Now, we will have to learn the elements of animalist language.
It is not in these times of heat wave that I will issue reservations about the salutary warnings of the Greens. That said, that they agree between them would suit everyone. Rivarol observed that the less distance there is between two men, the more picky they are to point it out. Ecologists would have enchanted him. As soon as one suggests building a small dam, the other sets up an association for the defense of local frogs. When a group encourages them to erect a few wind turbines somewhere, their neighbor suddenly cares about saving passing birds. Or that of fish who would be more disturbed by masts at the bottom of the sea than by the usual trawls in their vicinity. I am not talking about those who cry out as soon as a group of farmers wants to create a reservoir for winter water. Or those who oppose the widening of fire corridors in the Landes forests.
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Ecology is a tree with innumerable branches where a thousand kinds of birds perch. Everyone has a heart as big as a pumpkin, but the heart has reasons that reason knows nothing about. The immense irony of life sometimes eludes them, and they fail to see that evil is often good’s best friend. It’s because they are a bit like our Jansenists – the Salafists of the time of Louis XIV. With the simplicity of the missionaries, they believe in all their words. No swirls or arabesques in their remarks in a straight line. Greta Thunberg, their austere, brittle, irreducible, padlocked, convinced, inexorable, transparent and cute prophetess utters controlled truths from every angle. A sincerity that quickly hoists you to the heights of a scaffold by dint of casting a glimmer of inquisition on all skeptical minds. Fortunately, we are in France, where irony was born the same day as thought.
With us, the moral order is always a little disorderly. We take it and we leave it. Despite the ukases of the green mayors, we have not yet given up on foie gras, Christmas trees and the Tour de France. Disney Studios instead arouses pity when they put a disclaimer before Lady and the Tramp to apologize for the two slant-eyed Siamese cats who were cast in the wrong roles. In the land of Babar, indeed, everyone is handsome, everyone is pretty. Even the rats, designated in “Ratatouille” as benefactors of French civilization, transforming reliefs of ortolans into royal feasts. Do not smile, this is also the opinion of the incredible town hall of Paris.
The animal welfare officer no longer wants rats to be called by their names. As the term sounds negative to her ears, she wants us to “change the paradigm” – don’t ask me what that word means. From now on it will be necessary to speak of “double rats” to spare their self-esteem on edge. While waiting to have to qualify them as “basement technicians” since they play, it seems, a major role in the maintenance of the sewers. It has already been necessary to record sexist, racist, feminist and de-colonialist taboos. Then mix the “they” and the “they” to comply with the norms of abusive language.
Now, we must acquire the elements of animalistic language. That’s happy. All this for poisoners who sow fear among tourists and death among our dear pigeons – one of their favorite dishes after, it seems, cat food (and there, I forgive them, because depriving an enemy of his loot is quite natural). Result: at the Town Hall, the instruction is first to “know better” these famous Norway rats. It will be easy: all Parisians can show them some. They are squat, wrapped and much stronger than those poor little field mice that rid us of moles. What else did I say? A thousand apologies to the wonderful little moles who will soon be the subject of a tribute from Disney studios in full work on scenarios featuring cockroaches, mosquitoes, lice and other delights of nature.
PS: I leave you. No question of “over-riding” my train