Is Racism Porn? Will the Anti-Racism Movement Cave Like the Anti-Porn One Did?

In the 1980s, a potent alliance of radical feminists and social conservatives launched a serious campaign against pornography. Led by figures like Andrea Dworkin and Catharine MacKinnon, they framed much of it as violence against women — graphic subordination that normalized harm. They pushed civil rights ordinances and influenced the Meese Commission under President Reagan. Yet the movement fractured. Sex-positive feminists rebelled against what they saw as censorship and puritanism. Courts struck down key measures on First Amendment grounds. Violent and extreme porn was temporarily sidelined in mainstream discourse, but the deeper politicized strain of feminism splintered. Today, pornography is ubiquitous, with studies (such as one attempted at a Canadian university that couldn't even find a control group of young men who hadn't viewed it) underscoring its normalization.

The anti-racism movement of recent decades invites a parallel. Both issues started outside the core wheelhouse of center-right conservatives, who traditionally emphasized individual responsibility, rule of law, and color-blind opportunity rather than identity-based crusades. Yet both became vehicles for broader cultural and political power plays.

Historical Perspective on Racism

Academic conservative thought has long pointed to the 19th century as a pivotal era when racism, particularly chattel slavery, faced decisive moral and political challenge in the English-speaking world. British evangelicals — William Wilberforce, the Clapham Sect, and allied Quakers and Methodists — drove the abolition of the slave trade (1807) and slavery itself in the Empire (1833). Their campaign rested on Christian universalism: all men created in God's image, endowed with inherent dignity and rights to freedom, not engineered equal outcomes. This was a rights-based, opportunity-focused vision distinct from later 20th-century interpretations emphasizing group equity or systemic determinism.

Slavery and racial prejudice did not vanish overnight, of course. But the moral framework shifted dramatically through persistent, principle-driven activism grounded in transcendent ethics rather than perpetual grievance.

Modern Enlargement and Exploitation

Critics argue that racism as a dominant political narrative enlarged under President Obama. A notable moment came after the 2012 Trayvon Martin case, when Obama remarked that the deceased "could have been my son," injecting personal identity into a contested incident involving a neighborhood watch confrontation. This style of framing amplified racial polarization.

The 2020 death of George Floyd became a headline catalyst for the movement. While Derek Chauvin was convicted, the initial narrative of murder by knee compression alone has been disproved. The Hennepin County medical examiner cited cardiopulmonary arrest complicating restraint, with heart disease, fentanyl, and methamphetamine as significant contributing factors. An independent autopsy differed, but the full context complicated the "police lynching" storyline. Floyd's death was tragic; the broader "defund the police" and systemic racism narrative built around it has frayed as facts emerged.

Recent revelations about the Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC) — long a flagship of the anti-racism industry — add to the sense of crumbling. In 2026, federal charges alleged the organization funneled millions in donor funds to informants tied to extremist groups it publicly opposed, raising serious questions of fraud and manufacturing the very threats it fundraised against.

Deeper historical questions resurface: Did authorities facilitate or cover elements of past events like the Oklahoma City bombing? Official accounts point to Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols, but persistent theories of additional involvement or negligence remain debated and unproven in court. Such inquiries test institutional trust.

The Parallel and the Warning

Racism is wrong. It violates the principle that individuals should be judged by character and conduct, not skin color. Violent pornography harms, especially when accessible to children, and erodes healthy formation of relationships and sexuality. Both deserve principled opposition rooted in truth and human dignity.

Yet the pattern repeats: moral concerns get hijacked for political dominance. The anti-porn effort split feminism and lost momentum as technology and cultural shifts overwhelmed it. The anti-racism juggernaut, fueled by selective narratives, academic capture, and institutional incentives, now faces headwinds — evidentiary cracks, donor skepticism, and a Trump-era political realignment that prioritizes results over rhetoric.

Will it "cave" similarly? Movements that rely on exaggeration, selective enforcement, and identity as currency often do when reality intrudes. The 19th-century abolitionists succeeded by appealing to universal truths and persistent reform, not perpetual victimhood. Today's exploiters of these issues — whether inflating racism for power or earlier anti-porn zealots — risk the same irrelevance when their narratives no longer hold.

The wiser path lies not in denial of real problems, but in rejecting their weaponization. Protect children from porn. Oppose actual racism with color-blind justice. Demand evidence over emotion. Center conservatives, with their emphasis on individual liberty and equal opportunity under law, may yet provide the steadier framework — as their intellectual forebears did against slavery. The question is whether the broader culture will let principle prevail over power.

The Enduring Appeal of Billy Bunter: A Timeless Comic Creation

In the golden age of British boys' fiction, few characters have captured the imagination quite like William George Bunter — the "Fat Owl of the Remove" — whose girth, greed, and endless optimism have delighted generations since his debut in 1908. Created by the extraordinarily prolific Charles Hamilton under the pen name Frank Richards, Bunter emerged not as a heroic ideal but as a gloriously flawed anti-hero whose misadventures at the fictional Greyfriars School provided both escapism and gentle satire for a rapidly changing Britain.

Hamilton (1876–1961), born into modest circumstances in Ealing, Middlesex, was one of the most productive writers in literary history, churning out millions of words across dozens of pen names and school story series (including St. Jim's under Martin Clifford and Rookwood under Owen Conquest). Bunter began life in an unpublished tale from the late 1890s, inspired by a mix of real people: a corpulent editor, a short-sighted relative who peered "like an Owl," and a brother perpetually chasing phantom cheques. Introduced as a minor figure in the first issue of The Magnet story paper ("The Making of Harry Wharton"), Bunter's comic potential — his pomposity, ventriloquism, and bottomless appetite — quickly elevated him to star status alongside the more upright "Famous Five" led by Harry Wharton.

The Magnet, launched by the Amalgamated Press, became the vehicle for Hamilton's vivid, formulaic yet endlessly inventive tales of school life: "rags," cricket matches, barring-outs, and holiday escapades, all set against the timeless backdrop of a traditional English public boarding school. The stories froze the boys at around 14–15 years old, creating an eternal Edwardian summer of camaraderie and mischief that outlasted the paper itself, which folded in 1940 amid wartime shortages. Post-war, Hamilton revived Bunter in a successful series of hardback novels starting with Billy Bunter of Greyfriars School (1947), extending the character's life well into the 1960s.

Bunter's popularity exploded among a broad audience of British (and Commonwealth) boys — and not a few adults — in the early-to-mid 20th century. For working- and middle-class readers devouring penny weeklies, Greyfriars offered a window into a world of privilege tempered by universal schoolboy trials: bullying, friendship, authority, and the eternal quest for tuck (food). Orwell, in a famous 1940 essay, hailed Bunter as "a real creation," whose tight trousers, thudding canes, and mythical postal order resonated "wherever the Union Jack waves." The character's appeal lay in his transparency and resilience; despite being lazy, deceitful, and gluttonous, he remained oddly lovable, often stumbling into courage or loyalty.

As media transitioned, so did Bunter. From story papers to hardbacks, he moved into comics, stage plays, radio, and especially the long-running BBC television series (1952–1961), where Gerald Campion's wheezing, bespectacled portrayal cemented the Fat Owl's image for a new generation of postwar children. This cross-media evolution prefigured modern franchises, turning a literary character into a cultural icon complete with merchandise and nostalgia.

Bunter's influences run deep in both directions. He drew from the Victorian school story tradition — most notably Thomas Hughes' Tom Brown's Schooldays (1857) — but subverted its earnest moralizing with humor and anti-heroics. Hamilton stood the public school ethos on its head, using Bunter's excesses to satirize snobbery, pomposity, and the gap between aristocratic pretensions and reality. In turn, Bunter influenced countless later depictions of school life, from Enid Blyton's Malory Towers and St. Clare's to broader comedic archetypes in British literature and television. His DNA appears in everything from the gluttonous comic relief in children's stories to critiques of class and authority. Even J.K. Rowling's Hogwarts, with its boarding school adventures and house rivalries, echoes the Greyfriars formula, though updated for fantasy.

In an era of rapid social change, Bunter offered stability and laughter. Hamilton's creation endured world wars, the decline of empire, and shifting tastes because it tapped into something universal: the comedy of human frailty wrapped in the innocence of youth. Today, amid calls for "politically correct" revisions or outright dismissal of old public school tales, Bunter reminds us why these stories mattered — not as endorsements of elitism, but as joyful, character-driven escapism that celebrated friendship, resilience, and the absurdity of growing up.

As long as boys (and former boys) dream of postal orders, endless tuck, and "Yaroooh!" moments of comic justice, the Fat Owl will waddle on. Bunter isn't just a relic; he's a testament to the power of a well-drawn character to outlive his creator and his medium.

The Hollowing Out of Western Education: Spending More, Achieving Less

Across the West — from the United States to Australia, Canada, the United Kingdom, and much of Europe — educational standards are in unmistakable decline. International assessments like the OECD’s PISA tell a consistent story: mathematics, reading, and science scores have fallen in recent cycles, with sharp drops post-2018 exacerbated but not caused by the pandemic. In the US, PISA math scores lag behind leading Asian nations and even many peers. Australia has slipped in long-term trends despite occasional ranking fluctuations. Similar patterns hold in Canada, the UK, and broader Europe. We are witnessing not isolated failures but a systemic erosion of core competencies in the very societies that once led the world in innovation and human capital.

This decline coincides with a dramatic rise in spending. In the US, inflation-adjusted per-pupil K-12 expenditures have surged — estimates range from roughly 60-280% over decades depending on the starting point, with real increases continuing into the 2020s. Aggregate figures across Western nations show education budgets ballooning, often outpacing inflation and economic growth. Yet outcomes stagnate or worsen. Something is profoundly wrong when societies pour vastly more resources into schooling and receive diminishing returns.

We have seen false alarms before. The 1983 A Nation at Risk report sparked national panic over collapsing standards in math and science. But the early 1990s Sandia Report, a careful re-examination, revealed a classic case of Simpson’s Paradox: overall averages fell while nearly every subgroup — by race, income, prior achievement — held steady or improved. The apparent crisis stemmed from a broadening test-taking pool that included more diverse and previously underrepresented students.

Today’s decline is different. Demographic shifts play a role, as they always have in large education systems. But the data suggest genuine stagnation or regression even within subgroups, particularly at the lower and middle tiers. Aggregate spending has risen while foundational skills erode. This is no statistical mirage.

Focus on the bottom 30%. One under-examined but powerful diagnostic is the performance of the bottom 30% of students by achievement — not the very lowest 20%, but the broader band that includes many capable young people held back by circumstance, disengagement, or inadequate support. Reliable cross-national data here can be elusive, yet available evidence points to this group as a tremendous vector for improvement. When the bottom absorbs disproportionate resources without commensurate gains — through endless remediation, administrative bloat, or misallocated interventions — the entire system suffers. Education is a battle of finite resources and attention. Lifting the bottom 30% does not mean neglecting excellence; it means addressing root causes so that potential is unlocked rather than squandered.

Many in this band are not inherently low-ability but face barriers that responsive teaching could overcome. Meet their needs effectively, and spillover effects emerge: stronger classroom norms, peer learning through proximity to higher-achieving students, and a culture where effort is normalized. The capable rise, and those around them are lifted by aspiration and example.

We have forgotten a basic truth: students must work to achieve. No amount of rebranding failure as “different success” erases that reality. Young people know when adults lower the bar — when grades inflate, standards soften, and discomfort is pathologized. The result is not empowerment but demotivation and cynicism. Pretending there is no hierarchy of competence disheartens those who could strive and cheats everyone of honest feedback.

This tension between youthful energy and adult authority was captured brilliantly in the popular 1930s Australian radio comedy "Yes, What?" Set in the chaotic Fourth Form at fictional St. Percy’s school, the series lampooned student hijinks, excuses, and classroom antics. The title derives from the long-suffering headmaster Dr. Percy Pym’s exasperated response to the bumbling student Greenbottle’s vague “Yes” — “Yes, what?” The show thrived on the absurdity of distracted pupils and flustered teachers, drawing from vaudeville traditions familiar to Melbourne audiences.

The hijinks were not the education, but they served a purpose: they challenged authority to be responsive, clear, and effective. In our era of falling standards, we need that same spirit — not chaos for its own sake, but a willingness to confront complacency, demand effort, and restore rigor. Authority without responsiveness breeds resentment; responsiveness without authority breeds disorder.

Western education stands at a crossroads. We cannot spend our way out of this without reforming how resources are used — prioritizing core instruction, high expectations, and support that targets real barriers rather than bureaucratic expansion. The bottom 30% holds keys to broader renewal. Ignoring the need for work, hierarchy, and honest accountability only deepens the hollowing out. It is time to move beyond comforting illusions and recommit to what education has always been: hard, rewarding, and essential for civilizational strength. Our children — and our future — deserve nothing less.