This stuff is catnip to the anti-ICE Karens — yummy for their tummies.
Meet Nasra Ahmed, the latest ICE hate crime victim with a Band-Aid affixed to her sizable Somali forehead to hammer home the narrative — however on the nose, as it were, the whole scene might appear.
No one ever accused Social Justice™ people of having mastered the art of subtlety in their propaganda.
“We were following these two men, and I was waiting for these 2 men to hold the door for me. And I told them ‘Hey can you hold the door for me?’ And I walked right in the middle. And when I was in the middle, ICE came.
They came out of their cars, asked me to see my ID. And while they were asking me to see the ID, they just decided it was nice to be racist, saying really nasty things to me.
Yeah, that man, he called me the N-word... and then they arrested me. It was multiple people. They used a lot of force to arrest me. I actually got a scab that was healing while I was in jail, but they pushed hard. They used a lot of violence. My body still hurts. I got a concussion. It’s really hard for me to speak because of that concussion.
They were just using a lot of force to arrest me, and I was screaming, I was crying, I was so scared. I’ve, like, I’ve never been arrested in my life. I don’t have, like, a criminal record. I have a clean record..
It was just, that detainment, I was detained. I was in literal cuffs put on my legs, cuffs on my hands. And I was actually detained with a Native American woman, and God bless her heart. She went through a lot too, she was also detained by ICE. And she was also a U.S. citizen. And like me, and she had gashes on her face. They shattered her windows.
She had blood on her jeans… And she was crying because she was so scared… that her dog got hurt… We were both crying together. We were holding each other tight. I will never forget, like, the fear that we both felt in our hearts that day. And it’s like, I’m so sorry if I am getting emotional.”
VIDEO
Related: Diverse Fat Activist Gets Paid to Lie to Children About Nutrition for Corporate Profit
Some might think me a monster for questioning the veracity of this deserving victim’s harrowing tale.
Yes, #BelieveAllWomen, especially ethnic ones.
I know the thing.
You know the thing.
Everyone knows the thing.
Still, I’m going to need some corroborating evidence before taking at face value what appears to be the product of a very healthy imagination and the foundation for a Lifetime movie of feminist perseverance.
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One is reminded of the infamous “babies in incubators” performance put on by Nayirah al-Ṣabaḥ — the undisclosed, at the time, daughter of the Kuwaiti ambassador to the United States who had a vested interest in ginning up public sympathy for the cause — at the Congressional Human Rights Caucus used to sell the first Iraq war, the entirety of which turned out later to be an agitprop fabrication.
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On a separate note, our 23-going-on-40 heroine, Nasra, embodies a perfect microcosm of the fundamental injustice of the niqab.
Imagine, if you will, yourself as a hardworking young Afghan man in the Taliban bureaucracy. You scrimp and save, slaving away for the regime, breaking your back from dawn to dusk in the hopes of one day affording a high-quality bride.
Some poppy farmer who maybe didn’t have a great yield last season has fallen on hard times and desperately needs a capital infusion to stay in the black.
So he puts the word out on the street, or whatever the Afghan equivalent of Craigslist might be, that he’s got a darling 23-year-old daughter for sale at bargain-basement prices.
23 — that’s a little old, you think to yourself.
Your first impulse is to hold out for primer real estate in the conventional 12-14 range.
Yet, all things considered, the price is right, you’re in no position to expect the world on your modest Taliban bureaucrat salary, 23 is still plenty fertile enough to plant your seed in, and her owner (the father) has solemnly assured you her flower-like hymen, pure enough for Mohammed Himself, Peace Be Upon Him, is fully intact even at her advanced age.
At any rate, inshallah, if you ever move up in the ranks, you can always take on a second upgraded model in the future and move this one out to the shed.
After the handshake’s done and the paperwork signed, you get a look under the hood so to speak, when you drag her back to your hovel, and this is what you see — the clunkiest of clunkers even Obama wouldn’t have taken in his Cash For Clunkers buyback scheme, like an old ’78 Buick just rusting away in a scrapyard, engine block empty, ancient tires punctured.
I’m no scholar in Sharia civil proceedings, but to my knowledge there are no lemon laws that govern such transactions.
So you’re probably just stuck with the lemon.
Benjamin Bartee, author of Broken English Teacher: Notes From Exile (now available in paperback), is an independent Bangkok-based American journalist with opposable thumbs.
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So - your stuff is good enough that you have long ago earned the "heart it before I even read it" method. However, sometimes you really reach deep and put out a gem so polished it shines brightly even in a fog. This is one of those times. F'in hilarious.
I'm certainly old enough to remember the "babies in incubators" false flag, but aren't there many fresher examples, like actor accosted by phantom MAGA hats one frigid Chicago night-- what was his name?
Or the NASCAR driver scared by the klan noose, er, tiny garage door pull? Who was that again?
I'm too weary of it all to even google to half remembered details.