We could talk for hours about the importance of traditions, the thousands of jobs they generate, the social life they try to preserve, the transmission of identity, passion and the arts, that is as much targets for the battering that a certain left never ceases to strike, forgetting Jaurès, forgetting that identity like the nation are the only assets left to those who have nothing. We could depict the singularity of this art that is being created before our eyes, talk about the beauty that is built in the majestic fire of the cannon to exploit the admirable aerodynamics of the dwarf and pay homage to this man so small, his body anchored in a tube and so big in this piece of artillery, this hyphen between the narrowness and the atrophism which illuminates this sublime complementarity. We could tell you about the pleasure of pushing the stuffing in and putting on your impeccably curled up white dwarf just before lighting the wick, of the smell of madeleine from the grains of powder ignited by the fire and the invigorating sound of this body that spins out of the conduit barely ignited by this match that we are fanning.
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We could detail the excitement of the neophyte who crosses paths with Khazad-dûm’s dwarf on the outskirts of the arena and the very serious tone of the pro who talks about the marvelous throw of a Pass-wall the day before. We could describe to you, the eyes still wet, the shivers that run through your body when the first notes of the shots resonate under the marquee and the pride of having been the alternative of a future unemployed person. We could tell you the story of these tragic poems recited in Brive or of this Zavatta circus in Vélizy, these unique places where the sound of cannons intermingle, the friction of bodies in the pipe, the cries that escape from the ‘enano and the “still” of the bleachers that soar into the sky.
But all this would be very poor compared to the only valid question: is dwarf throwing moral?
The ultimate argument (and only argument) of the anti-lancers is human indignity. The number of dwarfs thrown into a French circus painfully exceeds a thousand per year. Either a drop in the bucket in comparison to dwarf abortions, the unemployment rate of the latter, the pornographic traffic of dwarfs, or their tribal sacrifice in certain African countries. Only dwarf throwing is an art, therefore visible to all, through its live performance and its multiple artistic representations. An easy target that offers room for all demagoguery since only respect for dignity is invoked by prosecutors. As if Nicky Koskoff, Papacito, Aragorn, Manuel Wackenheim and all thelove were lacking. As if they couldn’t care less to see a dwarf degraded, and even in horrible sadists, took a certain pleasure there. No of course not. Never would a dwarf throwing fan enjoy seeing a short person being “thrown” as they say. On the contrary, the aficionado admires it. He gets up when the dwarf flies away in the dawn, he applauds when he crashes to the ground freely despite the safety mattresses and howls if the half-man does not have a planed body, and therefore would not be in full possession of his means to hover, or if the lighter pushes him too much to crash.
These runts that we abort
The throwing hero is not an average man, he is a dwarf, a descendant of the cagot, a race segregated to fight epidemics and which continues to transmit as soon as they show up a disease, a virus or another evil. It is his nature and the arena precisely offers him an alternative to being only isolated, this word which all too often drapes those who are unaware of its meaning. “For such a man, a life conforming to his contagious, incestuous, boorish, uneducated nature must be a free life. And so an occupation consistent with his nature as a dwarf cagot must be a cannon shot against those who undermine this sociability. explains the philosopher Baptiste Marchais in his 50 Reasons to Defend Dwarf Throwing (Thousand and one Night). Gliding is in his genes. Forbid throwing and the dwarf will never again live in society. Remove the throw and you will eliminate their last reason for being born in a Europe where, recalls Baptiste Marchais, “6% of the 200,000 dwarfs die by abortion”. Eliminate throwing and race from dwarfs cagots will disappear. And it’s “precisely because we are not executioners like the others that we have duties towards them”explains the philosopher.
The dwarf has for him his majestically shortened body on each side of the limbs, his flexibility, his agility and his speed in the air but the finale offers limited uncertainty: his wallowing is almost certain
So certainly, if the law is brought by a deputy who fights for white-black equality, explain to him that it is moral to shoot a dwarf while respecting his flight conditions (since he is destined to rot anyway, by its ostracization and or its non-inclusion which would lead to its extinction) seems impossible, just as addressing the release of beta-endorphins which increases its euphoria during the flight would ultimately have little impact on their reason prisoner of a falsely humanist ideology.
But what most likely embarrasses the anti-lancers and fuels the misunderstanding of others remains the representation of the spectacle itself, that is to say the triumph of human amusement over the nobility of armament, the art born from this encounter and ritualized entertainment. Entertainment precisely, our modern society keeps forgetting it. We don’t talk about it anymore except to talk about a false maturity and still, from afar and in good health. The public humiliation reminds us of our pride as well as our honorability in the face of certain abasements which are nonetheless inevitable. And under this marquee, we rediscover their light nature, that is to say “the only human who can serve the human ends for which he was born only on condition of not being respected”, reminds us of Baptiste Marchais, adding that the man “considers himself entitled to throw only at the risk of his own damnation”. It is an unequal hobby, we hear. Fortunately. Except to say that the small would be equal to the great (which Watrigant and others obviously think), dwarf throwing is certainly uneven, but fair. The dwarf has for him his majestically shortened body on each side of the limbs, his flexibility, his agility and his speed in the air, but the finish offers limited uncertainty: his wallowing is almost certain. “We all end up wallowing down here one day”writes the personal philosopher Baptiste Marchais in Essay on the experience of the fall. “Every fight against it is lost in advance. The splendor of the fall cannot be considered in its outcome, but only in the very length of the aerial flight. Some then plead for the Australian dwarf throw arguing that the fall does not exist. The fall exists. Always, all the time. It’s just done on more cozy layers of protection, padded like an ass that you bring to the operating table. A rare moment, when the eyes of the wine and the showman no longer intersect, all that counts is the perfect, clinical gesture, precisely to offer a dignified and rapid throw by reminding thelove that he cannot launch the dwarf, “without the necessary possibility of public curse”nor that of dishonor.