Prior to being tapped for Potter, Rowling was a French teacher. She is notable for several prominent actions during her teaching career:
1) Not advocating for refugee rights.
2) Not resigning in disgust over Britain's racist school system.
3) Not questioning the necessity of teaching French, rather than Arabic or Farsi or sub-Saharan African languages, in E.U. primary school classrooms.
4) Not demanding that her employer accept the right of transgender students to use bathrooms conforming to their current gender identity.
When tapped for her first major publication, Rowling had produced a brief children's book that extolled white masculinity, patriarchy, patrilineality, British manhood, and British nationalism. It was a weak, milkwater version of those things, but it was a positive and quite thorough representation of those things--it was the version of the world which pre-elevated Rowling, the lonely divorcée government employee, understood to be good and worthwhile. We previously discussed some of the trend she had copied for her book in Neverpotter and the Wardrobe:
Why are the British so driven to write about secret worlds hidden beneath their own? Like the mutilated rape victim decomposing under a Freudian trapdoor, it's their guilt over the complete rape-extermination of the Celts and other native peoples of the isles. Whereas their bastard spawn in America had at least stopped directly and formally massacring aboriginal Americans by the late 20th century, Britain was still stomping on the recalcitrant Irish, at the point of the sword, bayonet, and the pasty, puffy English cock. They sense that their little island is a graveyard; they sense that everything they live in was built upon the bodies of the murdered. It's cathartic for them to regurgitate stories about hidden English worlds where little people with some of their victims' fabled traits are still living--and then, to rut and "save" those people.This trend is fostered by international publishing figures working in Britain, like the greatly-heralded and prolific Neil Gaiman✡. The Roman financiers and Torah-based "Christianity"-sponsors who encouraged the rape-murder of the British isles spent a long time rewarding the Shabbos Anglo-Saxons for their work on the Celts, just as the Americans once enjoyed great mass media support for their wars against the Siberio-American tribes.
The first Potter book duplicated these trends down to the smallest detail. Rowling's hero was an orphan defined by (1) his physical similarity to his father, (2) his masculine determination, and (3) his mother's non-hunger-games-style feminine sacrifice to save him from an evil nobleman. The hero had his future breeding sow picked out for him from the start: a Celtic-blooded pale-skinned redhead girl from a poor family, who was immediately stunned by the sight of the tall Anglo hero and wanted to leave her family's dirty, overcrowded hovel and come live with Harry in an upper-middle-income household with a smaller number of children and more investment in professional educations. Everyone is straight, everyone is white except for a token black and a token brown (Rowling would later add a token Asian, and the movies would try to color up the background students as well, but Rowling cared nothing for diversity at the beginning--everyone was WASP), and the school is run by a powerful old patriarch who commands everyone's respect, except that of a few meddling outsider bureaucrats whom everybody is encouraged to hate.
Every character in the book takes her or his traits from her or his parents, and the integrity of the entire school and government is based upon the blood-gift of magic. People gain exclusive admittance to private school, are divided into class sections ("houses"), attend classes, and have their most vital elements of character decided upon based on who their parents were. The element of a British nation--the tradition formed by those parents over a thousand-plus-year history within the fictional world--is strongly felt in the paintings, architecture, background character, and everything else in the setting, both of the books and the movies. Even badness is heritable, for the propensity to commit heinous crimes runs through the generations. One's future actions are proved to be predictable based upon ancestral allegiance, and those who argue against this viewpoint are mocked by more likable characters, then proven wrong, again and again, as blood wins out.
The antagonist of the first book wears a turban, is an isolated loner, and attempts to commit a murderous terrorist attack based upon his religious beliefs. Yes, you read that right--if you're only familiar with the current version of the character "JK Rowling," she suggested the Muslim terrorist threat in Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone.
In short, the world's first glimpse of Potter was everything JK Rowling has fought against--bitterly and scathingly--for the past several years. Straight. White. Small and armed and independent and extremely wary of foreigners, odd religions, and the slightest hint of outside bureaucratic interference. An exclusive community of strong-families led by men who brook not even a hint of non-marital, non-missionary, reproductive-only sex.
This was the spoonful of sugar meant to make the medicine go down. Rowling's handlers used the malleable simpleton's short riddle-laden literary submission as the launching point for what would ultimately become a project of massive social utility. And Rowling, so excited to be part of it all, obligingly changed, and became herself, the product. A decade after the first book, Rowling was dismissing the families of people murdered by Muslim terrorists as "dangerous extremists" who "aren't what we stand for." She wants more Professor Quirrells to be permitted into more schools around more children. If Professor Quirrell should strangle a little girl or rape a little boy, Rowling wants Quirrell back on the street, preaching Voldemort to the people, and she wants jackbooted thugs sent to arrest Arthur Weasley if he dares tweet something accusing members of the Death-Eater "religion of peace" of being collectively responsible for the rape of his daughter.
Rowling now wants it to be illegal to speak ill of Voldemort. "He Who Must Not Be Named" used to be her obvious joke at people who thought it was wrong or scary to talk about something dangerous. Now, without a hint of self-awareness, she wants to punish people who talk about Allah. Rowling's first book, and many subsequent ones, expressed how horrible and arrogant and misguided and simply wrong it was when even a member of the local school board visited Hogwarts to question Headmaster Dumbledore's actions. Now--with the same simian inconsistency as wanting to ban discussion of Voldemort--she flies into a rage and tweets for weeks at the prospect of Britain wanting to leave the European Union.
Yesteryear's Harry Potter would be today's Rowling's nemesis: an ignorant little brat who wonders why people keep the Voldemort murders so hush-hush, and who sets out to protect his forebears' territory and get revenge for the slain. As sickly, naively wretched as that first book was, it reads like Mein Kampf in comparison to what Rowling has since turned herself into. In Sorceror's Stone, conspirators are named and publicly shamed; support for Voldemort is made a capital crime; dark dungeons and no pity await those who were part of the terror plot. In the face of an uncaring bureaucracy which administers a multicultural territory too large for it to comprehend, Harry and his red-robed friends teach themselves how to fight in defiance of (((wand-grabbing bureaucrats))), and attempt to root out hidden traitors among them who might be loyal to Voldemort, rather than to Hogwarts.
In the first book, Rowling even slips--surely unintentionally--into more extreme anti-Semitism. Of importance to the plot of the first book is the wizarding world's central bank: a great gold horde ruled by scheming, big-nosed, clannish goblins. Hints of goblin connections to the darkest plots in the world are laid--again, probably not because Rowling "was trying to address the Jewish Question," but because she possessed a dim cultural understanding of the nature of central bankers. Suffice it to say that, once Rowling's handlers took hold of the project, the bank and the goblins all-but-vanished from the narrative, having No Relationship Whatsoever to Voldemort. If Rowling had never been tapped, but had continued writing her little British boarding-school mysteries, she might have found herself quite the notorious "internet anti-Semite" at some point in her amateur career, accused by the ADL of making Dickian or Wagnerian analogies to cover for her lack of popular appeal. No danger of that, now; Rowling eliminated Gringotts from her world once that first big check came in, and like a Clinton, eagerly shills for Israel.
The Potter Period is interesting through its fundamental hypocrisy, exemplified not only by Potter, but by the lingering stench of Jane Austen and the fresh hot mess of E.L. James. Many people outside the mainstream can easily recognize the Potter trend as being a disgusting and degenerate component of a great and terrible filth-machine. Yet it is the passion which many people thoroughly inside the mainstream have for Potter which shows the broken nature of the mainstream, as well as, of course, Potter itself: overweight low-income handicapped homosexual feminists of color delighted in reading and popularizing early Potter, even though early Potter was expressly blind to those things; even though early Potter was an expression of fit, wealthy, extra-able, utterly-straight white patriarchy.
We've seen consistent support, from the same media outlets and the same people, for Potter, while Potter was first a nationalist, then a universalist, fairytale. What this reveals about "Potter fans," as about this historical era, is their secret longing for the things they say they hate. No matter how loudly and eagerly the braying for "equality," from the anti-Brexiting and pro-mixed-race-rape peoples of the world, they were powerfully drawn to Potter's world of white privilege, caste divisions, and concealed-carry wand permits. They salivated with delight when Professor Moody taught the unforgivable curses, including Avada Kedavra--the "assault rifle" instant-death curse--to a roomful of young children, in order to teach them how to protect themselves from the dark wizards which the Ministry of Magic was unable to effectively address or contain. Twenty-two years later, those same people are crying "bigot" when someone wants to deny visas to Death Eaters, and demanding that all law-abiding wizards turn in their wands to prevent future attacks by Dementors. None of that makes any sense, naturally, but that's what Potter has been so good at: not just making the insensible apparently sensible, but making it fun, cool, educational, and communal.
Austen and James have provided, and later provided, respectively, similar examples, as hordes of liberated, race-conscious, homosexual-ally women spent the latter half of the twentieth century demanding still more straight-to-TV movies about Austen's endless series of rich white men marrying rich white girls, or complaining about campus rape while fantasizing about being raped by moody billionaires. Potter is neither novel nor unique in that aspect of its manifestation. Yet Austen was long gone by the time the feminists had risen her to trans-literary status, and James is too bereft, even compared to Rowling, to be part of an effective ongoing production line. With Potter, we see the celebritization of the celebritization--as opposed to merely the celebritization of the narrative or of the franchise or of the celebrity, as we discussed earlier--permitting culture to adjust its appreciation for a now-inappropriate narrative by declaring it to have been appropriate all along. How did Cain and Abel make babies if they were the only two people on Earth? Uhh, there were other people. Who created them? Uhh, see, the thing of it, omm, god is jealous, err...see the Talmudic commentaries.
Instead of retcon, it's now, in the Potter Period, concon, or concurrent continuity in place of retroactive continuity: the living author is able to make Hermione have always been African, or decree that Dumbledore always was homosexual, rather than her or others retroactively speculating about what it would have been like if. Rowling is like a more advanced version of Paul of Tarsus, able to pervert and monetize not someone else's story, but her own story, issuing endless Talmudic commentaries to explain away inconsistencies like, "If you cared so much, how did you get through so many thousands of pages and characters without a single hint of alternative sexualities or religious discrimination?" Easy: every so often, Rowling issues a fatwa about how there was an Inuit student in Hufflepuff, a Jewish student in Ravenclaw, a wheelchair-access ramp to the secret Gryffindor entrance, the "fat lady" painting was actually a "glandular disease lady," etc.
How can Potter have been so beloved, even in the 1990s, by the people who are now the polar opposite of every one of the horrible chauvinistic tendencies endlessly extolled in the earliest of the books? We'll see this more and more, in the future, partly in Game of Thrones, but increasing in complexity, scale, and consumer involvement as the process develops: longer and longer stretches of infotainment that build themselves based upon live "fan-service," allowing content-producers to dynamically respond to consumer and political desires. Will the girl kiss the protagonist, or not? Instant precog neural polling produces the right result for the right target group, while the face, methodology, and message of the villain changes in conformity with directives from Washington. The ability to remember that the past was once different--to even discern that your own firsthand review of the past reveals any difference at all, anymore; to see it as you originally did--will become a deliberately regressive trait, because those who remember will find it increasingly difficult, then impossible, to share experience with those who don't know how to go to the bathroom without streaming the Poeticon Astronomicon.
Dystopianistically speaking, we must consider the eventual illegality of memory itself. It is a crime to speak of memory in many places, now, but only specific real-world memory, like, "the aerial reconnaissance photographs showed no smoke during the time period in question." People are jailed for refusing to recant smaller memories than that. The power of narrative commands that narrative memory, too, be suppressed, for as the fluxing narratives are necessary to guide us toward cultural symbiosis, it must inevitably be a capital crime to suggest that Hermione once said it was wrong to be afraid of speaking Voldemort's name. Without memory, there can be no art, for without memory, you can view the same piece forever without realizing that it is not new--and there, at last, the costs of planned obsolescence no longer need to be borne by the producer. The marketing trend of the future is not merely, "What is cheaper than a sequel?" but also, "How can we get them to be as excited about repurchasing their own widget?" And in memory, we find our answer. We pay for land, we pay for water, we pay for companionship; why should we not also pay for air, for yesterday, and for now?
Part 3: the Malfoy switch.