In 1997 the United Kingdom had a mental breakdown. Grown
men who had never had a thought for anything beyond their immediate circle of
acquaintances and narrow fields of interest turned into foreigners. You know
the kind of foreigners; the ones we used to see on the telly, ululating and
self-harming in grief at the funeral of a family member. I remember how it used
to make me glad to be British; to stoically bear tragedy and loss and to go on
and get the job done “If you can keep your head when
all about you are losing theirs...” I watched the wailing fuzzy-wuzzies
with unconcealed disdain and a sense of, yes, some superiority.
Pith helmet, bristling moustache, rigid upper lip,
sleeves rolled up and getting on with it; and that was just the women. The Boys
Own Paper images of Tommy Atkins and his comrades cast from a similar mould, if
it ever existed, is long gone and now Britain has truly become the mongrel
nation many in our governments have long yearned for. Expressing grief is
normal. Doing so en-masse and in public and so loudly and pathetically
unreservedly is, well it’s not how things ought to be done; it’s not cricket.
When that self-obsessed royal clothes horse died the process of turning the UK
into the Middle East began in earnest.
The mass importation of people who neither looked like
nor thought the same way we did was done with no concern to the effect on the indigenous.
Positive discrimination was practised freely and openly in the name of the new
idol of diversity, bringing unquantified and unqualified and too-rapid a change
into how our public services operate and who they operate on behalf of. A blind
eye was turned toward transgressions all who objected were berated and labelled
as simple-minded racists. It appears to have worked; if we all originated in
Africa, as some believe, the presence of our diverse cousins seems to have
awoken the long-dormant mewling gene.
We no longer have to assemble in garment-rending mobs to
loudly and openly mourn though; now we have the internet to do it for us. And
all it takes is a tiny little trigger to get the tears flowing and the high-pitched
shrieks synchronising into a cacophony of awful, self-pitying, stream of
demands for relief devoid of reason. The border numbers released a few weeks
ago had over half the country demanding controls on immigration. Now, however,
the pictures of Aylan Kurdi have flipped opinion among the weak who are now
demanding we fling our doors wide. People who normally don’t care much about
anything and can happily spend hours revelling in video violence have come out
of the woodwork all weepy when confronted with images of things they don’t
normally have to deal with. Where is the common sense, the level head?
And across half of Europe it seems to be spreading. You
would think, now that islam has shown its teeth, its infection of Europe would
be curtailed. But no, now it’s adopt a Syrian week. I’m sure they are perfectly
decent people, like the hard-working Pakistanis and Bangladeshis before them, but
what of their kids? Will the agents and apologists of IS prey on their
frailties and create another generation of ‘nice boys’ who turn into British
born jihadis? It is foolish to pretend it will not happen. And what then? Will we just shrug and say something about it being the price we pay for decency?
New Towns Commission - Housing crisis? What housing crisis?
Emma Thompson says Britain’s unwillingness to take in
Syrian refugees is racist. But are we
not just afraid of repeating what we have seen in front of our eyes? She says “If
these people were white, European, that were coming from some dictatorship in
Bosnia. If they were coming I think we would feel quite differently about it.” On
the same day Richard Delingpole on Twitter said, “It's a brave or stupid man who speaks the truth while the current wave
of immigration self-flagellation is going on. I'm not that man.” If
self-defence is now racism isn’t it about time we all adopted a healthy respect
for those who dare speak out?
