Update: Why so serious, CTers? You won, remember? You got your little park; you don’t get my blog too. I barely have time to write for this thing, much less moderate your crying about how we dare have an opinion about you jumping the gun for no reason at the cost of all these pups’ lives. I have to leave in a few to go take care of our bats. You did something bad, and now you have to accept that a lot of people are angry. That has nothing to do with anything written here, which won’t mean much in the end anyway, but with cause and effect. What will mean something are the carers on the ground in CT who are taking pictures and video of all this, much of which I’ll be posting here or linking to sometime tonight. So much for us awful foreigners not knowing what’s REALLY going on over there. You may not know anyone outside of a two mile radius, but we do.
And just to be clear: no, I’m sure not every last person in Charters Towers is a monster. See: hyperbole. It’s a technique I use a lot here, because it amuses me. I wrote this thinking that nobody but my grand total of three regular readers would see it; had I known it would reach all the way to CT, I would have worded it much differently.
If you asked the “people” there, they’d say the monsters are the bats. After today, if you asked the bats that will soon no longer live there and whose pups will die, they’ll say it’s the people. I don’t really need to say what side I’m on.
Today, thanks to the kneejerk ignorance of Premier Campbell Newman, as well as the “Honorable” Andrew Powell’s complete lack of comprehension of his role as Environmental Minister, and lastly and mostly thanks to the ignorant, backwoods bloodthirst of this town of atavistic, knuckle-dragging stragglers of evolution, a black flying fox maternity colony in Lissner Park will be dispersed via smoke, sirens and water cannons. Most, if not all of the pups will die.
They could wait another couple of weeks, and the babies would be able to take flight from these horrible beings alongside their mothers. They won’t wait. We bat advocates have thrown a shitstorm of noise and outrage and what must be easily a dozen petitions all signed by thousands of people. Thousands of travelers have declared their intent to not only boycott Charters Towers, but Queensland as a whole. We’ve vowed to make sure that those responsible will be seen within the same cruel lens as the baby seal clubbers in Canada and the laughably psychotic wolf killers here in the United States, as best we’re able. Nothing has worked. Their response varies depending on who it’s from, assuming you get one. None of them contain anything approaching reason or discourse.
Newman and Powell will respond, via can, with some chest-thumping about how they’re not afraid to put human safety over animal safety in some sad attempt to seem like crusaders against Dracula, whom these idiots probably think masterminds the colony. The people of Charters Towers must feel much safer knowing that their Premier has vowed to defend them against harmless mothers. For such people any reassurance at all, from whatever front, must set their cowards’ hearts at ease a little.
The response from the people themselves is much more honest and up front, and whatever form it takes, it conveys an absolute and irrational hatred of these blameless animals. Some are more measured, sure, and merely parrot the same incorrect bullshit about bats being dangerous that nobody in the 21st century has an excuse for believing. You may choose to be stupid, but you don’t get to inflict it on us. Others, however, outright exult in the imminent slow deaths of these bats. You know these sorts of people. These are the people who are awakened once at night by, say, a barking dog. Rather than understand that dogs bark, that these things happen, even perhaps resolving to talk to the neighbor about it in the morning, their self-absorbed nature leads them to develop a poisonous hatred for that dog. They never think of solutions, only retribution. The most complex and nuanced of life’s problems invariably become a conflict in such minds, to the extent that these people can be said to actually have one.
This is the mentality of the Common Dumbshit. It’s a mentality that I’m familiar with, and even struggle with myself, as it’s in my blood. The Common Dumbshit takes personally things that aren’t personal in the least. When confronted with, say, a colony of bats in their park, they don’t think “Oh neat, some bats have moved into the trees in our park”. No, they take it as an invasion. The noise, guano and whatever other byproducts of the colony are taken as a personal attack, because ultimately, as a materially, intellectually and emotionally impoverished and wretched creature, the Common Dumbshit is self-absorbed. It is constantly aware of its many extensive shortcomings even as it strives to deny them. This leads them to be not only prone to vice of all kinds to drown out the howling futility of their useless and often outright detrimental existences, but to oppose even the smallest nuisance as if it had personally assaulted their mother. Life sucks enough, they reckon, without some shithead bats moving into the trees just to annoy me.
They don’t want to hear that the bats are just trying to live as they are. Deep down, they know they are failing to live as they are, as well as what they imagine themselves to be. Even a prosperous human, whom in this instance means basically anyone who has something that the Common Dumbshit doesn’t have, drives them mad with jealousy. To see an animal being cared for by a loving and dedicated mother when their own was likely as fucked up as they are, to see the community that animals enter into so effortlessly when their own is so wracked by dysfunctional petty dramas, it makes them crazy.
And why wouldn’t it? These people need to cling to whatever illusions of superiority still remain to them. It’s why racism, homophobia and the like can be found among them in such abundance. It’s why they’ll even cling to the notion that simply being human somehow makes them special, as if there weren’t six billion more of us running around.
It doesn’t. Moreover, they can’t simply be honest with themselves or with us. They keep trotting out the same old hysterical bat fearmongering that’s been soundly debunked as a reason why they “must” do this, but in the end it comes down to “bats freak stupid people out and they make noise sometimes”.
Small, weak-willed people who feel beset by life, who imagine the rest of us gallivanting about without a care in the world are everywhere and take many forms. They hate us for our supposed lack of troubles. In fact, they pretty much hate everything except for the things that distract them from their own failure. These are the people who say things like “Life’s a bitch, and then you die,” yet against their own logic fail to kill themselves. These are the people who can find themselves gifted with a resident flying fox colony and think of nothing else but to kill them. They are common, cheap, everywhere.
Hear me now, Australia: you guys don’t get to go ‘Murica anymore with the rest of the internet. Why? Austin, Texas. That’s why. They too found themselves hosting a massive bat population, only they didn’t resort to violence. Rather, they opted for mercy. They outfitted the Congress Avenue Bridge with shelters all along its underside, and as bats are intelligent and communal creatures, the Mexican free tails found it. Eventually, nearly every bat in the city resided under that bridge, forming one tremendously huge colony. What noise they make is drowned out by traffic; all the guano is in one place. Further, those bats are now a big draw for tourism; I myself saw them as a kid on a family trip in which we went out of our way to see them emerge at dusk. It’s one of the most vivid and breathtaking memories from my childhood.
You could have had that too, Charters Arms. You could have had a town that was special. Granted, microbats are not flying foxes, although what Austin’s microbats lack in size, they more than make up for in sheer numbers. And perhaps such a thing might be initially expensive, but there was no shortage of experts who might have helped you, and who could have called upon a huge amount of charitable income. Forbearance and kindness now could have paid off later.
But no, you’re just garden variety miserable, joyless people who blame everyone but yourself, and now it’s the bats’ turn. You honestly believe this cull is going to make everything peachy, but you’ll just find something perhaps less visible and decide that it has become the bane of your existence. Probably us bat people, actually. “Oh, now everyone hates us just because we killed a bunch of babies, it’s all those bat freaks’ fault!!!” You’ll celebrate that you made some noise and scared some bats, as if that validates you in some way, but all that makes you is a bunch of yokels who made some noise and scared some bats, killing god knows how many pups in the process. And that’s not so much. You weren’t much before, and you’ll be in the negative after today. You are nothing if not predictable. Given the choice between progression and destruction, dumbshits never choose wisely.
You will never find joy this way, you will never be at peace and you will die confused and angry, having understood nothing of what happened to you.
So congratulations, I guess. Now you’re famous.