A Life Blighted By Feminism

A great letter, written by a gentleman called Philip Jones to Henry Makow. Found via Rense.

I’m sure many men can relate this his experiences. He has been there, done that and got the T-Shirt, this is how he feels.

Dear Henry,

Feminism has been a blight on my life. *It has obstructed, even prevented me from realizing my absolute potential as a man and creature of nature. It has corrupted every relationship, perverted how others have perceived me, how I have perceived others, and endeared a rotten and reluctant misogyny within my breast for that deranged part of the female of our breed which kneels at the alter of the feminist lie.

Of course, the nature of this misogyny is borne out of resentment for experiences lost and is vengeful and bitter in it’s reluctance, as as much as I loathe them, I delight in the true feminine. Now, I should temper my earlier remarks about the female with an insight on how, during my youth, I related to girls/women. From an early age, I had adored the feminine. My own sweet mother was the very definition of woman; kind, warm and gentle, completely female in every way, yet strong and able to deal with those multitude of problems inherent in life at the lower end of the economic scale.

My earliest recollection of this appreciation of the `Fairer Sex` was the film `Sword of Lancelot` with Cornel Wilde. I could not have been more than seven years old old and was captivated by the beauty and grace of Jean Wallace’s Guinevere, and the superbly masculine, chivalrous and courageous Lancelot of Cornel Wilde. I think it fair to say that it was this film which planted the seed in me, at that young age, which grew into the man that I became. Of course there were others, the beautiful and elegant actresses of a Hollywood long since transformed into the Neo-Politico mind control, social engineering weapon that it is today, complete with the awful Angelina Jolie’s, Uma Thurman’s and Demi Moores and their contempories. It was the beautiful yet tragic love between Lancelot and Guinevere which began the process which led to the forming of a huge piece of my adult persona.

Most people today, reading the above, would regard these sentiments as being `corny` and outdated, but I feel that you, will understand these things.

As I matured into adolescence, I discovered girls at a relatively early age, around twelve years I believe. I matured quickly and became strong and athletic. I played Rugby, Boxed, learn Karate and was generally a handful for my parents and teachers alike. Not in a bad way, but in a boyish rambunctious manner which tended to endear me to some and not to others. I entered my teens, in the 1970’s, perhaps `The last days of Rome` for Great Britain . At this time, girls began to show interest in me, and I in them. But even at that stage, I could see that I treated them differently from my classmates. Years of Hollywood images of heroes and heroines had created a `throwback` who treated pretty girls like Princesses, and respectfully tolerated the `Plain Janes`.

I met my first Wife at the age of sixteen. She was a beautiful girl of mixed Irish/Spanish ancestry, with flashing eyes and long lustrous hair of the darkest brown. I quickly adored her and she I. It was young love. We were perfect together, and we grew to be inseparable. I `protected` her against all other advances, and became a `man` through her and our love. She was gentle, exquisitely feminine, yet full of fire and temper. She gave to me at that tender age a loyalty and devotion that to this day, I have only found in one other. Even now, three lifetimes on, in those precious ethereal moments, just before consciousness returns and steals from us our dreams of what is and can never be, I sometimes remember that glorious beauty who stole my heart, and gave me hers. We waited until we married to consummate our life together. It was not awkward or tentative, it happened as it was meant to and we connected in a way which elevated our consciousness and bound us to each other.

Our only child was born nine months later, a deliciously pink and heavenly soft little girl.

During the late seventies, the economic situation was very dire in the Industrial area of South Wales where I was born and bred (manipulated by the `brotherhood` in order to implement the next stage of their `Great work` and bring their newest protege, Margaret Thatcher to the fore) . Jobs, were hard to find, the Steelworks and Mines were `downsizing` and my own schooldays had been forcibly curtailed by parents without a steady income. I joined the Royal Air Force in 1978 and a year later, was patrolling the streets of Belfast and Derry with a 7.62mm SLR in my hands.

I omitted to mention that we were wed in 1979. We were twenty one years old.

As the 1970’s rolled into the `eighties`, I was still gainfully employed in Her Majesty’s Armed Forces. We were the `perfect couple` or so everyone said, and destined for the greatest of things. In 1981, my time in the Airforce was drawing to a close. My wife wanted to go home, as all Welsh girls do. I had experienced so much in those years since leaving South Wales, and had grown into a strong and vital man, a potential leader of men who really didn’t want to go back `home`. I had been advised that further promotion was very possible, and that my career looked very promising. But it was not to be. My `Welshgirl` missed her `Mam` and wanted to go home. This was the first tiny schism between us. I liked the Airforce, felt I belonged. I even liked working in Northern Ireland. But, she was my wife so home it was. I joined the Gwent Constabulary in October 1981, and so I can now continue on from paragraph three.

At the Police Training School, I came head to head with `New Woman` and I hated her. Due to my military background, I was selected to be `Squad Leader` of the intake, which was made up of approximately 85% male and 15% female recruits. For thirteen weeks, these girls complained, moaned, caused disruption and dissention, fell down during foot drill, cried when they hurt themselves (which they seemed to do often) and flirted unashamedly with fellow recruits and instructors alike, causing several marital ruptures. They caused cliques and divisions which fostered so many problems during those weeks of training. I often wondered why a woman would want to do such a job.

During the same course, I was for the very first time confronted with the beast that is Political `Correction`. Nothing had prepared me for this strange pernicious anomaly. There was none of it in the R.A.F, well at that time anyway, and South Wales was working class, `blue collar` country.

We were given lectures on `women’s rights`, `minority rights`, `Inclusiveness` and had the concept of positive discrimination rammed very hard down our collective throats. Now, the thing about blacks is that I grew up with them and amongst them, I had fought alongside then in NI and had never even considered the color difference at all. Jamaicans arriving from the `Commonwealth` at that time, came to the UK searching for a better life, only to be treated shoddily in many cases, and manipulated into race conflict by Marxist Agitators such as Gerry Gable and his `Searchlight` ragmag. Thirteen weeks later, having successfully completed the course, I felt that overall, I had triumphed against the forces of irrationality. For the next five or six years, the `Feminist Question` and myself had little contact, except through the media.

Like the majority of men, I never noticed it’s tentacles creap into every orifice of society. I was much too preoccupied learning my craft, being a father and a husband, providing for my family and living life to take much notice of the political machinations of a few deranged `Plain Janes`. Of course from time to time, I would sit up and take note of `some woman said this`, on the telly, or `some woman did that`, or the Government has changed this law or that law; well you know, it’s something to do with equality !!

In 1986, with little or no warning, my wife and I began to quarrel. This was a new situation. Up until then, life had been as good as it gets. The job was good, we had a great social life, our `angel` was fit and healthy, and, well, there was no one else for either of us. But during her spare evenings when I was not working, she had been taking some courses at the local college. She began to come out with these statements about men, and rights and that there should be more to her life than being a wife and mother. What about her ? You know the story all to well. Within only six months, she was gone, on a `trial basis` she said, along with my sweet little girl. That day, long ago has tainted every other day of my life since.

The divorce was made ugly by a predatory Feminist Lawyer, acting she said on my wife’s behalf, and my heart was wrecked. It was difficult to reconcile the woman my daughter’s mother had become, with the girlish, brown haired creature of my youth. The resulting years after that crack in my own belief system and the lies which followed, caused a poisonous rift between my daughter and myself, which has never been repaired. I have two Grand daughters I have never seen. My former wife on the other hand lives nearby to them and sees them every day.

I never saw it coming. I just worked and worked, not through ambition, but necessity. All I seemed to have done since I joined the Air force was work. I was the man, the provider, it was what I was raised to be. Who would have thought it ? At that time, I still didn’t understand the extent of the feminist insinuation into the very fibers of my life, but I soon realized there was a monster in my/our midst.

In 1987, having legally battled my `childhood sweetheart` to a stalemate, I decided that a change of location would be the best for all concerned and transferred to the Metropolitan Police in London. As the Capital City of the UK and it’s political centre, every imaginable social extreme was highlighted and propagated. By 1989, mostly every `in job` vacancy in the `Force` was filled whenever possible by either a female or `minority`applicant. During the early part of that year, due to a knee injury sustained playing Rugby, I was temporarily suquested to the Force Recruitment Section. Here, `Affirmative Action` or what was termed in the UK as Positive Discrimination was akin to a religion. Many of the normal requirements for entry were dropped or adjusted, where females and minorities were concerned. We were told that there were `quotas` to be filled, and irrespective of aptitude or suitability, filled they must be. `Access` courses were arranged for `minority applicants` to ensure success in the written aptitude test. I should mention here that the majority of minority applicants I dealt with had no need of these courses, and many objected to being required to attend them. The Medical and Fitness tests were adjusted accordingly to ensure that female candidates would pass these `tests`.

I began to see that fairness and equality was not the name of the game at all. Former members of the armed forces, particularly those with regiment tattoos, or Union Jacks etched into their forearms were to be discouraged, no matter if they were highly suitable, unless they were either female or a minority of course.

Worse still was the level of anti male hostility displayed openly by new female recruits. An attitude conditioned into them by the new and extended training course at the Police College, the contents of which had been politicized to fit the new dogma of the age.

Back to patrol work for only two weeks, I was next sent on a `Sensitivity` course in a North London Polytechnic. This course consisted of a week of thinly veiled Feminist indoctrination, and was `moderated` by two of the most stereotypical `Femi- Marxists` one could imagine. I was, along with most of my colleagues in constant conflict with them, as they attempted to impose their nonsensical ideologies on what was in the main a room filled with men familiar with the realities of life` as Police Officers tend to be.

At work, the `climate` changed ever so gradually, and one became very careful of how one behaved towards female colleagues, and allegations of `harassment` against male officers grew in kind. I myself was reprimanded on a number of occasions for the heinous crime of saying, “Good morning girls” and similarly innocent remarks whilst entering offices within the Police Station complex. It was explained to me that some of the female members of staff felt the term `girls` to be demeaning.

To be honest, by the time I injured my back on duty in 1995, I had had enough of the Police Service. It was barely recognizable as the job I had joined fifteen years previously. Still nowhere near the `Strong` arm of the ruling government it resembles today, the writing was most definitely on the wall.

In London at this time, one would not barely even dare to offer one’s seat to a woman on a bus or train for fear of being publicly ridiculed as a chauvinist or sexist. Life had most definitely taken a turn for the worse.

The first half of the 1990’s was probably the last time that most British women took any pride in their daily appearance, and the incessant wearing of trousers in place of a dress or a skirt was still some years hence. By this time, I had met the dear lady who would become my wife and best friend. She was and still is the saviour of my soul. A lady to the core, soft, lovely and gentle. A woman in the fullest and most wonderful sense of the word. In early 1996, having been retired on ill health, we moved over to her native Denmark.

If my experiences with the `Feminist` were unfortunate in the UK, upon arriving in Denmark, I was confronted by a far more virulent and all embracing model. Feminism is akin to a `State Sponsored` Religion here, and it’s tenets are accepted and practiced without question. In fact, so entrenched is it in society, it has become the `norm`.

They have achieved a level of androgyny here, that I have not seen elsewhere, although slowly but surely, the whole of Europe is heading that way. One might imagine that many of the women here could have been cloned. They dress the same, behave in the same manner, cut their hair the same, wear the same spectacles, have almost identical opinions about the `Holy Cows` of Danish life (The Welfare State, Education, Health Care and Feminism) and to all intents and purposes, at least superficially, are the same persona. This is a `Hive` and the Queen Bee rules. The extent of feminist ascendancy and male emasculation is more extreme than in other countries I have lived in or visited. It begins in the kindergarten and goes on from there. Boys as boys, girls as boys. These days, whenever I am to be introduced to a Danish `woman`I have not previously met, I form a mental image of what she will look like, and 9 from 10, I am spot on the ball; Short hair, no make up, spectacles, dark coloured baggy clothes and the obligatory pair of ill fitting trousers.

Notwithstanding the above, there is the Media, and the moving image in particular. We have not had a television in our home since 2005. Sometime around 2003, I began to feel very agitated by Hollywood’s persistent portrayal of women as `warriors` and `kicking girls` in scenes where small skinny women would be beating the `Devil` out of large muscular men who could in reality, fold them into `Origami figures`. It is now of course near impossible to find a film which excludes these ridiculous themes. As a former 3rd Degree Black Belt in Karate and competitive Kickboxer, I absolutely refute the very possibility of this tripe being the case. In my none too limited experience in the Combat Sports arena, I know categorically that the female is simply unable to generate the kind of explosive force necessary to knock a strong and adrenally pumped man on his backside, except by surprise. I taught Self Defence to women at back in the early 1990’s and tell you this, when faced with a violent situation 99% of women freeze and panic. This is a fact, it is their nature, and no amount of PC feminist dogma will change it.

Instead of the glaring at the `goggle box`we spend out evenings at home either reading together, or watching a carefully selected movie on our DLP Projector. No more the poisonous viper in the corner of the lounge. Before `losing the tube` when watching young actresses like Alyssa Milano or some of the others who have been portrayed in this aggressive `fight mode` stereotype, I have often wondered at what they themselves think of their roles. Do they believe that they are furthering the plight of the downtrodden woman ? In fifteen years as a Constable, it was my experience that when women stand and fight with men, they get badly hurt. We always taught that for a woman to survive in a confrontation with a man, she must use that element of surprise, hit, then run like hell. Hollywood and it’s ilk, are placing women in harm’s way, by showing them a fantastical fable so far removed from reality.

But why on earth do women today want so much to be like men ? Of course, it’s because of a `cradle to grave` Social Engineering program, making use of all the instruments of information and propaganda available, the Education, Media, and Pop Music factories et al. Feminism is now the unchallenged received wisdom and publicly accepted consensus.

Henry, you and your work, are beacons in the dark. Although we have not met, through reading your articles, I feel I know you well. You have inspired me in so many ways, and I no longer feel alone in a world where all the inalienable truths I know to be real, have been turned on their head by the `Illuminati` Brotherhood of Doom`.

So am I a misogynist ? Well yes and no, but only until some sweet gentle thing, smiles at me, and treats me respectfully as a man and not some virulent anti female disease. Unfortunately, or fortunately for me, that sweet and gentle thing is these days, always my darling wife. For the rest of them, with their short hair, manly clothes, manly ways, and denial of their true nature, I have only loathing and contempt. Not an ounce of compassion or sympathy, for as I approach my fiftieth birthday, they are my enemy, and even though I know and understand that they themselves are but pawns in a deadly game, I cannot help but think that there are those amongst them who do know what they do, and it’s consequences, yet persist in doing it, regardless of the cost.

Some years ago, at a University where I was giving a lecture, a typically scruffy looking 24 year old female student began to assail me with the usual feminist rhetoric. She asked me if I was intimidated by a `strong woman`? I said that in nearly fifty years of life, I had not met such a thing. She was confused by this response and seemed bemused that a man had actually something to say for himself. She then engaged me in argument, a situation which by nature, I relish. For the next hour, I verbally `drilled` her into her seat as I unleashed years of pent up anguish and recently acquired knowledge. At the end, she was white like a sheet and I could see that her own belief system had been if not crushed, severely damaged. She knew nothing of Betty Friedan, nor Gloria Steinberg, nor even Margaret Sanger. She knew not where her instilled ideology originated, that it was via the CIA and Communist agitative ideologues, bought and payed for by moneyed elites such as the Rockefeller’s and Rothschilds, and that beyond them, something far more sinister lurked.

I told her about the `girl` soldiers in Iraq, with their dislocated joints and other strains caused by doing a job women were never intended to do. About Women Police Sergeants crying on the streets of London whilst being tossed around like a rag dolls, until a male colleague arrives to `save` her. Of Women Fire fighters being unable to carry a body from a burning building due to inadequate strength, employed only on the basis of their gender.

I’m not sure whether what I said stuck, or whether the inevitable reinforcing of dogma through her University `professors` will have erased my tirade from her memory. I somehow doubt that as I am not easily dismissed. My challenge to speak to her class, or debate with her teachers in open forum was was not taken up.

So maybe I am only a discriminating misogynist. A female counselor for the Police during an annual evaluation once said to me that I suffered from a `Sir Galahad` complex and that I was only able to relate to attractive women. I told her that it was more likely a `Sir Lancelot` complex as the former was the perfect Knight, and that I was most certainly not that.

As I mentioned earlier, this month, I attain the half century mark of life on Planet Earth. In my whole life, I have `known` only four women, two of which have been wives. I have never had a casual sexual experience, nor a `one night` stand, never been unfaithful, and have loved each of those four women with all that I am, none more so than my dearest wife of these past eight years, who I pray I will share the remainder of my days with.

I hope that my ramblings have not been too disjointed, I just felt the need to tell you something of the man you have often corresponded with, but never met, and who admires and regards you and thinks of you as a friend. I am honored to know you and praise your courage and conviction, for it is you above all the others who has dared to lock horns with the beast of all beasts, that most destructive and vicious of weapons used to demoralize and deconstruct all that is is good and true in humanity.

Philip “Whatever became of Sweet Guinevere” ?

*I amended 9.9% to ‘99% of women freeze and panic’ because it was probably a typo, considering the style of writing and the subject matter, but I could be wrong – FMWatkins

One thought on “A Life Blighted By Feminism

  1. Hi Philip,

    Wat a letter, what a sensitive and beutiful man you are. I can sense your soul, which is pure and beutiful. And your ability to write, wow! I wish, if I have that talent. And would love to listen to you as well.

    And Mr Makow, I have been with his mind, writing for about a year or more has a extraordinary abilities to express himself on paper.

    “Feminism has been a blight on my life. *It has obstructed, even prevented me from realizing my absolute potential as a man and creature of nature.”

    I am a women, similar age to yours, and by having communication with Henry, I too realised that I,as a women, always have bad experience with every or almost every woman in my life. And that is the reason I do not have best fimail friend and I never had.

    My women teachers in elementary schools and further , doctors and some neighbours, were all macho women. They were no feminists, as then it did not exsisted in my country, but they were, I call them, mucho women.

    I was affraid of them, and I still do.

    I can deal, talk, confront any man but women, I cant, as I am affraid or disguss by them.

    As for english women, I was told, do not argu with english women, as they fight as a man.

    And I don’t.

    Philip, would be great should we meet, if you want, and talk about eveything and even though am a women, we can become friends.

    Henry helped me, through reading his thoughts on white papers, to relized that nothing is wrong to be real, feminine women.

    I told him that I have intention to marry him in our next lives.

    He is kind of man I was looking all my life to be with. Unfortunately, he is married.

    “Henry, you and your work, are beacons in the dark. Although we have not met, through reading your articles, I feel I know you well. ”

    This is what I feel about Henry too.

    Well, if you want to talk or meet or both with me, please, write to me: nmontenero@yahoo.com

    Brotherhood of Doom`.
    Not an ounce of compassion or sympathy, for as I approach my fiftieth birthday, they are my enemy,

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