Human herd animals come in two genders — and some in between, apparently. But a quick tour of my island “arts” community reveals that a preponderance of them are female. Timid pack animals desperate to belong to the choir, and be accepted as such. They sing hymns from the elite media playbook, and preach the gospel of “compassion,” otherwise known in learned circles as “Pathological Altruism.”

They announce their membership by planting far left signs on their lawns, accompanied in many cases with their voting preferences. Their altruism is mainly directed at “The Other”, and funded with my tax dollars. That in itself a statement of their hypocrisy. They claim the moral high ground, yet they violate a fundamental precept of democratic ethics. As Thomas Jefferson put it, “To compel a man to subsidize with his taxes the propagation of ideas which he disbelieves and abhors is sinful and tyrannical.”

What accounts for the fact that a disproportionate number of psychological weaklings are women? Why do Leftist parties draw most of their support from women? Why are women attracted to such causes? Why are so few women to be found in the ranks of patriots and ethnic nationalists? Why are most of them ethnic quislings and anti-White collaborators? And what accounts for my apparent misogyny?

In a word, my “upbringing.” My mother was not like most women. She did need other women to hold her hand. She did not require their support or approval. She was prepared to stand alone and most often did. She never wavered in her decision to go against the grain. She hiked the mountains alone. She rowed her boat alone up long fjords alone. She packed a rifle, and she was not afraid to use it. On the farm she decapitated chickens without flinching, and put farm animals out of their misery without hesitation.

She did not lack compassion, quite the contrary. But those close at hand — her kids, her husband, her family, her neighbours and her country would get first claim on it — in that order. According to legend, in 1942 — during her life on the west coast of Vancouver Island — she vowed to meet any Japanese invasion on the beach with weapon in hand. Her two brothers were in uniform and in action, and she was able and willingly to do her part too, if necessary. Again, she did not need the counsel of other women to come to this resolution.

In other words, for me, Mom set the bar high for womanhood. She was my hero. My father, on the other hand, seldom stood up and took the lead, nor risked the rebuke of other men. As Mom put it, he was a ship’s captain too afraid to take the wheel. I loved him, but he was not my role model. My disrespect for most women and my contempt for effeminate men issued from that experience. My thought, as a boy, was that if Mom could be like that, why not other women?

That is why the women who form part of my circle are like her in so many respects. Courage and intellectual independence are their trademarks. And men who endeavour to be women or act like them are objects of scorn. There are an abundance of them on the Left, but as we have noticed, many of them also call themselves “conservative.”

Men are not immune to Cultural Marxism — obviously. In fact, it is my observation that most Cultural Marxists and ‘Cuckservatives’ are, in a sense,” trannies” — wannabe women who wear beards or moustaches and speak with a deep voice in support of “social justice.” Or men who seek social status by trying to appear more feminist than feminists, or more emphatic than female empaths. Many of them have even perfected the art of choking back tears when they make a grovelling apology for a verbal misstep, or attempt to demonstrate how moved they are upon hearing the news of a shooting in Charleston or of the discovery of the body of a missing Aboriginal woman or a three-year old Syrian refugee found washed up on a beach. They too are psychological weaklings. Herd animals. They warrant more contempt than the most cowardly of women.

The truth then is, I am not a misogynist, for misogyny implies an exclusive hatred of women. I don’t hate women. I hate cowards.

It’s time for real men to step forward and exhibit a remnant of masculinity. What few of them who remain that is. What few of them have managed to run the gauntlet of political correctness unscathed and are fearless of reproach, intimidation or ostracism.

We have a surfeit of wannabes out there. Our universities are full of them. Of men gushing with contrived empathy, desperate to earn brownie points in their climb up the latter of sanctimonious sainthood. Men hoping to secure a place in the Pantheon of Political Correctness, White Self-Abnegation, Self-Hatred and Guilt.

What we need are men who have a backbone, men who, in witnessing the courage of women like my mother, would feel too ashamed to be any less courageous. We need strong men.