I watched a documentary tonight on Margaret Thatcher, the recently deceased, long-time right-wing British prime minister. It aired tonight on New York’s local public television station, and surely the commies there must have gnashed their teeth, as it mostly praised the “Iron Lady,” whose politics led Britain from near bankruptcy and turmoil of the 1970s caused by left-wing policies to the prosperity of the “Cool Brittania” 1990s (which Tony Blair’s left-wing Labour Party took credit for, but only by adopting much of Mrs. Thatcher’s economic policies).
Now the documentary flashed back a few times to her youth. Thatcher was a plain-faced girl; she was no great beauty in her youth, despite several politicians trying to paint her as such. She had a rather man-jaw appearance for her time (still more feminine than the muscular beasts of today, however), as well as a lazy eye. She was, all in all, a good example, physically, of the common potato-sack English country girl that have disappointed many a foreigner foraging England for tasty bits to eat. They are not as fat as American girls, but we still have a baseline of beauty in the U.S. (excluding our descendant-of-slave women, natch) that exceeds England’s roses; no wonder so many English men fantasize about an American lass (Ted Hughes, John Cleese, hell, Russell Brand anyone?).
Given her flawed appearance and above-average intelligence—she was an Oxbridge girl— in today’s world, Mrs. Thatcher would have been told, nay, ordered to think that she was a lesbian. And had her father left her family, as so many do today, or been a weak man, her lack of father figure would have made her easy prey to the feminist lies that so easily slip in when men do not slam the door in their faces. Dykes would have stalked her to and fro, and “sexual experimentation” would have been set upon her to fill the void of a father figure. She would have grown to hate men, loathe men, blame men for to loving her, not taking care of her—and demand the state fill the void. The wolves of perversion most easily slip into meadows where no sheep dogs lie to protect tender, weak lambs.
But no; she had a strong father.
One solid reason for the rise of feminism—the “feminazi loop” as I think of it—is the percentage of women and men who grow up with single-parent (re: female) households. The more this has increased, the more feminism has risen. And the more feminism has risen, the more men have checked out of marriage; the more weak men, subservient to women, have bowed down to their wives and feminism; and the more transient men have become “temporary daddies” to the daughters of the women they fuck. All this allows daughters to feel a whole in their lives where fathers should have been, to feel abandoned, and to have that abandonment easily turned to hatred for the men not in their lives.
But Margaret Thatcher’s father was different, as the documentary (and evidence) shows. Thatcher’s father was not the bumbling simpleton of modern sitcoms, content to be pushed around by a domineering wife–which is the story a feminazi would have you believe causes strong women who lead. Nor was he some terrible tyrant who inspired great hatred in Thatcher for his evil, making for a narrative about Thatcher being some social crusader against evil Patriarchy. Nor did he abandon the family, thus making some narrative about how Thatcher learned how to be strong from a “strong, independent womyn,” i.e. her mother.
No: Mrs. Thatcher’s father, Alfred Roberts, was a self-made man (a dirty term to many British) who built himself from a poor boy with no employment into a successful businessman, local politician, and local church leader. He lectured strongly but lovingly to his daughters, and probably encouraged Margaret, the smart but plain one, to do chemistry at college (which she did major in) so that the plain girl could have better prospects for a husband (as nerdy men would be less picky) or a solid career should no man take her (STEM degrees, then as now, never suffer for demand like fluffy humanities do).
But his most important job was as the moral and intellectual shaper of his children’s lives. He lectured them from the pulpit and the dinner table. He emphasized frugality and never spending more than what you had, and lived by such an example—he seldom, if ever, borrowed money. He encouraged modesty and femininity in tune with self-confidence; a combination any historian can recognize in the best females of history, but is alien to the twisted dogma of feminazis today. He filled his home with the intellectual discourse of conservative-libertarian thought that he followed, and made his daughters read the same. He taught them that self-reliance was one of man’s highest goals, and that shame, not greedy palms, should mark the hands of those who needed a handout. People, not laws of the state, should help those in need. He enforced Christian, patriotic, dutiful morality upon them, through example, lecture, and testing. And he kept them from the idle froppery and lazy self-indulgence that many rising-class families can suffer. He demanded a feminine daughter, and he got her.
As a result, Margaret Thatcher did not grow up hating men, become a lesbian, sire brats out of wedlock, or demand a totalitarian welfare state. Instead, she valued men, especially her father. As the documentary points out, he was largely the most important person in her life; one of the only ways to make her lose her cool was to insult him. She loved the man, and his strength gave her the strength to save her nation. She never doubted herself, or used her femininity to claim that she was a victim (Hilary Clinton, anyone?); she refused to have herself, or her nation be womanish victims, as her piercing actions against the many union rioters (stirred up by KGB agitators, no doubt, and forerunners of our Occutards) and the Argentinians in the Falkland Islands war show.
Perhaps the most touching moment of the documentary is her T.V. interview following her victory in the Falklands, where she is happiest that not one more British solider or sailor will be at risk. This is especially touching considering that, just before, the documentary showed peaceniks blaming her for “needlessly” attacking Argentinian ships. Mrs. Thatcher angrily replies she attacked a ship “supposedly” not doing anything for one reason—to save British military boys whom those Argentinian ships threatened.
This women loved masculinity, and masculinity in one of its highest forms: military men patriotically dying in battle.
The shame cast on all feminists is that this towering figure of history—this woman–is never possible in a feminazi-made world. It was only a strong father that could make a daughter love men, deplore left-wing thought and all its weak, blame men, celebrate female-illogic bullshit.
Strong fathers=strong women. Women unafraid to love men, and to rip man-hating feminazis and other leftists a new one.
R.I.P. Iron Lady. For you truly were equal parts lady and iron.