— Areo (@AreoMagazine) May 25, 2019
Mauritius is an archipelago country in the middle of the Indian Ocean.
Apparently, these are sincere articles, not Hakan Rotmwrt tweets about the dubious racial provenance of Alt-Right celebrities.
“There Is Too Much Feminism”: On the Rise of the Mauritian Alt-Right
MAY 11, 2019
I HAD MUTED HIM for months on end. We weren’t close, but I knew him pretty well — we’d hung out a few times over the past decade or so, attended the same sparse cultural events. He likes to write. His gift is irony. And his social media platform of choice, like that of most Mauritians, is Facebook. He’d have diatribes at the ready on everything from poverty to politicians, crafted in his signature tone, a perpetual smirk. The smirk would give way, in the last line or so, to genuine feeling. The technique made him seem like a generally good dude, caught in the Mauritian system like everyone else but with the audacity and wit to write about it. He amassed quite the following. In 2016, he started writing posts on feminism, the kind that elicited LMAOs and general approval sans sincere twist. He irritated me, but I wasn’t worried. I thought Mauritian men were mostly like that: retrograde, patriarchal. I thought that progress was coming whether they liked it or not and that soon, in a decade or so, they’d be embarrassed by their youthful rancor. I had hope in our generation — well educated and directional, ravenous in ambition, ravenous for the world. I knew about the alt-right, but thought the word stood for “white supremacist” and little else; 99 percent of our population isn’t white; I hadn’t even entertained the notion that this European-American export had found a following here. I’d muted him and the chronology of his radicalization. …
Together with a small group of academics, writers, and translators, I have been compiling a quasi-historiography of the local alt-right. We have over 300 screenshots of their conversations, and have tracked what they say, share. We add new material almost every day.
Do you ever get the impression that a certain amount of mainstream feminist writing, such as this and Donna Zuckerberg’s book about Roosh and Heartiste, consists of:
There is this awful Alt-Right boy … whom I just can’t stop thinking about — but, but that’s because I HATE him! Stop smiling. The only reason I track everything he does and says is because he’s horrible! I loathe Mr. Darcy.