Fed Dupp

Student of the universe 🇨🇦; dad to 2 rescue pups. Fresh out of f*cks since 2016. Under the influence of common sense.

[Fed Dupp @enuffalready7]

@thedrbryte Good question!
Answer: I don’t care and nor should anyone else

[Fed Dupp @enuffalready7]

@AntiTrumpCanada So the US president is essentially a Roomba that shits itself.

[beth @alltoomaroon]

US SNL FOUND DEAD IN A DITCH! #snluk

[Fed Dupp @enuffalready7]

@7Veritas4 Well, it’s likely only going to be one day anyway…

[Fed Dupp @enuffalready7]

@RealBrittHughes How small and petty do you need to be to use your alleged celebrity to throw a tantrum on social media when you don’t get your way. Don’t like the way you were treated?—be a grownup and deal with the store directly.

[Fed Dupp @enuffalready7]

@fAIkout @kellyclarkson How small and petty do you need to be to use your alleged celebrity to throw a tantrum on social media when you don’t get your way. Don’t like the way you were treated?—be a grownup and deal with the store directly.

[Mark Carney @MarkJCarney]

On this day in 1812.

[Fed Dupp @enuffalready7]

@DougWahl1 Damn right. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

[Peter Girnus 🦅 @gothburz]

I am a member of the Norwegian Nobel Committee.

There are five of us. Five people, appointed by a parliament most of the planet could not find on a map, who decide, once a year, which human being the world has agreed to call good.

I know. I know. I think about it on the tram.

We meet in a building on Henrik Ibsens gate, a street named after a man who wrote almost exclusively about people discovering they are frauds, which nobody on the committee finds funny except me. There is a room with a long table and the portraits of the dead laureates looking down, Mandela, the Dalai Lama, a great many earnest men in spectacles, and one portrait we do not discuss, which is Kissinger, 1973, awarded while the bombs were still falling, after which two of our predecessors resigned and the satirist Tom Lehrer said political satire was now obsolete. We keep him on the wall. A reminder. Every family has the uncle.

It is October in Oslo, which means the sun gives up around four in the afternoon like a civil servant, and it rains the particular Norwegian rain that isn’t quite falling, just hanging there, judging you. I arrive with wet shoes. I always arrive with wet shoes. There is coffee, because this is Norway and there is always coffee, we drink more of it per person than almost anyone alive, and someone’s wife has sent kanelboller, the cinnamon buns, and we sit, five Norwegians, damp, caffeinated, sugared, and we decide the moral standing of the entire species.

Let me tell you how it actually works, because the world imagines a cathedral and it is, I promise you, a book club with a mandate.

287 nominations this year. 208 people, 79 organizations. Anyone can nominate, that’s the secret nobody understands: a professor, a parliamentarian, a former laureate, so the “nominee” list is meaningless, it’s a suggestion box, and every autumn some congressman nominates his own golden retriever and the press writes “SHORTLISTED.” Nobody is shortlisted. There is no short list the public ever sees. There is us, and the coffee, and the rain, and the portraits, and a Norwegian stubbornness that is older than the prize itself.

We read reports. The institute’s advisers write them, thick dull documents, and we argue. Our chairman told the BBC once that in the final meeting “there is a high temperature.” High temperature, for a Norwegian, means someone slightly raised an eyebrow and then apologized for it. We don’t do high temperature. We do a long silence, and then Kristin says “well,” and everyone knows exactly what “well” meant, and it’s settled. That’s our shouting. “Well.” You’d have to be raised here to hear the violence in it.

Now. This year. I will not say the name, because we never say the name, but you know the name.

A certain head of state wanted this prize the way a child wants a thing in a shop window, which is to say loudly, and in public, and with the full belief that wanting it was itself the argument. He said he deserved it. He said he’d ended eight wars, a number that grew most times he said it, like a fish. He had other heads of state phone us. Israel’s prime minister posted it on the internet, “Give him the Nobel.” The leaders of Cambodia and Pakistan announced they’d nominated him, as though announcing it were part of it, as though we tally mentions. A man flew around the globe collecting endorsements for a Norwegian committee the way you’d collect signatures for a petition to the council about a noisy dog.

And here, uff da, is the detail I treasure, the one that makes me smile into my coffee. The nomination deadline is the 31st of January. He took office on the 20th. So for all the phone calls, all the posts, all the gilded lobbying, the only nominations that could possibly count for this year’s prize were filed in the first eleven days of his term, before he had, by his own arithmetic, ended a single one of the eight wars. He campaigned all year for a prize whose window had shut while he was still hanging up his coat. We didn’t have to reject him. The calendar did. We just watched. Norwegians are very good at watching. We have long winters.

People think we sit there weighing his deeds. We don’t. That’s the thing I can’t make the world understand. We’re not grading his homework. We don’t owe anyone the prize for a ceasefire, however real, however loud the announcement. “He made peace” is not a sentence that ends in a medal, the way he believes it does, the way he believes every good thing ends in his name on it. The will of a dead Swede says the prize goes to whoever did the most for fraternity between nations. A dead Swede, I should add, who made his entire fortune inventing dynamite and selling arms, and spent his last years horrified at his own obituary, which called him a merchant of death, and so bought his way to immortality as a man of peace. The whole prize is one guilty arms dealer’s attempt to launder his name. We are, all of us, administering a dead man’s public relations. I find this clarifying. It keeps me humble. It should keep everyone humble, and it keeps, by my count, no one humble at all.

So who did we give it to?

An eighty-five-year-old woman. A judge. Born in Durban, under apartheid, granddaughter of a Tamil man who came to South Africa as indentured labor, a bus driver’s daughter from the poor Indian quarter, who became the first non-white woman to run a law practice in her province, who defended Mandela’s people when defending them was dangerous, who sat on the Rwanda tribunal and the court at the Hague, and who, at eighty-five, is right now a judge weighing whether a genocide is a genocide. When we told the world, our chairman said the rule of law “underpins the system we have set up to ensure peace,” and that “peace requires justice.” She wasn’t even in Oslo. She was in Nuremberg. In courtroom 600. The actual room where they tried the Nazis. You cannot stage that. God staged that, and God, it turns out, is a better satirist than any of us.

She did not phone us. She did not post. No prime minister demanded it for her on the internet. She had, as far as our deliberations are concerned, the one qualification the loud man could never manufacture, which is that she wanted the work and not the medal. The medal finds those people. It flees the ones who chase it. This is not a rule we wrote. It’s just the only pattern the hundred-odd years of our mistakes has ever shown.

The reaction from across the ocean was immediate. His spokesman posted that we “place politics over peace.” Ja. Perhaps. We’re five damp pensioners in a rainy city; of course it’s political, it was always political, it was political when we gave it to a sitting American president nine months into his first term for the promise of things he had not yet done, and we have been quietly embarrassed about that one for fifteen years, so believe me, we had a particular reason this year to prefer a woman with fifty years of verdicts behind her over a man with eight wars in front of him and a deadline already behind him.

Here is what he will never understand, the thing I’d tell him on the tram if he ever took one. We are the one prize he cannot buy, cannot post his way to, cannot have a friendly dictator phone in for him. Not because we’re incorruptible, nei, we’re as vain and wrong and human as the portraits on our wall. But because the entire point of the thing, the only power a small cold country’s book club has ever held, is that it goes to the person not performing the wanting. The moment you demand it, you’ve proven you don’t understand what it’s for, and proving that is itself the disqualification. He ran the most expensive campaign in the history of the prize and the campaign was the reason. He was never losing to Navi Pillay. He was losing to the concept.

It’s dark now. Four o’clock dark. The buns are gone. Kristin said “well” an hour ago and we all went home. I’m on the tram with my wet shoes, and somewhere across the water a very powerful man is explaining to a camera that the prize is rigged, that we’re corrupt, that he’ll win it next year, and he genuinely might, we’re only five idiots and we’ve been wrong before, Kissinger is still on the wall.

But not this year. This year an old woman in Nuremberg, in the room where the law once stared down the exact kind of man who thinks wanting a thing loudly enough should make it his, got a phone call she didn’t ask for.

That’s the job. We don’t reward the man who ends the war and announces it.

We reward the woman who spent fifty years deciding what a war was.

He’ll never see the difference. That’s rather the whole point of him.

Takk for i dag. I have to change trams.

[Volodymyr Zelenskyy / Володимир Зеленський @ZelenskyyUa]

I am grateful to @MarkJCarney for his sympathy for Ukrainians amid the ongoing Russian strikes. The Prime Minister is very well informed about our defense needs, particularly anti-ballistic defense and preparations for winter. It is very good that Canada has become actively involved in developing the FREYJA anti-ballistic system jointly with Europe. This is exactly what can provide greater protection not only to Ukraine but also globally.

Of course, we also discussed the energy ceasefire announced by the President of the United States. Ukraine supports this step, and we have stated so, but now we need a response from Russia – what Russia will say to the American President and whether it will stop striking our energy infrastructure.

I thank everyone who helps defend Ukraine and advances clear, fair steps toward peace! Thank you to Canada and Mark personally for their full support!

[Fed Dupp @enuffalready7]

@HaggisAdele @claptonterrier You could burn that painting…

[Mark Carney @MarkJCarney]

With wit, imagination, and a style entirely her own, Canadian poet Anne Carson has reimagined the classics. She has brought ancient stories to new audiences and transformed the way we think about literature.

Congratulations on winning the Nobel Prize in Literature, Anne. An extraordinary achievement and a proud moment for Canada.

[Jesus Chrysler @JesusChryslerII]

👇👇👇👇👇👇

[Fed Dupp @enuffalready7]

@CraigBaird They played at my high school just after their first album came out. Great band!

[Larry the Cat @Number10cat]

@tedcruz Cat check:
Rioting has been a popular pastime in France for centuries. Much like immigration has been a way of life for the United States since its founding: nobody on the Mayflower was called Cruz...

[Fed Dupp @enuffalready7]

Stop the killing of The Boss, Canada's iconic grizzly - Sign the Petition! https://t.co/RXwKvIFvp3 via @CdnChange

[Canada Hates Trump @AntiTrumpCanada]

Medical experts have studied Trump’s stance and determined quadriceps weakness in his right leg combined with impaired postural control, can be traced back to Epstein Island, where he raped kids with his good pal, Jeffrey.

More cutting-edge medical analysis coming soon.

[Madame Julie @MadameJulie007]

🇨🇦❤️🇨🇦❤️🇨🇦❤️🇨🇦❤️

[MP Arizona☀️🏳️‍🌈💙🌵🐕🐕‍🦺🫂💦🏜🐟🌴🎙🌎🌻♍️🌊 @AzPetrich]

In case you missed it, NPR and PBS have announced that they will no longer air Trump footage, until further notice. They will cover the news but will not use any sound clips. Operation Starve the Attention Whore, is really making my fucking heart sing. ❤️