Leftists frequently bash ID proponents and climate change hysteria skeptics as science “deniers.” This is ironic, because these same leftists insist that a man can be a woman by simply wanting to be badly enough. This would be amusing if they did not often employ the levers of political power to force compliance with their anti-reality delusions, as a school board in Virginia recently did when it fired a teacher for refusing to join in the lie that one of his male students is a female. See here.
We are rapidly arriving at a time when Orwell’s famous “2+2=5 if the party says so” passage is becoming a terrifying reality, except instead instead of “2+2=5 if the party says so,” it is “a man is a woman if the party says so”:
“Do you remember,” he went on, “writing in your diary, ‘Freedom is the freedom to say that a man is a man’?”
“Yes,” said Winston.
O’Brien held up a photograph of a young man.
“What gender is this person, Winston?”
“Male.”
“And if the Party says that he is not male but female — then what gender?”
“Male.”
The word ended in a gasp of pain. The needle of the dial had shot up to fifty-five. The sweat had sprung out all over Winston’s body. The air tore into his lungs and issued again in deep groans which even by clenching his teeth he could not stop. O’Brien watched him, still holding the photograph. He drew back the lever. This time the pain was only slightly eased.
“What gender, Winston?”
“Male.”
The needle went up to sixty.
“What gender, Winston?”
“Male! Male! What else can I say? Male!”
The needle must have risen again, but he did not look at it. The heavy, stern face and the photograph filled his vision. The image stood before his eyes, blurry, and seeming to vibrate, but unmistakably a male figure.
“What gender, Winston?”
“Male! Stop it, stop it! How can you go on? Male! Male!”
“What gender, Winston?”
“Female! Female! Female!”
“No, Winston, that is no use. You are lying. You still think he is male. What gender, please?”
“Male! Female! Male! Anything you like. Only stop it, stop the pain!”
Abruptly he was sitting up with O’Brien’s arm round his shoulders. He had perhaps lost consciousness for a few seconds. The bonds that had held his body down were loosened. He felt very cold, he was shaking uncontrollably, his teeth were chattering, the tears were rolling down his cheeks. For a moment he clung to O’Brien like a baby, curiously comforted by the heavy arm round his shoulders. He had the feeling that O’Brien was his protector, that the pain was something that came from outside, from some other source, and that it was O’Brien who would save him from it.
“You are a slow learner, Winston,” said O’Brien gently.
“How can I help it?” he blubbered. “How can I help seeing what is in front of my eyes? A man is a man.”
“Sometimes, Winston, sometimes he is a woman. Sometimes he is non-binary or female. Sometimes he is all of them at once. You must try harder. It is not easy to become sane.”