Another Bigot Bites the Dust: Bernard Manning
Britian's largest racist comedian Bernard Manning pased away yesterday and the UK Guardian's Marcus Brigstocke takes his memory to task. - The Angryindian
When a person dies, it is sad for their family and friends - so, in that respect, I am sorry that Bernard Manning passed away yesterday. I hope that the grief and pain of those who loved him lasts as long as it needs to, but no longer.
For myself, I am glad Bernard Manning is dead. Good riddance. The world now has one less ignorant, hateful bigot living in it. One less racist oaf poisoning us all with his stupid, crass, playground ideas; may the many others, who shared his view of the world, soon leave us too. If you thought Bernard Manning was a harmless loveable rogue with impeccable timing and a charming yet dangerous disregard for conventions of taste and acceptability, you are wrong. He was a racist, hateful and dull, and we are better off without him.
Over the next few days, there will be people remembering him fondly and saying things like - "well, it was a different time wasn't it?" - and they are right - it was a different time ... when he started; but then the times changed, as they always do, and he could have changed with it, but he didn't. He stayed where he was, his nasty piggy little eyes peering out from his pathetic swollen head, that smug mouth curling at the side as he dreamed up new ways to target his bile and revulsion at those who were not like him, his "Niggers" and "Pakis" and "Poofs" and "Wogs". He hit his marks and delighted many in so doing, but not me. Screw him and screw his memory.
You see, Manning, unlike many of his contemporaries, who had the sense either to grow up or at least to contain their vile bigotry in whatever golf club they took refuge, clung to his racism like a petulant child to its favourite dolly. Refusing to give it up even when most of his friends had abandoned theirs and moved on. Perhaps someone had explained that comedy based on prejudice and bullying demeaned both the teller and the subject alike, but not to Bernard Manning. He revelled in his hatred of other races, encouraged by the morons who refer daily to "political correctness gone mad" (Bushell, Littlejohn, Clarkson et al). "Thank god for Bernard Manning," they would crow - "at least he's not afraid to say what he thinks." The cowards loved to cheer him on from the sidelines, and tried to paint him as a brave champion of free speech. "Go on, Bernard, you tell those black bastards, you put those fucking queers in their place." He was no champion of free speech; he was just a bigot, not clever or witty with it, just a tiny-minded bigot. He wasn't daring and his view of the world was not some clever character or stage construct but a merely a view retarded by his choosing to be a bitter racist, on stage and off.