#they left poland so they could survive and have a chance of preserving that culture . but i have so little of it

[apho-sappho]

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[architectuul]

Autobus Park №7: Kyiv’s Abandoned Transport Circus

Kyiv might be Europe’s single greatest city for late-twentieth century Modernist architecture. It boasts many wild, eclectic, and vividly imaginative examples of the style, built during the height of Soviet monument-mania. Though amongst its steel and concrete marvels of Soviet-era architecture, one of Kyiv’s most striking modern buildings has, in recent years, also become one of the city’s most problematic ruins. Autobus Park №7  – once the pride of the Ukrainian transport industry – exists today as a decaying morgue for almost a thousand abandoned buses.

Autobus Park №7 today. | Photo © Darmon Richter

The design challenge of the Autobus Park №7 was to create an efficient depot capable of housing and maintaining a fleet of some 500 buses, in an urban environment where building space was limited. Had the building been constructed like a warehouse, or a factory, using a square plan and a regular pillar-based solution for supporting the roof, it was estimated that the total size of the building would have needed to be at least 4,000 square metres. However, an ingenious solution was proposed instead.

Under construction (1972), promotional photographs (1970s) and technical sketches (1979). | Photo via Khabarovsk Polytechnic Institute.

The chief engineers on the project, V. A. Kozlov and S. I. Smorgon, were responsible for the idea of using a cable-suspended roof. They took their inspiration from circus buildings – the cylindrical concrete-and-steel constructions which were by this time a ubiquitous feature in cities throughout the Soviet Union. By designing the building on a circular plan, and suspending concrete roof panels on cables strung between a central support pillar and the outer walls, it was found that both space and construction costs could be significantly reduced. Moreover, this design, with its organic, circular shape, lent itself more to what was then considered a modern and humanistic work environment for employees – while its form, reminiscent of circuses and Palaces of Culture, presented the bus depot not as a bland, functional box, but rather a community venue.

Kyiv’s Autobus Park №7 during its heyday with the tall building on the left accommodating administrative offices and staff canteens. | Photo via Exutopia

Left: Workers outside Kyiv Autobus Park №7 in 1977;  right: A new fleet of buses ready for service, 1975. | Photo via Exutopia

Kozlov and Smorgon built a 1:10 scale model to test their idea. The central support pillar would be 18 metres high, a tower of reinforced concrete with a diameter of 8 metres, consisting of 0.3-metre thick concrete walls around an inner support of solid steel with a cross-section of 0.32 x 0.22 metres. Attached to the top of this pillar, were 84 radial cables – steel ropes with a diameter of 65 millimetres. Each of these cables was able to support a weight of up to 350 tons, and the roof would be constructed on top of them: a suspended tent dome, created from concrete plates, and with a total diameter of 160 metres.

On its completion in 1973, the building was considered an engineering marvel – its hanging roof was one of the largest ever constructed, and this system of support reduced the building’s necessary size from 40,000 square metres (the estimate for a pillar-supported roof) to a footprint of just 23,000 square metres. 

Details of the relief on the front of building showing staff, passengers, vehicles, and the logos of various automotive brands. | Photo © Darmon Richter

As much as possible, the design aimed to take advantage of natural light. The concrete plates of the roof were fitted with portholes, most of which were concentrated close around the main support tower. In the outer wall, upright glass cylinders were installed between concrete panels, serving as sturdy support pillars that both insulated the building against the cold outside, and allowed refracted light to shine into the wings of the building. This solution proved particularly robust, and most of these glass pillars have survived intact since the early 1970s until this day. Between them, these design choices resulted in an interior space and working area that enjoyed bright sunlight during the day, thus minimising the additional cost of electrical lighting.

Attached to the 18m central support pillar, a metal staircase leads up to an observation platform. | Photo © Darmon Richter

Once operational, Autobus Park №7 was the largest vehicle depot in the Soviet Union – and it was rumoured, potentially the largest anywhere in the world. It served as more than just a garage, though. It was the base of operations for the entire fleet of buses serving the capital, including city buses, intercity buses, and also those working international routes, to Germany, Poland, Belarus and Russia. The building was fully air-conditioned, it featured a four-gate vehicle wash, and a mechanised repair bay fitted with conveyor belt systems. The building had a staff of 1,500 workers, and featured workers’ canteens, as well as a computing centre too – where teams calculated staff salaries and work shifts, as well as designing and optimising bus routes.

Sadly, the glory days of Autobus Park №7 would be short-lived. Following the break-up of the Soviet Union, many of the fleet’s international routes were discontinued. Services were gradually reduced through the 1990s, into the 2000s, while meanwhile, the building was increasingly used to store wrecked vehicles awaiting repair or decommissioning. The reduction of domestic bus routes in 2005 was a further blow, and eventually, in 2015, the autopark closed its doors for good – the building slipping into disrepair, as the once-proud circus was steadily transformed into a scrapyard.

Since it was officially closed in 2015, almost 1,000 buses have been stored inside the abandoned building. | Photo © Darmon Richter

Today, Autobus Park №7 in Kyiv seems to be locked in a downward spiral of decay. The building itself is nothing short of an engineering marvel, an extraordinary work of architecture that supporters have suggested could be adapted now into a museum, or even a film studio. In April 2018 a petition was registered on the website of Kyiv City Council, calling for the building’s preservation – but it only received 321 votes, a long way short of its target of 10,000 signatures. Even had it been successful though, good intentions don’t count for much without action and intent on the part of Kyiv City Council; where currently, any talks of potential preservation are being blocked at a bureaucratic level.

For 25 years the building has been owned by the company Kyivpastrans (‘Kyiv Passenger Transportation), whose deputy general director, Sergey Litvinov, has said that Autobus Park №7 poses an imminent risk of collapse, and, given the cost and scale of such a project, would be almost impossible to save. Meanwhile, other former transport depots around the city have already been bulldozed to make room for new residential blocks and shopping centres. Many property developers would jump at the chance of getting their hands on this 23,000-square metre plot – and from the perspective of the current owners, it is probably a more attractive financial proposition. The building is neither listed nor protected, so were it empty, there would be nothing to stop the owners from knocking it down overnight.

This rooftop capsule offered a panoramic view of the 180-metre diameter suspended roof of Autobus Park №7. | Photo © Darmon Richter

However, for the time being all parties are locked into a kind of stalemate over the building’s contents. The estimated 903 rusting vehicles stored inside (including LAZ, Volvo, Ikarus, and various other brands of urban and long-distance buses) pose a major administrative problem. These buses cannot easily be removed, or scrapped, as technically they are yet to be decommissioned from service. A new regulation that was introduced into Ukrainian law in 2013 complicated the bureaucratic procedure and created a backlog; so that all of the vehicles inside Autobus Park №7 today are – officially, on paper – still in service and awaiting audit. As such they cannot legally be taken apart for scrap, and right now, there’s nowhere else to store them in the city but here.

The vehicles have still not been officially decommissioned under Ukrainian law – which means they cannot be scrapped until the necessary paperwork is processed. | Photo © Darmon Richter

So for now, it’s a waiting game. If Kyivpastrans and Kyiv City Council are able to solve the bureaucratic headache of their vehicle decommissioning procedure, remove the abandoned buses, and then find the will, not to mention the funding, to undertake the colossal project of preserving Autobus Park №7 (while turning down more lucrative offers from property developers in the process), then perhaps the building might yet be saved. But in the meanwhile, the circus roof is sagging, and young trees are already sprouting from cracks in the concrete.

It may just be that this building, an engineering marvel of the Soviet period, having failed to find its place in a post-Soviet world, is doomed to go the same way as the regime that built it.

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by Darmon Richter 

[adapted with permission from an article at Ex Utopia]

Sources: Smena Magazine (1974) Issue No.19 Khabarovsk Polytechnic Institute (1979) Reinforced Concrete Space Structures (lecture notes, p.24-26), M. P. Danilovsky Hmarochos (2018) Why are Storage Facilities for Faulty Kyivpastrans Buses Being Set Up in Kyiv? Kiev Vlast (2019) Kyiv City Council Decided to Solve the Riddle of Bus Depot №7

[girlactionfigure]

Historian of the Ghetto

“Let the world read and know”

Emanuel Ringelblum, the “historian of the Warsaw ghetto,” compiled an extensive archive of documents depicting the everyday life of the ghetto’s doomed inhabitants. The Ringelbaum Archive is the most important eyewitness accounting of the Holocaust to survive the war.

Born in Buczacz, Poland (now Ukraine) in 1900, Emanuel was a bright child and a top student. His native language was Yiddish and although he learned several other languages, he had a special affection for his native tongue and a lifelong interest in Yiddish literature and theater. Emanuel attended Warsaw University, where he studied history, completing his doctoral thesis in 1927 on the Jews of Warsaw during the Middle Ages.

Emanuel worked as a history teacher in multiple Jewish high schools and in 1923 he co-founded the Young Historians Circle, an influential organization that brought together Jewish history teachers and students to advocate for Jewish causes. Two years later he joined YIVO, the preeminent organization for the study and preservation of Jewish European culture. Emanuel published 126 scholarly articles and was recognized as the world’s foremost expert in the history of the Jews of Europe.

As the Nazis rose to power in the early 1930’s, Emanuel started working with international Jewish relief organizations to help refugees by collecting and distributing funds, as well as providing emotional support. The American Joint Distribution Fund sent him to Zbaszyn, a Polish town near the German border where 6000 Jewish refugees from Germany were being held. Germany had expelled them and Poland didn’t want them so the Jews were stateless. Emanuel spent five weeks there, passing up his own opportunity to escape from Europe so that he could help his suffering Jewish brothers and sisters.

When Germany invaded Poland in 1939, Emanuel described it as “a wave of evil rolled over the whole city.” He became the leader of Aleynilf (Self Help), a group that provided Jews with tools to survive in an increasingly hostile environment. In 1940, Emanuel and his family – his wife Yehudit and small son Uri – were forced into a squalid ghetto, along with all the other Jewish inhabitants of Warsaw. Every city with a Jewish population soon had its own ghetto.

As the days, weeks, and months passed, conditions grew steadily worse. Emanuel wrote, “No day was like the preceding. Images succeeded one another with cinematic speed.” The necessities of life became increasingly scarce – running water, electricity, medical supplies and most critically of all, food. Every day people died of starvation or illness, and there was no way to bury them. Rotting bodies, many of them children, lay in the street.

Emanuel decided to write about life in the ghetto. It was the most important story he would ever tell. He encouraged other inhabitants to write their own testimonies, recording history as it happened. During the day Emanuel wandered the ghetto collecting information, stories and data, and he wrote at night. Emanuel defined the mission: “It must all be recorded with not a single fact omitted. And when the time comes – as it surely will – let the world read and know what the murderers have done.” He knew that the archive would likely be the only testimony about what had happened to the Jews of Poland. It was especially important for him to preserve documents in Yiddish as he feared there would be nobody left to speak his beloved native tongue.

Contributors included writers, rabbis, teachers, social workers, artists, children, and Jews of all ages and backgrounds. They knew they were doomed and the pain was even sharper because all their friends and family were also doomed – leaving nobody behind to remember them. Emanuel’s project was a chance to not be forgotten. The material submitted included essays, diaries, letters, drawings, poetry, music, stories, dark humor, recipes and more. It was an extensive chronicle of ghetto life.

The archive was called Oneg Shabbos – “Pleasure of Shabbat” – because the contributors met on Saturdays to share their writings and discuss their progress. Journalistic ethics were important to Emanuel. “Many-sidedness was the main principle of our work. Objectivity was our other guiding principle. We aspired to reveal the whole truth, as bitter as it may be.” The Oneg Shabbos documents were kept in large milk jars and buried in three different places.

The first document was a poem by Wladyslaw Szlengel called “Telephone” about his apartment building’s last working phone. “With my heart broken and sick/ I think: let me ring/someone on the other side…/and suddenly I realize: my God there/is actually no one to call….”

Hunger was ever-present in the ghetto, and a common theme in the documents is the desperate yearning for food. Leyb Goldin wrote, “It’s you and your stomach. It’s your stomach and you. It’s 90 percent your stomach and a little bit you… Each day the profiles of our children, of our wives, acquire the mourning look of foxes, dingoes, kangaroos. Our howls are like the cry of jackals…The world’s turning upside down. A planet melts in tears. And I – I am hungry, hungry. I am hungry.” (August 1941)

“What we were unable to cry out and shriek to the world, we buried in the ground.” – David Graber, 19

“Sometimes I worry that these terrible pictures of the life we are looking at every day will die with us, like pictures of a panic on a sinking ship. So, let the witness be our writing.” – Rachel Auerbach

“I do not ask for any thanks, for any memorial, for any praise. I only wish to be remembered. I wish my wife to be remembered, Gele Seksztajn. I wish my little daughter to be remembered. Margalit is 20 months old today.” – Israel Lichtenstein

The Oneg Shabbos archive ended in 1943, when the ghetto was liquidated and its inhabitants sent to the gas chambers of Treblinka. Emanuel, his wife Yehudit and son Uri managed to escape before the deportations started and went into hiding. However, in March 1944 their hiding place was discovered. The family was forced outside at gunpoint and executed.

Only three of the 60+ contributors to the Oneg Shabbos archive survived the war. Rachel Auerbach led the search for the buried archive, and her team was able to discover two of the caches, which became known as the Dead Sea Scrolls of the ghetto. The third cache has never been found.

For making sure the murdered Jews of Warsaw would not be forgotten, we honor Emanuel Ringelblum as this week’s Thursday Hero.

Explore the Ringelblum Archive

[mastcomm]

Fran Drescher, Millennial Whisperer – The New York Times

Fran Drescher’s voice, if you ever have the chance to hear it deployed in very close vicinity over shrimp tempura and spicy tuna sushi, is actually quite soothing.

When Drescher played Fran Fine on “The Nanny,” the 1990s sitcom she created with her then-husband Peter Marc Jacobson, she was pitching her voice higher, squeezing it up her nose, acting. Back then, The New York Times compared Drescher to “the sound of a Buick with an empty gas tank cold-cranking on a winter morning.” But here in her living room above Central Park, sitting among crystals, fresh lemons, fine sculpture and photographs of herself meeting establishment Democrats, she sounds more like a Mercedes purring out of the Long Island Expressway. For those who grew up with “The Nanny” as our nanny, her voice is so embedded in the subconscious that hearing the softened version is almost therapeutic. Imagine if Nanny Fine had an ASMR setting.

“I’ve heard it’s like a foghorn, a cackle,” Drescher said carefully, balancing her plate in the lap of her little black dress. “I always just describe myself as having a unique voice.” When she left Queens for Hollywood in the late 1970s, her manager told her, “If you want to play other parts, besides hookers, you’re going to have to learn to speak differently,” she recalled. Instead Drescher leaned into her natural gifts. In 1992, she pitched herself as a sitcom star to the president of CBS: “Because of the voice, they think I’m the seasoning in the show,” she told him. “That’s wrong. I’m a main course.”

America has not heard from Drescher much lately — she has not appeared regularly on television since her TV Land sitcom “Happily Divorced” ended in 2013, and “The Nanny” is sadly hard to stream — but this week, at 62, she returns to TV with NBC’s “Indebted.” As in the pilot of “The Nanny,” Drescher appears unexpectedly on a doorstep, except this time, it belongs to her adult son (Adam Pally). She and Steven Weber play Debbie and Stew Klein, a couple of boomer dilettantes who crash their kid’s married life with the news that they’re in debt. The role of Debbie, a boundaryless hugger who swans around her son’s suburban home as if it’s her own personal retirement community, inverts the “Nanny” dynamic: Now the kids have to take care of her.

When Drescher weighed whether to take on the show, a family sitcom that draws on generational conflict, she thought of her own family. “My parents, who are still alive, thank God, were so excited about me being on network television again,” she said. “You know, not everybody could find TV Land,” she added, “but everybody could find NBC.”

The role was not written for Drescher, exactly. The pilot script had called for a “Fran Drescher type,” and when the real Fran Drescher signed on, she required a few adjustments. “People are used to seeing an annoying mother-in-law in a sitcom, but that’s not what I signed up for,” Drescher said. “When you have somebody whose persona is bigger than the part, you got to make it right for me. Or why have me?”

That meant giving Debbie Klein some passions of her own. “I had to bring myself into it,” she said. “I really infused the sex appeal, the sensuality, the vivaciousness of the character.”

“Indebted” creator Dan Levy, a comedian and producer for “The Goldbergs,” said that he originally modeled Debbie and Stew after his own parents, but that the steaminess was all Drescher. “My mom was like, ‘That’s not based on us,’” Levy said. “She elevated that to a whole level that I was not expecting.”

In the decades since Drescher first opened her mouth onscreen, the Fran Drescher type has achieved a quiet dominance over popular culture. “The Nanny” has been syndicated around the world and remade in a dozen countries, including Turkey (where it was called “Dadi”), Poland (“Niania”) and Argentina (“La Niñera”). In “The Nanny,” for anyone who doesn’t have the chatty theme song implanted in her brain, Drescher plays a Jewish woman from Queens hired to tend to the three precocious children of a wealthy English widower, Maxwell Sheffield, who is also Broadway’s second-most-successful producer (after his nemesis, Andrew Lloyd Webber). In foreign versions, the ethnicities are recalibrated — in the Russian one, the nanny is Ukrainian — but the Fran Drescher type is otherwise preserved. Wherever she goes, the ethnic striver is transplanted into a posh setting as the help, and her appealing culture and individual charm pull off the ultimate makeover — reinventing the strait-laced insiders in her own brash image.

Across the internet, Fran Fine is helping to perform similar tricks. With her pile of hair, power-clashing wardrobe and cartoon proportions, she has been fashioned into an avatar of stylish self-respect. In GIFs spirited around social media, she can be seen in a cheetah-print skirt suit, sipping from a cheetah-print teacup; inhaling a plate of spaghetti with no hands; and descending the Sheffields’ ivory staircase as if entering New York’s hottest club.

“I send this when I’m excited,” Drescher said, summoning her phone from her assistant Jordan and thumbing to a GIF of Fine twirling across the mansion in a fuchsia dress and a self-satisfied look. “How many people can send their own GIF?”

The Fran Drescher type is a kind of advisory role. First she was the world’s nanny, showing kids how to mix prints and be themselves, and now she has matured into a cool-aunt persona, modeling a fabulous adulthood. (“Broad City” made this transformation literal, squeezing Drescher into a low cut rainbow and cheetah-print dress and casting her as Ilana’s Aunt Bev, and by extension the spirit guide for a new generation of Jewish comediennes.) “I’ve never had kids, so I’m not really parental,” Drescher said. “I’m a mom to my dogs.”

“I’m kind of an influencer,” she added. Drescher has led an unconventional life, and “I share it,” she said. “It gives my life purpose.” In two memoirs, she has discussed being raped at gunpoint in her 20s, surviving uterine cancer in her 40s, and divorcing Jacobson only to acquire a new gay best friend when he subsequently came out. Recently she thrilled the internet when she revealed that she has secured a “friend with benefits” whom she meets twice a month for television viewing and sex. “I don’t think it’s that shocking a thing,” Drescher said. “I’m not in love with him.”

The kids who grew up watching “The Nanny” are now Nanny Fine’s age, old enough to properly covet her closet and cultivate a newfound respect for her persona. On Instagram, the @whatfranwore account catalogs classic “Nanny” outfits, and @thenannyart pairs them with contemporary art pieces. Cardi B once captioned a photo of herself in head-to-toe cat prints: “Fran Drescher in @dolceandgabbana.” The actor Isabelle Owens will mount a one-woman song-and-dance show dedicated to Drescher in New York this month, called “Fran Drescher, Please Adopt Me!” “As everything from the ’90s comes back, people are rediscovering her,” Owens said, noting Drescher’s fashion, her confidence, and her voice; Owens is still working to perfect her impersonation. “There are so many layers to it,” she said. “It’s so delicate and lyrical.”

The Fran Drescher type, no matter how big it gets, still risks reducing the woman behind it. “All of her is in me, but not all of me is in her,” Drescher said. “I don’t think any of my characters could have ever created and executive-produced ‘The Nanny.’” Fran Fine might have been able to wrap the boss around her red-lacquered little finger, but Drescher is the boss. When she secured her own New York apartment, in 2004, it was here, just across the park from the house that stood in for the Sheffield mansion on “The Nanny.” Soon her transformation into Mr. Sheffield will be complete: She is developing a Broadway show of her own, a musical adaptation of “The Nanny” that she will co-write with Jacobson.

“The Nanny” is a timely bid for Broadway. Drescher takes the stage’s most classic feminine archetype and gives her a modern upgrade: She is Eliza Doolittle if she refused to take her voice lessons.

That’s perhaps the biggest misconception about the Fran Drescher type — that the voice is an unfortunate obstacle, rather than a cultivated asset. Once, a fan asked Drescher about the classic “Nanny” scene where Fran Fine goes for sushi, naïvely swallows a wad of wasabi, and says, in an eerily neutral broadcaster’s voice, “Gee, you know, that mustard really clears out the nasal passages.” The fan wanted to know how Drescher had managed to pull that voice off. Sitting in her parkside apartment, perched in her producer’s chair, confidently apportioning her wasabi, Drescher revealed her secret: “I’m very talented.”

from WordPress https://mastcomm.com/fran-drescher-millennial-whisperer-the-new-york-times-2/

[republicstandard]

To Fight for the Future of Europe we Must Turn the Migrant Tide

The situation in Europe is becoming untenable. The globalist elites have foisted a mass population transfer on the citizens of their nations who are overwhelmingly opposed to this imposition on their way of life and its immense threat to their safety courtesy of the so-called “migrants.” These migrants are often aggressive and hostile toward their host countries, and this is even more acute with the Muslim population base that is not only completely uninterested in assimilation but is actually working to transform the very fabric of the societies they now inhabit. Due to misguided altruism that increasingly looks like criminal negligence by Europe’s leaders -and even that is being charitable with their motives- the fate of the continent as we know it now hangs in the balance.

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The fight to preserve Europe for posterity is everyone in the West’s fight, for these are our cultural kin and natural allies. Many of the issues confronting Europe, from immigration to Islamization to encroachment on free speech and civil liberties, are issues all Western nations face; the Western world is infected with the plague of neo-Marxism, acquiescing to the rotting our societies from the inside out from mass Third World immigration and “borderless” policies that do not filter out undesirable elements or prioritize immigrants by specialty (nor in many cases even consider people in genuine need of asylum), but hang a bright neon OPEN sign and prop the door open. Europe and its progeny are on a potential collision course with a new Dark Age. The fall of the West would be a grave blow to human progress, and we must fight tooth and nail not to allow this to happen.

The first order of business must be closing the borders to all migrants until (if?) a sensible immigration policy can be established.

Then, a stringent refugee policy can be instituted should a host nation choose to do so. This should be left up to individual nations, though, not unelected bureaucrats in the EU or pressure from Merkel’s Germany. The current vetting process is virtually non-existent, and less than three percent of all migrants qualify as actual refugees under the classic United Nations definition. This enables huge quantities of individuals to pose as refugees and receive massive entitlements from Europe’s over-burdened welfare states. Once the migrants find themselves in a European Union country such as Spain, Italy, or Greece, they then have free movement throughout the rest of the Schengen Area, and it becomes almost impossible to keep track of where these people are going as it stands. This poses a substantial security risk.

Europe has proven more than willing to take in refugees, but the sad truth is that this has more often than not been to its detriment. The option of temporary re-settlement in areas that are more culturally compatible seems to me to be a much more viable option. It costs one-twelfth as much to relocate someone in the Middle East, for example, than to relocate them in the West, to say nothing of the much greater ease of assimilation. Saudi Arabia has thousands upon thousands of air-conditioned tents sitting unused—perhaps they could take in a few refugees if they’re not too busy exporting Wahhabism?

It is also vital to note that asylum status need not be permanent, but if it is to be, it should be an option open almost exclusively to those who would actually assimilate and contribute. For those who need temporary asylum, this may also be possible, but, at the risk of sounding completely heartless, the European countries have far more to lose than to gain at this point. Compassion always comes at a cost in cases such as these, and in many cases, the cost is outweighed by the benefit, particularly in terms of Islam. The European situation has more than “just” tipped the balance in the opposite direction, it’s upended the scale. The same can be said for the nations of the European Diaspora. We must cease importing people from these countries unless they are genuinely persecuted minorities a la the Christians in the Middle East and parts of Africa, or apostates or reformers under immediate threat of harm, but again, a thorough vetting procedure must be instituted in order to ensure these aren’t wolves in sheep’s clothing. At that, given the deplorable way even the majority of non-Muslim migrants have conducted themselves, I wouldn’t bat an eyelid if Europe, and the rest of the West for that matter, decided against any Third World immigration and refugee re-settlement except in extraordinary circumstances.

As far as those Muslims who are already in Europe, while implementing an aggressive deportation policy for all migratory non-citizens and non-refugees, it is crucial to find whatever scant voices of reason exist in Islam (the Ahmadiyya Muslims perhaps?) and give a platform to these voices. There is no question this is going to be a tall order, as whatever adjective you want to affix to the regressive strand of Islam—fundamentalist, radical—for hundreds of millions of its adherents, the faith, and the jihad are inextricable. Nothing less than the universal implementation of sharia will do, and only then, after the final battle has been won and there are no more infidels to slay will their brand of Islam be a religion of peace. The great difficulty with modernizing Islam is that the political strand and the religious strand cannot be separated; it is scripturally supported that the Dar al-Islam must be theocratic. This is incompatible with Western values.

Europe and the Diaspora must end capitulation in the face of Islamic demands, both internal and external. As Mark Steyn has said,

“The Danish cartoons were a test for the Western world, and we’ve failed.”

Rather than asserting what makes the West great in terms of vibrant and vigorous public debate, virtually every major publication across the Western world declined to publish the Jyllands-Posten Muhammad cartoons that evoked such international outcry and unrest. That was our chance to give an emphatic middle finger to those who wish to bring us to our knees and silence any and all debate about the so-called Religion of Peace. The Charlie Hebdo incident was disgraceful. On about every count, Europe’s leaders, particularly those in the European Union (and let’s not forget our kin in sin, Canada- perhaps the worst offender), have rolled over when confronted with Islamic demands, preferring to sacrifice free speech and liberty for “tolerance” toward those that would see them destroyed. The Islamic hard-liners don’t see whatever bizarre dance Europe’s doing as compassion, they see it as weakness. And instead of confronting this poisonous ideology head-on both at home and abroad—to say nothing of the mass importation of yet more Muslims—Europe’s leaders carry on ecstatically self-immolating alongside the jihadi psychopaths.

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What’s more, the EU’s threatened economic sanctions on member states such as Poland who refuse migrant quotas, and there have been instances where they’ve forced countries like Bulgaria and Croatia to accept migrants as well, despite substantial public resistance. The social-political tension resulting from such an imposition from unelected bureaucrats on the other side of the continent cannot be understated, nor, however, can each individual nation’s acquiescence to these demands be defended in light of, for example, the Visegrad Group’s staunch refusal to buckle to EU pressure. Greece, though not absolved of blame for its misguided economic policies, has suffered at the hands of EU tyranny, turning the Mediterranean nation into a Muslim ghetto and German client state, the worst of both worlds, and a portent of things to come for what the EU has to offer its members. Italy and Spain may well be next, and deep fissures are emerging in the continental coalition. Tensions are rising both between nations and between the detached political class and the hundreds of millions of average people who are watching their way of life being stripped away from them without any say whatsoever.

There are several factors playing in to the Euro-self-destruction: demographic decline, a perceived need to enact globalist policies to import cheap labor, and a wholesale commitment to the vagaries of multi-culturalism, but it could also be something even darker in the psyche of many Europeans, a derangement where lives with minimal inconvenience and strife, but no real meaning, spawn the perverse impulse to invite pain, suffering, and oblivion. If, to quote Adorno, “It is barbaric to write poetry after Auschwitz,” is it barbaric to even exist? Perhaps the blood has stained the German national conscience so deeply the stain can never be removed but for the nation itself to cease to be. A Europe without Germany is scarcely Europe at all, and the specter of the World Wars looms large over a great swath of the rest of the continent’s loss of civilizational confidence and even, it would seem, will survive—the ultimate irony for post-Christian Europe, facilitating its self-crucifixion.

Is there a way out? It’s possible, but it’s going to require the kind of wherewithal and civilizational confidence I’m not sure much of Europe has anymore, though I hope I’m wrong. As stated previously, the migrant tide must be slowed to a trickle or stopped, and only persecuted persons should be given asylum in a discretionary fashion, if at all. As far as economic migrants, unless they offer some kind of specialized skill or hail from a culturally compatible country and can pass extreme vetting procedures, I would say they are out of luck. The cost is too great. If one of the excuses made by the globalists for migrant violence in Europe is a lack of job prospects and opportunity, then why would you continue to pump more and more unassimilable peoples into an environment of deep recession as in France, Greece, Spain, Italy, and others?

Next, I would dissolve the European Union. It’s become a tyrannical entity with a death wish, and it’s going to drag most of the continent down with it. Each nation must decide its own destiny, and each people have a right to self-determination; the Brexit vote was encouraging, and it would be great to see other nations follow suit. Public opinion is staunchly opposed to globalist reverse-colonialism, as well it should be. The confluence of factors, most notably but not limited to the flood of migrants, is threatening the very existence of Europe as we know it. The continent-wide disparity between migrant and native birth rates is a serious issue, and it is greatly compounded by much of the replacement population bringing values and customs that are antithetical to modernity.

In Eastern Europe, Poles, Hungarians, and many others are right to continue to resist the imposition of alien populations on them from above, de-stabilizing and even threatening the existence of these nations. Should the EU survive, prospective members such as Serbia and Montenegro will have to grapple with the globalist project as they take steps to potentially enter the European Union. To what degree are they willing to compromise the basic composition of their nations in the face of EU membership? We know the people’s answer, but what of their governments? The demographic situation of the Balkans, in particular, is very fragile, given the explosive mix of Eastern Orthodox Christians, Catholics, and Muslims; the dissolution of Yugoslavia is a chilling reminder of that fact. The Visegrad Group, also known as the V4 (Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, and Poland) should serve as a great example, policy-wise, of one way forward; granted they don’t have much of a Muslim population due to extenuating historical factors, but the foresight in closing their borders before the situation became a crisis has mitigated much of the potential disaster being witnessed in places like Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany, France, and Sweden.

People can argue about why #EthnicReplacement of the white British is happening. They can argue about whether it is planned or deliberate. They can even argue whether it matters or not. No-one can argue that it is not happening. Thread ⬇ #EthnicReplacement #GreatReplacement https://t.co/jt9oAhcvbC

— existenceofangels (@summontheangels) March 15, 2018

Another imposition on the people by their governments is the restriction of free speech in the form of blasphemy and bigotry laws, resulting in potential jail time for any who speak out against Islam (and Judaism, actually). These speech codes need to be rolled back because, in addition to being a gross violation of free speech, they embolden and enable the jihadists. The governments of Europe can and should also take the following steps: assets of known terrorist fronts need to be frozen and potentially seized, Saudi and Qatari funding of mosques and madrasas needs to scrutinized and again, frozen and seized, the boundless entitlements for migrants (indeed, for everyone) need to be eliminated as they serve as an incentive for yet more to come—and even fund known terrorists,. Starting with the unemployed, all migrants must begin to be deported immediately. Any migrants in the prison system, which have turned into Islamic conversion centers and terrorist networking camps, must also be deported post haste. Disturbingly, there are already sharia courts in Germany, Sweden, and the UK—it should go without saying there is no place for any parallel legal system that applies only to certain people.

It is estimated there are hundreds if not thousands of Islamic State fighters who toggle between the Middle East and their new European digs.

If you are discovered to have ties to terror and are not a citizen, the laws of international enemy combatants should apply, and you’ll be detained, questioned, and prosecuted for war crimes. We also know there are many young people, born in Europe, who become radicalized and go to places like Libya to get training from ISIS or ISIS-like entities and/or fight alongside ISIS and their kindred spirits, and then return. Some of these young men and women are currently known to authorities, and yet they walk free. Their continued presence as free men and women in their home countries is an utter albatross. If you are a known Islamist combatant or are discovered to have left your country of birth to fight alongside or receive training in this or other foreign military outfits, you are waging war against your own nation by assisting its enemies; this constitutes treason, and the penalty is death. No more pathetic five-year prison sentences for what are treasonous acts. Execution of known jihadists and co-conspirators should be the only option. Anything less advertises European weakness to the world.

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Even if Europe takes all these steps, there’s no guarantee it’ll be able to save itself. So much of the continent doesn’t stand for anything of substance; they’ve thrown the Baby Jesus out with the bathwater. Europe has got to re-discover its fecundity and civilizational confidence, and kick the disease of multi-culturalism and over-weaning big government legislation and entitlements, otherwise, it’s much ado about nothing, a struggle for what could be a patch of land anywhere and some pretty buildings that will eventually be razed to make room for more mosques.

Godspeed, Europe.

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Fran Drescher, Millennial Whisperer – The New York Times

Fran Drescher’s voice, if you ever have the chance to hear it deployed in very close vicinity over shrimp tempura and spicy tuna sushi, is actually quite soothing.

When Drescher played Fran Fine on “The Nanny,” the 1990s sitcom she created with her then-husband Peter Marc Jacobson, she was pitching her voice higher, squeezing it up her nose, acting. Back then, The New York Times compared Drescher to “the sound of a Buick with an empty gas tank cold-cranking on a winter morning.” But here in her living room above Central Park, sitting among crystals, fresh lemons, fine sculpture and photographs of herself meeting establishment Democrats, she sounds more like a Mercedes purring out of the Long Island Expressway. For those who grew up with “The Nanny” as our nanny, her voice is so embedded in the subconscious that hearing the softened version is almost therapeutic. Imagine if Nanny Fine had an ASMR setting.

“I’ve heard it’s like a foghorn, a cackle,” Drescher said carefully, balancing her plate in the lap of her little black dress. “I always just describe myself as having a unique voice.” When she left Queens for Hollywood in the late 1970s, her manager told her, “If you want to play other parts, besides hookers, you’re going to have to learn to speak differently,” she recalled. Instead Drescher leaned into her natural gifts. In 1992, she pitched herself as a sitcom star to the president of CBS: “Because of the voice, they think I’m the seasoning in the show,” she told him. “That’s wrong. I’m a main course.”

America has not heard from Drescher much lately — she has not appeared regularly on television since her TV Land sitcom “Happily Divorced” ended in 2013, and “The Nanny” is sadly hard to stream — but this week, at 62, she returns to TV with NBC’s “Indebted.” As in the pilot of “The Nanny,” Drescher appears unexpectedly on a doorstep, except this time, it belongs to her adult son (Adam Pally). She and Steven Weber play Debbie and Stew Klein, a couple of boomer dilettantes who crash their kid’s married life with the news that they’re in debt. The role of Debbie, a boundaryless hugger who swans around her son’s suburban home as if it’s her own personal retirement community, inverts the “Nanny” dynamic: Now the kids have to take care of her.

When Drescher weighed whether to take on the show, a family sitcom that draws on generational conflict, she thought of her own family. “My parents, who are still alive, thank God, were so excited about me being on network television again,” she said. “You know, not everybody could find TV Land,” she added, “but everybody could find NBC.”

The role was not written for Drescher, exactly. The pilot script had called for a “Fran Drescher type,” and when the real Fran Drescher signed on, she required a few adjustments. “People are used to seeing an annoying mother-in-law in a sitcom, but that’s not what I signed up for,” Drescher said. “When you have somebody whose persona is bigger than the part, you got to make it right for me. Or why have me?”

That meant giving Debbie Klein some passions of her own. “I had to bring myself into it,” she said. “I really infused the sex appeal, the sensuality, the vivaciousness of the character.”

“Indebted” creator Dan Levy, a comedian and producer for “The Goldbergs,” said that he originally modeled Debbie and Stew after his own parents, but that the steaminess was all Drescher. “My mom was like, ‘That’s not based on us,’” Levy said. “She elevated that to a whole level that I was not expecting.”

In the decades since Drescher first opened her mouth onscreen, the Fran Drescher type has achieved a quiet dominance over popular culture. “The Nanny” has been syndicated around the world and remade in a dozen countries, including Turkey (where it was called “Dadi”), Poland (“Niania”) and Argentina (“La Niñera”). In “The Nanny,” for anyone who doesn’t have the chatty theme song implanted in her brain, Drescher plays a Jewish woman from Queens hired to tend to the three precocious children of a wealthy English widower, Maxwell Sheffield, who is also Broadway’s second-most-successful producer (after his nemesis, Andrew Lloyd Webber). In foreign versions, the ethnicities are recalibrated — in the Russian one, the nanny is Ukrainian — but the Fran Drescher type is otherwise preserved. Wherever she goes, the ethnic striver is transplanted into a posh setting as the help, and her appealing culture and individual charm pull off the ultimate makeover — reinventing the strait-laced insiders in her own brash image.

Across the internet, Fran Fine is helping to perform similar tricks. With her pile of hair, power-clashing wardrobe and cartoon proportions, she has been fashioned into an avatar of stylish self-respect. In GIFs spirited around social media, she can be seen in a cheetah-print skirt suit, sipping from a cheetah-print teacup; inhaling a plate of spaghetti with no hands; and descending the Sheffields’ ivory staircase as if entering New York’s hottest club.

“I send this when I’m excited,” Drescher said, summoning her phone from her assistant Jordan and thumbing to a GIF of Fine twirling across the mansion in a fuchsia dress and a self-satisfied look. “How many people can send their own GIF?”

The Fran Drescher type is a kind of advisory role. First she was the world’s nanny, showing kids how to mix prints and be themselves, and now she has matured into a cool-aunt persona, modeling a fabulous adulthood. (“Broad City” made this transformation literal, squeezing Drescher into a low cut rainbow and cheetah-print dress and casting her as Ilana’s Aunt Bev, and by extension the spirit guide for a new generation of Jewish comediennes.) “I’ve never had kids, so I’m not really parental,” Drescher said. “I’m a mom to my dogs.”

“I’m kind of an influencer,” she added. Drescher has led an unconventional life, and “I share it,” she said. “It gives my life purpose.” In two memoirs, she has discussed being raped at gunpoint in her 20s, surviving uterine cancer in her 40s, and divorcing Jacobson only to acquire a new gay best friend when he subsequently came out. Recently she thrilled the internet when she revealed that she has secured a “friend with benefits” whom she meets twice a month for television viewing and sex. “I don’t think it’s that shocking a thing,” Drescher said. “I’m not in love with him.”

The kids who grew up watching “The Nanny” are now Nanny Fine’s age, old enough to properly covet her closet and cultivate a newfound respect for her persona. On Instagram, the @whatfranwore account catalogs classic “Nanny” outfits, and @thenannyart pairs them with contemporary art pieces. Cardi B once captioned a photo of herself in head-to-toe cat prints: “Fran Drescher in @dolceandgabbana.” The actor Isabelle Owens will mount a one-woman song-and-dance show dedicated to Drescher in New York this month, called “Fran Drescher, Please Adopt Me!” “As everything from the ’90s comes back, people are rediscovering her,” Owens said, noting Drescher’s fashion, her confidence, and her voice; Owens is still working to perfect her impersonation. “There are so many layers to it,” she said. “It’s so delicate and lyrical.”

The Fran Drescher type, no matter how big it gets, still risks reducing the woman behind it. “All of her is in me, but not all of me is in her,” Drescher said. “I don’t think any of my characters could have ever created and executive-produced ‘The Nanny.’” Fran Fine might have been able to wrap the boss around her red-lacquered little finger, but Drescher is the boss. When she secured her own New York apartment, in 2004, it was here, just across the park from the house that stood in for the Sheffield mansion on “The Nanny.” Soon her transformation into Mr. Sheffield will be complete: She is developing a Broadway show of her own, a musical adaptation of “The Nanny” that she will co-write with Jacobson.

“The Nanny” is a timely bid for Broadway. Drescher takes the stage’s most classic feminine archetype and gives her a modern upgrade: She is Eliza Doolittle if she refused to take her voice lessons.

That’s perhaps the biggest misconception about the Fran Drescher type — that the voice is an unfortunate obstacle, rather than a cultivated asset. Once, a fan asked Drescher about the classic “Nanny” scene where Fran Fine goes for sushi, naïvely swallows a wad of wasabi, and says, in an eerily neutral broadcaster’s voice, “Gee, you know, that mustard really clears out the nasal passages.” The fan wanted to know how Drescher had managed to pull that voice off. Sitting in her parkside apartment, perched in her producer’s chair, confidently apportioning her wasabi, Drescher revealed her secret: “I’m very talented.”

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