Southern Discomfort – A Voice for Men

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Author: Paul Elam

The following is a transcript from my latest video talk. You can view it here. PE

Hey guys, once again it is time for one of our talks. And per the suggestion of one of my patrons, I am going to start addressing an item or items in the current news cycle before this and each of my future talks. I may have a lot to say about some news stories, or less than a lot to say, but I will find something to include each time.

And unless you’ve been under a rock the past month, you know that the most recent news cycle has been totally dominated by the disappearance and killing of Gabby Petito. Note: this is where I am supposed to chime in with my righteous indignation about what happened to her, virtue signaling till I give myself a hernia; letting my disdain for her killer and my profound sorrow for her family drip off every word I dare to utter. I should wind up and do my best Nancy Grace, cartoonishly waving her journalistic sword as though she was doing anything but playing to her audience with how fabulously moral and compassionate they are.

Sorry, but as much as I would like to, it’s hard for me to care. Sure, it’s a tragic story, and indeed I do have sympathy for Petito and her family. But it’s hard for me to forget that it’s always tragic, as long as we’re talking about the fate of a pretty, little, blond, white girl. Meanwhile, there’s a ton of other suffering in the world, most of it endured by men and boys of all shapes, sizes and colors. And the media, as well as Nancy Grace’s fabulously moral and compassionate audience, couldn’t care less. Not that I particularly blame them. The media and its consumers, are, after all, just a window into the values of a society. And for all the social justice bravado and inclusivity that this society loves to put on ostentatious display, it’s still pretty, little, blond white girls, and only pretty, little, blond white girls, who matter.

And by the way, gents, your red pill community isn’t at all immune from any of this. Indeed, all this sappy gushing over a single woman, even if it’s old news to the manosphere, provides an appropriate segue into today’s talk. Because in the end analysis, even in so-called red pill community, men lose their fucking minds when a pretty, little, blond white girl shows up. Or a brunette, for that matter. Or even a ginger. And she doesn’t even have to be pretty, or even, I suppose, little. Because I’ve seen what happens when women show up in the vicinity of the manosphere, uttering even the most superficial defense of men.

Allegedly red pill men swarm in, gushing validation and admiration as blindly and effusively as any blue pill step and fetch. It’s why you’re probably familiar with the notion that most red pill men are one blowjob away from being a cuck. And I am here to tell you that it doesn’t even take a blow job for most of these guys. The wishful thinking is enough to turn them. That and the purely delusional idea that being an antifeminist is the same thing as being an ally to men and boys. Jesus, how I wish that the bloody thick-skulled among us would figure that one out.

Case in point is Lauren Southern, erstwhile antifeminist warrior who, for a short time, did a lot of high-profile shit-stirring and poking of the feminist beehive. And at that she did a good job, at least until the going got tough. But if you want to find out how she really feels about men, just take a look at how she treats many of them who so fervently supported her work.

Southern recently reflected on her experience with the manosphere when she got on Twitter and lashed out, and I quote, “Can’t stand most of the manosphere. Why?” she pretended to ask herself, “Because I gave them the benefit of the doubt and got to know the community, and it’s rotten inside and out.”

Unsatisfied with simply throwing a blanket of condemnation over an entire community, she goes on to promote a phony threat narrative that would make any feminist proud, advising young men to, and again I quote, “Get out while you can.”

“Save yourselves, young men,” she pleads, undoubtedly all eaten up with concern about young men. And she adds, in the instructive parlance of an irate librarian, “Criticizing feminism is fine. You can do that without hating women.”

Then, as if on cue, Sydney Watson, another antifeminist who is often confused for an ally of men, chimes in, “Yep,” she agrees, “this about sums it up. It’s on the same level as radical feminism.”

“Agree entirely with you both,” adds Daisy Cousens, a relative wannabe in the world of privileged, misandric antifeminists. To her credit, Cousens goes where Southern and Watson would like to, but won’t. She claims rape threats came with an alleged war she had with the manosphere. That it was a war I never heard of with rape threats she never produced evidence of goes without saying. One more false allegation, Daisy, and you get a GoFundMe, amiright?

With female support like this, who needs Big Red, eh?

Jesus, how to respond to all this nonsense? Well, I will take a shot at it. It’s what I do. Links to support that in the description area.

Let me start by saying that if you connect the dots on Southern’s squawking about the manosphere, you see that her little mean girl fit was inspired by the idea that most of the men of the manosphere, inside and out according to Southern, hate women. It’s a narrative clearly supported by Watson and Cousens as well. I will address that before I am done here, but first I want to give Southern the credit for something she righteously deserves.

Note, once again from her statement, “Because I gave them the benefit of the doubt.”

You hear that, guys? She gave you the benefit of the doubt. She set aside the feminist narrative about you that she actually believes, and gave you the chance to redeem yourself in her eyes. You failed. You could have had her approval; the approval of a pretty little, blond, white girl, and you fucked it up. She will never be this magnanimous again. Nor will, I suppose, Watson or Cousens. I’m afraid you’ve badly disappointed, not once, but thrice.

Congratulations are in order, I  suppose, but I have to wonder where I’ve seen this kind of self-deluding, one way conversation before? Oh yeah, that’s right, I’ve seen it women who create histrionics around a breakup. For that matter, you could replace the word manosphere in Southern’s tweet with Bruce or Chad and it would still read pretty much the same. In its fundamental essence, that is all this is. A breakup of sorts. A woman scorned, expressing her dissatisfaction with a public display of rejection, punctuated by a manufactured threat narrative.

And that, dear listeners, is the point of all three tweets. To reject you as unfit, and to paint you as a threat to women.

Allies to men, are they?

Let’s take the closer look at what in all likelihood happened. Indeed, I can say that I am 100% convinced that I know exactly what happened. These three women, like all the women whose work and lives overlap at some point with the manosphere, ran into heaps of approval and adoration. The prettier they are, the more approval and adoration they got. In other words, it was pretty much life as usual for pretty little blond white girls where it comes to men.

All that is great, but eventually they also noticed that along with the heaps of approval and adoration from men who approve of and adore pretty much anything female, they also ran into some angry men; men who weren’t so approving or adoring. Men who wouldn’t hold their tongues. Men who said harsh things and who made no apology for saying harsh things.

Just who were these awful men who weren’t approving and adoring? Why were these men spoiling the fun of pretty, little, blond, white girls?

Well, I happen to know who they were. The manosphere is comprised chiefly of men who share common experiences; like being the target of false allegations; like parental alienation and ruinous divorces; men who’ve had their reputations destroyed and finances eviscerated. Men who have been shackled with real iron and seen their educational future evaporate before their eyes. Men who’ve had the state plow through their lives like loose topsoil, shredding everything of value. Men with children whose minds have been poisoned against them. Men who have been treated with a level of injustice that would make Kafka cringe.

And sure, almost all this destruction was done by the state. And of course, not all women are like that. But one central, unavoidable truth remains. At the very heart of each one of these stories, some of them every bit as tragic as Gabby Petito, is a woman with a gun in her hand. They state may have put it the gun there under the direction of feminists, but it was in the hands of a woman and she pulled the trigger. At the core of each nightmare was a woman who had the power to destroy a man and used it while women as far as the eye can see cheered her on.

Call me crazy, but my decidedly male brain informs me that these facts might result in men who have some things to talk about, even if it makes women, or anyone else for that matter, uncomfortable. That same male brain also informs me that what they have to say won’t always be pleasant. They won’t be issuing the approval and adulation their critics so obviously crave.

And when these guys sometimes erupt in their agony, when they become so pressurized from stress that it is vent or explode, the arrogant, privileged likes of Southern, et al, are there to push the knife in a little deeper. For in the final analysis, their reaction to seeing the pain of abused men on full display isn’t to try to understand, but to shame and ridicule the disaffected back into silence. You see, dear listener, they don’t have to understand anything. That’s on you, and it’s your goddam job is to candy coat the wreckage of your life so that pretty, little, blond, white girls don’t have to show a shred of real humanity.

The gynocentric privilege that drives the likes of Southern, Watson and Cousens is the same gynocentric privilege that drives every garden variety feminist shitbird I ever encountered. In the end, the only thing that separates the now butthurt Southern and your average feminist is 70 pounds and a bottle of pink hair dye, and we’ll soon see what the wall does to that equation.

As I often remind you, there are no victims, just volunteers. The fact that these phonies meet with such easy, unearned approval from the manosphere is a much bigger problem than the trivial bullshit they are complaining about from our more damaged members.

If any of them had even an inkling of men’s issues, or any real compassion under all that makeup, they’d point to the vocal, angry minority of red pill men and tell the world the truth; that vocal, angry men are what we create when we treat them like garbage. Instead of whining about men who act out some of their pain on a keyboard, they’d be telling the world that when you treat men like monsters, that is exactly what some of them will become.

In other words, they’d have to actually have the capacity to see a bigger picture than their butthurt of the day.

Fat chance.

Instead, they’ll default react like children, publicly damseling straight out of the feminist playbook. Watson couldn’t be more wrong than if she were leading a slutwalk. She’s the one chiming in on a misandric, manufactured threat narrative. The only difference is that feminists are more honest about their indifference to men’s pain.

And of course, gynocentrism in the Red Pill community plays the biggest role in this. To understand what I mean, linked below is a critique I did of Christina Hoff Sommers, another so called antifeminist with female privilege issues. Everything I said about Sommers was demonstrably true, including the feminist narrative she furthers that erases men who live below the poverty line, yet check the comments. You’ll find enough white knights in there to make a cuck army. It was disappointing but not unexpected.

You know, I do think quite a bit about some of the women who are involved in the men’s movement. There are a small handful of very good advocates. I’ve sometimes put myself in their shoes and wondered how they do it. They experience the same, angry, vocal men that we all see at times on social media.

The answer to that is pretty self-explanatory. Those men’s advocates, who I can absolutely count on one hand, see men for what they often are. Men in pain. Men who are frustrated, angry and sometimes desperate. Men on the edge of losing their sanity and indeed their lives.

Because they actually give a shit, knowing that helps them to not take it all personally. They also get the benefit of seeing red pill men after they finally detox from blue pill life and start moving toward self-actualized lives, but that’s a subject for another talk.

Look, I don’t even know if there is a lesson in this other than the obvious. Being a pretty little blond white girl who gets approval and adoration that borders on worship because she took on the intellectual child’s play of challenging feminists doesn’t make her a friend to men. In the end, it doesn’t even prove she’s not an enemy.

And of course the rest is on us, men.  White knights gonna white knight. Cucks gonna cuck. Privileged little, pretty blond, white girls gonna privilege. Nothing I say here or that you do there is going to change any of that. But I do think that when the prima donnas out themselves in such spectacular fashion, we ought to be kind enough to point out what a good job they did, hopefully without our fellows rushing in to put a pillow under their privileged asses. To that end, I hope my part is done.

As always, I hope you enjoyed today’s talk, even if you didn’t, and we’ll see you next time.

CHS Video

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