of leading you to infer that Easter Day is the day after that.
Not that the diary is cramped for space. All the other public holidays are there together with ‘special days’ the publishers think we ought to know about. Last Wednesday week, 21 March, was a real red-letter entry, with two important occasions jostling for observance. One was United Nations Day for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination, a noble cause in which, apparently, Australia is lagging. We’re not doing enough eliminating, or so the UN complained recently, stooping down from from its lofty height of moral and democratic perfection to stick its nose into our affairs.
According to the business-class Jellybys who compiled the UN report, we’re allowing ‘racism’ to grow and flourish in our midst. You can see what they mean – look no further than Peter Dutton’s shocking proposal to give white South African farmers sanctuary from a rerun of the Zimbabwe murders: pure white supremacism.
The other, and not unrelated, special occasion was Harmony Day, which you mightn’t have heard of, but which its website explains is ‘about inclusiveness, respect and belonging for all Australians, regardless of cultural or linguistic background, united by a set of core Australian values.’ This turns out on closer examination to be yet another excuse for handing out taxpayers’ money for inane ‘events’ that ‘address racism and prejudice at the community level’ and ‘build greater respect and understanding of diversity’. Only up to a point, though, as that word ‘united’ lets slip. You can be as diverse as you like, as long as you’re united by the core Australian values, i.e., don’t come to the Harmony Day barbecue with your bomb.
Colour coordination (not skin colour presumably) is important too, as it was for Nazis and Fascists. ‘Australians can choose to wear something orange’ on Harmony Day, the website graciously allows. Why orange? At this point the nannyish official verbiage wanders off into the realm of semiotics. ‘Orange,’ it pronounces, ‘signifies social communication and meaningful conversations’. Really? What about Agent Orange? That’s for social communication of a sort, but surely not the type Harmony Day organisers have in mind. Nor would it be advisable to wear orange when conversing meaningfully with a St Patrick’s Day crowd in an Irish-themed pub.
If you strip away the blather, Harmony Day is just another piece of propaganda for multiculturalism, aimed at selling us more of this socially fissile policy which encourages newcomers to pretend they’re still at home but without the poverty or tyranny or whatever they left to get away from.
It’s also an attempt to paper over the inconvenient refusal of some ethnic groups to get with the programme in this ‘most successful multicultural country on earth’, witness the reciprocal dislike between Chinese and Vietnamese, or Indians and Pakistanis. And it would be interesting to know how many mosques arrange Harmony Day events to promote ‘the benefits of living in a culturally diverse society’.
The absence of Easter from my diary might be attributed to the publishers’ assuming it to be too familiar a part of the calendar to warrant mention. Everyone knows when Easter is: it starts almost as soon as the last irritating strains of ‘Pat-a-pat-pan’ and ‘Wonderful Christmas Time’ have died away in the supermarkets (to the universal relief of the staff, one imagines). Everyone also knows, which shows that we are still at heart a devout country, what Easter signifies: the cunicular resurrection, that is, in non-theological terms, nothing to do with rack railways but the reappearance in the shops after eight months of dormancy of the Easter Bunny.
Easter eggs make a reappearance too, and as any earnest secularist bore will tell you, eggs are a pagan symbol of fertility and new birth, ‘culturally appropriated’ by Christians and applied to the Resurrection of Christ. Which brings us to the relevance that the real Easter, pace my diary, could have for our civilisation.
Resurrection can only come, if at all, after death, and our society is mortally sick. Like the declining cultures of antiquity we are obsessed by non-reproductive sexual deviation. We are being rent asunder by feminism, the great heresy of our time; and in the name of the ‘rights’ it claims for women we kill our young before they are born (fertility is the last thing such a society should be celebrating). We have abandoned the principle that everyone is of equal worth for the snakepit of identity politics. We diminish the splendour of the human person by acting as if people amounted to no more than their (adjustable) ‘gender identity’. Our art is quite literally shit, state-subsidised faeces, as Roger Franklin on Quadrant Online was the first to reveal. Civility is disintegrating: in the words of a perceptive young woman journalist, ‘the generation brought up to manners and politeness is disappearing’. Education is dumbed down, screaming and ‘deplatforming’ has displaced reasoned debate in universities. We have swallowed the postmodern lie of ‘cultural relativism’ – ‘diversity’s’ sire – and dismiss our civilisation – the most liberal and prosperous history has known, the highest and finest culture ever – as no better than the world of a desert nomad or a poison-dart blower in Borneo. No one but a robotic leftist would consider this progress. No one but a fantasist could imagine our days are not numbered.
Is there any hope that our dying Western heritage can be revived? Must it first disappear into a dark age, perhaps to be rediscovered by a future generation as in the Renaissance? One way might be by a recovery of our Judaeo-Christian birthright: when we abandoned our religion we abandoned the culture that formed around it. Such a recovery seems unlikely to say the least, yet if we draw any lesson from the death-to-resurrection narrative this Easter it should be that anything is possible, with faith. If only we could recover faith in ourselves and our civilisation before it is too late.
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