Monday, 22 July 2019
Gunboat diplomacy without the gunboats is how our inability to defend shipping in the Strait of Hormuz has been described. As the deliberate and not so gradual winding down of Britain’s once world-bestriding Royal Navy now shows, in stark relief, Britannia no longer rules the waves. No longer and not for some time, as the US Navy took over that role in the middle of the last century. Still we could – and did – hold up our end of the deal until relatively recently.
Now, of course, the powers are calling for an international joint task force to take control of the region, much, it can be assured, to the chagrin of the Arab powers who seek to burst free from the restraints that more, shall we say civilised, nations have applied. The region needs to be kept in check, possibly more than ever before, now that an impending nuclear dawn for islam draws nearer. But there it is, the Royal Navy is neutered, shackled and brought to heel along with the British Army and the Royal Air Force, victims of an ideology of defeat.
Meantime, civil society has been under its own siege as manners, conduct and general behaviour have been eroded to the point of near anarchy. London appears to be the stabbing capital of western Europe, overrun, it seems by lawless gangs, drug runners, people traffickers and the like, many of whom spring from the unaccounted population of what are now termed ‘irregular migrants’. Even the language has been controlled so that such meaningless terms make it nigh on impossible to call a spade a spade and thus address the recurrent theme.
That theme is decline and retreat and surrender and beg for assistance and there is no logic to it. No logic unless, you desperately conclude, it is deliberate. But surely, it couldn’t be deliberate, could it? Britain barely contributes its commitment to NATO and it is obvious to all – serving and veteran, like myself – that even that is nowhere near enough. Events in the Gulf confirm it. We are no longer independent economically, militarily and even culturally; we have been diminished, diluted and to what purpose?
To sell the notion of supra-national governance, where no one state can exist without the help of all the others; where no actions may be taken – militarily, economically, culturally – without the consent of all the others; where no flag assumes an importance greater than the flag of the mother ship; where we are all citizens of the world and wards of state. In an earlier age this was called communism, but now they call it the EU. Those who plead to stay are those who have accepted the loss of British identity; those who are convinced that ‘progressive’ is derived from progress, when it is really spawned from helplessness.
Boris channels Churchill? He will have to.
So, tomorrow we will have a new Prime Minister and the EU rats are already deserting the government midden. If Boris has the balls he could turn this evacuation into a rout, and in the very brief window of opportunity before they try to bring down the government, he has the ability to reach out and demand more. Not from him, not from Parliament, but from us. More optimism, more hope, more determination to recover what we threw away some decades ago. If we have even the smallest glimmer of a hint of a sliver of a chance, we need to get behind Boris and push like fuck.
Friday, 19 July 2019
I just watched the very last This Week with the incomparable Andrew Neil. What a loss to everybody this is. It will be missed by its devotees and its demise makes the BBC significantly poorer in terms of political balance. Complained about by ardent lefties as being driven by Neil’s aggressively right-wing agenda it was, of course, nothing of the sort. Rather it was a last bastion for independent thought and free expression without taking itself too seriously.
The last show was a masterclass in self-effacement and the willing participation in the kind of ritual embarrassment the show claimed as its own as commentators and politicos from left, right and right-on made utter tits of themselves, then showed up to be shown up in front of a live audience. Forget the ‘reality’ shows where former back-benchers pose as ordinary human beings for the edification of a thoroughly non-discerning public, This Week’s pastiches had none of the dignity of the bush tucker challenge or ‘real housewives’; they were amateur hour personified and what better portrayal of the frailty of the position of those with power or influence.
Naked under the Andrew Neil spotlight, This Week allowed for the widest possible set of views and woe betide those without the depth to back up their claims. Nobody was safe and many a pomposity was pricked as the expounders of lies and bent truths spluttered and stalled before the master interrogator’s inquisition. Neil was uniquely well-prepared and attacked all false claims, from either end of the spectrum, whenever falsehoods were being promulgated or out-of-context ‘facts’ used to support false theses.
To the left, Neil must have seemed like a right winger but ask any right winger who has been placed in those thumbscrews how much mercy was shown and they may well shudder at the recollection. Legion are the social media clips showing the evisceration of the high and mighty and the self-proclaimed champions of unworthy causes. Livid were the bruises and scars of battle as hypocrisies were exposed, bullshit batted away and crap countered. And he did all of this with a smile and a cheery, cheesy line.
We may never see its like again, yet we have never needed a sense of perspective so much. The opening monologue alone was worth tuning in for – a catalogue of catastrophic, comically inaccurate predictions, forecasts, earnest proclamations and plain dodgy prophecies presented earnestly over the years. If only some of those just as earnestly forecasting doom and disaster over Brexit could see just how foolish they appear to the rest of us. If only the never-Trumpers could give just an inch of grudging ground.
Let's face it, Jonesy, you're a bit of an arse...
But the fight goes on and Andrew Neil’s spirit will still stalk the corridors of power. Political discourse may have lost one of the few people keeping it grounded, but there are plenty of we amateurs on social media. Keep taking the piss, keep knocking them off their lofty pedestals. Before we can clean up politics we need to sling a whole lot more mud.
Wednesday, 17 July 2019
Ursula von der Leyen has, as expected, been shooed into the position of EU Commission President by the faux democratic process of voting, from a shortlist of candidates including herself and… er, herself. The result has been loudly touted as 52% to 48%, mirroring the Brexit referendum and therefore as equally valid. After all, sayeth the righteous remoaners, if 52% is an ‘overwhelming majority’ (something leavers have never actually claimed) why all the belly-aching?
Why? Well it’s as if Keith Vaz were to chair the committee for standards in public life for some time after the cocaine-fuelled rent-boy episode. Or as if renowned anti-white racist Yasmin Alibhai-Brown were to appear on our televisions almost every day to berate us for our skin colour. Or – and you’ll have to admit this is something of a stretch – as if unelected advisors were given titles so that they could take seats in the House of Lords and thereby bypass the election procedure and end up being cabinet members.
It’s all a question of legitimacy and the Brexit Party, among others, are in the EU Parliament precisely to try and open your eyes to what is really happening. To suggest that a disgraced German politician – under investigation for insider dealings in defence contracting – and utterly unknown outside her home country is a fit person to lead the commission is risible at best, sinister if you tend towards darker imaginings.
“But she was voted for!” They cry. Narrowly, yes. But no alternative was given. This wasn’t a contest, it was a rubber-stamping exercise, exactly as Nigel Farage has been saying for years. The majority of MEPs in the chamber are paid up EU devotees and yet they only just managed to get sufficient ‘yeas’ to pass the appointment. But where were they in the selection process? Where were the Euro-hustings allowing the ruled to see who would rule over them? Where were the preliminary voting rounds?
“How did Farage get to be leader of the Brexit Party, then?” they demand, “That’s exactly the same thing!” Is it? Did the BP suddenly take over the country? Is Farage the Prime Minister, or is he, in fact, simply the very popular leader of a party he founded? It is normal, indeed it is healthy, to question nepotism, secret committee selections, graft, corruption and abnormal voting outcomes. It is right to question polls limited to specific cohorts. And it is also right to question the current Tory Party system, but at least its members have had a say and all the selections have been highly public; embarrassingly so.
But the closed-door shenanigans of the EU’s ruling elite are not properly held to account. They aren’t even properly held to the light. This is the entire point of Brexit. We have enough trouble being informed of the intentions, the motives, the reliability of our own, usually directly elected ‘representatives’. But how can we be represented by people we have never heard of, who often come with political or even criminal baggage and over whom we have no power to deselect?
Me? My, what a surpise!
At a time when more transparency is being demanded here at home; when higher standards are being demanded of our governors; when people are demanding a greater say in how our country is run; it is ludicrous for those who shout “Who funds you?” at Nigel Farage to be cheering on the farce of this ‘election’. There have always been crooks and low-lifes in positions of power, but why should we stand for a system in which this is not a regrettable exception, but an entry requirement?
Monday, 15 July 2019
A stitch in time saves nine, they say and how wise they were. I have been spending my annual leave fixing up the house and as with all such projects you realise, too late, how a little regular maintenance can avoid wholesale refurbishment. As you strip back the layers of emergency patching you eventually reach the point where the rot began and belatedly begin to put the underlying structure straight. It takes far more effort than it should, costs way more than if the damage hadn’t been just concealed, but ultimately makes a home fit for the future.
During the week it has struck me what an apt metaphor for our country this is. When the great liberalisation of society began, the minority voices agitating for change were relatively small; a drip-drip-drip of barely acknowledged protest which was ignored for years. But as ‘people power’ grew and the ability to promulgate your grievances far and wide meant that more suggestible, recruitable people heard the calls, change gradually came about. The criminalised became legal, the marginalised mainstream. These were durable patches and they kept out the rain.
But underneath all of that, the foundations supporting the whole edifice were beginning to crumble. The rod was spared and the child spoiled rather more often than was just and necessary. The desire for government to represent the make-up of the people was accelerated and its champions were recklessly vindicated as brick after brick began to spall and was left to crumble, the cracks painted over and a fresh coat of bright, vibrant diversity applied. And as one house flouted the planning rules, others followed suit. The rainbow squat, held together by gaudy paint and the flimsy glue of peace and love, maaan, became the norm, rather than the mildly tolerated exception.
Uneasy at the rapid change the authorities pointed to neighbouring countries and implied that not to follow where they led was a mistake. In fact, they decided, we should go further. If gimcrack shanty towns were good enough for the French, they said, it would be xenophobic to demand we restricted the rate of change and insisted we lead the charge instead. And when the cracks appeared? Why, they papered over them as well, with whatever inferior materials they had to hand.
If you build a shed on uncertain footings and weatherproof it with wallpaper it will soon disappear into the mud when the rains come. But a shed is a simple and not too costly matter to replace, wholesale. You may have lost some of what you kept in it and you may have had to endure the ribbing from your wiser neighbours, but build it back, properly and harmony will return. But how do you set about rebuilding the whole street, town, city... country?
We're going to need more gaffer tape...
For those hard of comprehension this is, of course, an allegory, a somewhat tortured metaphor for the current and future state of our civilisation. While the Gilets Noirs run riot in Paris, while millions agitate for supranational control of our ability to keep our own house in order, while anti-democratic movements demand that borders be broken down and the rule of law be misapplied to allow it, some of us – hopefully more of us each day – see that it cannot continue. The rain is coming and we are far from ready.
Wednesday, 10 July 2019
Oh, the old globalist conspiracy reared its head again recently, although I expect the job of the conspiracy theorists is never just part time; more of a mission than a one night stand. The ‘global elite’ goes the trope, seek to keep us in poverty. Really, they seek to keep us in poverty do they; why would they do that? Surely they would be far better elite global conspiracists if they sought to make us just wealthy enough that we don’t whine about it and dangled just enough gewgaws in our acquisitive little faces that we kept recycling that wealth and in the process made themselves all the richer still.
But such logic can never surface above the film of envy which cloaks every leftists manifesto for their perfect world, filled with perfect humans who never want more than they need. But think about it, really, if your serfs are happy and fed they are less likely to agitate too strongly for change. What would and does make all of us poorer, however, is an insistence on a nebulous, unobtainable ‘equality’ which seeks to restrict those who do better and advance those who don’t. When every little setback is given its own special place in the pantheon of grievance we end up punishing thrift and rewarding indolence and fraud.
Conspiracy? We don’t need conspiracy when so many people have brains hard-wired to see injustice and conclude, therefore, it must be Tory injustice. People being killed off by austerity? Deliberate policies to punish people for falling ill? Seriously, you think that Tories (spit that word, son, spit it) actually, deliberately, wish to cause people harm? Wish to push people into needing expensive treatment which they then deny them? How sick must your mind be to come up with stuff like that? And in any case it’s what you would denigrate as ‘Tory types’ who will foot the bill; it always is. (And you can bet it isn’t Tories who are currently defrauding universal credit recipients to the tune of millions.)
If you want a simpler theory, here’s the evolution-versus-divine-creation comparison: What if making everybody wealthier made the rich wealthier still? What if, people actually having money to spend better serves the globalist ambitions than keeping them in poverty? Steal from people and soon they have nothing left to steal [give a man a fish]. Or allow people to amass spending power of their own and let them buy stuff from you forever [teach him to fish]. Which is the more likely? Which is the least trouble? Which of them requires the least amount of collusion and contorted conspiracy?
Meanwhile we keep on researching poverty and in doing so introduce ever more measures to tell people how badly done by they are when we should be explaining to them how to best participate in the only economic model that has ever really worked – western capitalism - a system in which output has increased 100-fold, work days have been halved and lifespans doubled in the last two hundred years. But all this is wasted on those who would rather wallow in grievance and believe the world is set against them. Now, excuse me, as I must go and skin another poor person for the pot.
Monday, 8 July 2019
In the past few days, several senior Conservatives, including Jeremy Hunt, have warned that leaving the EU without a deal would pose a major threat to The Union, with Nicola Sturgeon already ploughing ahead with plans for a second referendum on Scottish independence. David Lammy tweeted out – in a break from his usually ceaseless anti-white tirade – “I don't remember seeing the break up of the United Kingdom on the ballot paper in 2016”. Meanwhile, Nigel Farage has suggested that while regrettable, the break-up of the United Kingdom would be a price worth paying to deliver Brexit.
From whence has come this shirt-rending angst over the precious union? Teflon Theresa, it would seem, in her latest attempt at leaving office without her only ‘legacy’ being that she could not deliver what the British people demanded. British, did I say? I no longer feel British, but I feel - more fiercely than ever - English to the core and it is the English who have the axe to grind with the EU. May has pledged (though it is hardly in her gift) to keep the United Kingdom together. Boris Johnson has gone so far as to state that preservation of this uneasy union is more important than leaving the EU. I beg to differ.
May’s deputy, David Lidington has gone on record to talk about English indifference to the union, as reported in The Scotsman newspaper. But in doing so and just like all the others he does not, or rather refuses to, grasp the reasons why. The Union? Yes, I – we – can see it as a strength and yes, as an island it is preferable not to allow foreign powers to have a border within our shores, but I’m not sure that indifference is the right word; frustration might be closer. What we are certainly not indifferent to is the way in which being English has virtually become a punishable offence. If, as many believe, Scotland should be governed by the Scottish, then why should governance of England not be exclusively the preserve of the English?
Recognising that London is no longer an English city, as John Cleese so rightly remarked, can you imagine the backlash if we were to hold an annual English Pride celebration? Even better, a whole English Pride month; a month in which we could come out of the closet and wear St George emblems and declare ourselves openly English without fear of censure. Well of course it won’t happen; as with the Conservatives, Englishness has been sacrificed on the altar of precarious union and must now only be practised behind closed doors.
Will Boris bring back English pride? Will he strengthen or – as is more likely – widen the divides that exist inter and intra-nation? Whether or not we leave the EU and whether or not the countries of the former United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland go on to peacefully coexist as independents or maintain close union is, at the moment, simply not germane to the pressing urgency of actually delivering Brexit. Indifferent to Scottish independence? If I’m honest I’m just not that bothered.
Thursday, 4 July 2019
A frequent demand we hear from Remainers, confused and afraid of a future without anybody to tell them with what they may wipe their arses, is to name one tangible benefit of leaving the EU. Just one they cry; and then, when a dozen perfectly respectable reasons are presented, they dismiss them as unicorns. ‘You don’t know’, they insist, to which we all chorus, ‘neither do you’. But there is one very real benefit which we receive every day, even before we have extended so much of a toe into the greater world beyond.
It is a benefit which brings me joy unconfined. Forget the execrable dirge, Ode to Joy and give me, every time, the true Brexit anthem – the massed weeping, wailing, gnashing of teeth and garment-rending of those with such poverty of ambition they wish to cling onto Mutti Europe’s apron strings forever. Oh, how flat the Libdems jolly ‘Bollocks to Brexit’ tee-shirt jape fell as they just looked like kids on a massive sulk. And even better, Molly Scott Cato – Green MEP – announced on Twitter that they had actually stopped Brexit. Ah the innocence of the fresh-scrubbed mind.
But oh, the wrath of the media and the self-righteous cheerleaders for supranational governance. No masked thugs of Antifa, no hysterical TellMama lies about non-existent offences, no milkshakes, no braying idiots with megaphones, no face paint, no 30-year old idiot children in shorts and overly-tight tees, no idiot in a cape; just a quiet, dignified refusal to honour the undemocratic de-facto country called the EU. That was all. The Brexit Party had intended to sit for the odious anthem, but when it was insisted they stand they simply turned their backs.
No bricks were thrown, no fists were raised and not a single reputation was impuned. They didn’t even say Bollocks to No-Brexit, or Fuck-EU; they just quietly turned away from the tune which Hitler, on more than one occasion, chose for his birthday celebrations. Remember Kubrick’s Clockwork Orange – the ninth was used for that very reason. You’d have thought that the association of Beethoven with some of the world’s more extreme ideologies would have been food for thought when selecting an anthem for a supposed peace project.
Anyway, the FBPE hashtags were in a froth right out of the gate. Then they decided to double down with the incessant Nazi Party comparisons; ‘you know who else turned their back?’ etc... Oh, the irony of the fan-boys of the Hitler inspired German dominance of Europe fabricating equivalences were there were none. Even the recently self-nonentitied Gavin Esler tweeted out that very foolish and very easily demolished post hoc ergo propter hoc fallacy.
Esler: the search for relevance continues...
Unlike Nazism and Communism and Socialism and Corbynism and islamism and all the other isms inspired by political thinking and deep-rooted desires to re-shape the world, ‘Brexitism’ is not a cabal of power-crazy conspirators whipping up the crowd. There is no ideological kernel, no plot by supposed rich backers or rogue states to destabilise western society and rake in profits. With the Brexit Party what you see is what you get. Ordinary people, dismayed at how their voice is ignored, fighting back; fighting for survival; fighting to be heard.
If you want to dress that up as the resurrection of Hitler himself that speaks volumes about your poverty of empathy, your inability to accept simple things at face value, your refusal to face facts, your loathing for individualism and most of all, your impotent rage at losing a vote. Because, for all your pretending you are the only ones who see the light, you are the ones who are being played. Like a cheap violin. You want to see Nazis? Look in the mirror.
Saturday, 29 June 2019
Prince Charles, our Britannic Majesty in waiting, and well-known alternative dabbler has become patron of the Faculty of Homeopathy. This is about par for the course from somebody who has fantasised about being a tampon, openly conversed with his plants, makes expensive biscuits for gullible peasants and frequently opines on subjects about which he almost certainly knows nothing. Ah well, he probably won’t be king for very long and he might even follow the example of his Uncle Edward; we can but hope.
But homeopathy, of all things? People believe in the most unlikely phenomena: astrology, the tarot, the healing power of lumps of rock and even, among the most rabidly gullible, economic forecasting. Homeopathy is almost the perfect iconotype for irrational belief. You take the cause of an ill, a poison even, then dilute it again and again until not a single molecule of the malevolent compound persists, Then you claim that the water which remains, flavoured with a little sugar, has a ‘memory’ which can cure the ailment the original compound caused. If one needed a new definition of quackery, I’d start with this.
But, as outrageously, obviously false this premise is, the placebo effect in humans is strong and if you wish for something hard enough, when it comes true you could be excused for imagining that the wish itself did the magic. Mostly harmless, was Douglas Adam’s description of Earth and much the same could be said of homeopathy, except for those who are so convinced of its efficacy that they go on to refuse genuinely effective treatment and die in agony believing themselves cured. And this is the problem when you rely on faith rather than evidence.
Religion does much the same thing; based on fantasy it promises much, delivers nothing but manages to absolve itself of blame when the victims berate themselves for not being devout enough. But possibly worse than religion itself, which can be (and largely is) overlooked in most advanced societies, there is one creature of mythology which survives all attempts to abandon it and even manages to survive its own self-defeating premises. This is the rainbow dream, the one world, unicorn promise of socialism.
Socialism is the homeopathy of politics, surviving critical analysis because its adherents just ignore the evidence. Socialism is so good, they argue, that the millions impoverished by its crackpot founding theology are dismissed as collateral damage in the greater war against the evil of people having the freedom to think their own thoughts and live as they wish. There is almost no failure in human society that cannot be excused by socialism except progress and individual wealth.
No, no, it's not a barrier to entry; it's to keep them in.
And so we arrive once again at what has become the annual socialists’ mass outside worship ceremony, where herbal remedies of all kinds are freely imbibed, mantras memorised and the sacred words of Stormzy solemnly intoned and retweeted by Saint Jeremy Corbyn. Exclusive, insular and difficult to get in; where you have to speak the same language as all the other devotees in order to avoid ostracisation; where all think with one accord, Glastonbury has become everything it once stood against. It is now the socialist version of Bilderberg.
Tuesday, 25 June 2019
Let’s see if I have this straight: The governing Tory Party will not allow its elected leader to lead. Enough of them would rather destroy the party than allow, for one second, the prospect of the UK ever leaving the EU. They will argue – and we know who ‘they’ are – that they want to ‘honour the wishes of the people’ and leave; but only with a deal, seemingly oblivious to the fact that any deal with the EU will only benefit the EU and the current May treaty amounts to – by many accounts – remaining on a reduced status.
Parliament continues to peddle the same lie and will do anything to prevent a government of any persuasion from enacting the referendum outcome. So, no to no-deal, no to May’s deal (the only deal on offer), no to a Conservative government, no to a Labour government... and absolutely no way to enact anything the population as a whole want. And for all his bombast, Boris will get no acceptable concessions from Brussels. Parliament is in a cul-de-sac.
Today, the car industry wades back in with its contribution to Project Fear and yesterday Tony Blair was pretending to care by (once again) suggesting a three-way referendum format guaranteed to return a remain majority. Oh and our own Parliament, disregarding the prime message of the entire Brexit operation, nodded through a motion to limit our economic possibilities far more severely than any cessation of cooperation with Europe, by agreeing an impossible zero emissions target for which we have no strategy, no common will and no money.
The prime message? That no matter how you vote you get the same outcomes. In a direct rebuke to working Britons, Labour is now the islam party. The Conservatives who for years have struggled with May’s ‘nasty party’ tag are unable to counter the perception that they are aloof and controlled by big money. The LimpDems are, as ever, a party of last resort for those who are desperate to balance on the pin head of centrism without ever knowing what that actually means. And above all this we have a collective media – news, entertainment, print, social – which cannot countenance Brexit and smugly knows that only they are right.
Where does that leave us? Fucked, is where. The mould must be broken else we will continue to be forced ever deeper into it. And the mould we are being constrained by is the EU model whereby decision making is removed further and further from the influence of the people it effects. In France, the protests are ignored; they are barely even acknowledged by that same smug media over here. In the UK our voice goes unheard, because our so-called leaders respond to a higher power, detached from the reality of everyday life.
Until we eliminate that detachment our government will continue to fail to represent those who vote for it. Until we regain full accountability we are powerless to demand that our public servants serve us, the public. Many Brexit supporters use the phrase “Love Europe, hate the EU”. They say the EU is not Europe and in so doing they leave a chink in their armour. Well. I say fuck Europe; fuck the lot of them. No equivocation. Until its demise, as far as we are concerned, the EU is Europe and I want no part of it. And yes, if that makes me a Little Englander, I am proud to claim the title.
Would this really be so very hard?
As Boris himself might say “Si vis pacem, para bellum”: “If you want peace, prepare for war” and never forget who the enemy is. It isn’t Russia, it isn’t North Korea, it isn’t Iran, it isn’t even the USA. It is the conglomerate formed of our nearest neighbours; neighbours who, throughout history, have coveted this sceptred isle. We've resisted it twice before, we can do it again. So I say, if you want it so badly, come and get it, motherfuckers.
Monday, 24 June 2019
It is mad; it is quite, quite mad. Back in 2016 Ben Judah’s exposé ‘This Is London: Life And Death In The World City’ was not a mere warning, it was a revelation of something which had already happened. You would imagine that politicians, community leaders, the police, the judiciary and even the joint villains of the piece – the human rights movement – would have been motivated to act. Ordinary, decent, honest working people had been telling them for years but their stories were dismissed as hearsay, circumstantial, anecdotal and motivated by a deeply embedded racism.
Here, however, was actual documentary evidence from exactly the kind of person you would imagine would get a hearing. A young, multi-ethnic, Oxford educated, investigative journalist seeking to understand a complex issue. What he found was a world out of control. Tony Blair’s simplistic, naïve dream of a rainbow world of wonderful contributory diversity has been hijacked by opportunistic criminals and no serious attempts have been made to reverse the damage. Not by Blair’s supporters who still support his visions; not by his successors in government who bury their heads in the sand.
We were warned and we did warn; import the third world, get the third world. Ignore crimes on the basis of cultural tolerance and the criminals get bolder, more organised and more visible. Vermin, unafraid of pest control, now operate with impunity on the streets. But when we say it was never like this before we are told that our memory is faulty, that knife and acid attacks are a part and parcel of British city life and always have been; that it is a price we have to pay for all the benefits our multicultural paradise has brought.
Sadiq Khan smirked last week at a press call as he said he stood by his assertion that London was safer since he had assumed the position of Mayor. Diane Abbott has said that the problem is white people. David Lammy daily berates said white people for sowing division and spreading hate. And Owen – squealer – Jones does his bit to stoke the fires of class war with a fervour bordering on extremism. Meanwhile the streets become more lawless, those who once called London home move away and another three dozen slaves are crammed into the space recently deserted by a single family.
Whole towns have been deserted by the pepe who built them; the very workers that the Labour Party once sought to represent have been tarred as bigots and xenophobes and left to their fate because it turns out that votes from people who are not free to cast them are far more reliable than that awkward thing called universal suffrage. But have the socialists learned nothing from their own history? After the Iranian revolution which the left did much to foment, those same useful idiots were among the first to be despatched.
John Cleese was roundly castigated recently when he dared to tell the truth; that London is no longer an English city. He was dead right. But the howls of righteous anger from the same old lazy voices ensured that the only message broadcast was that Cleese was now beyond the pale. The same ostracisation regularly applies to anybody with the wrong opinions on climate change, gender, education, diversity and even democracy itself.
If this is what it takes...
So, bring on Boris Trump. Our next Prime Minister needs to be somebody who stirs up strong emotions on the side which has done all the work to build our country. And if that means the left get a smacked bum and are put back in their place for a while, then all the better. The anti-Brexit mob – and mob they are – say we should be able to go back and ask the question again. Okay, fine, but the rot didn’t begin in 2016. We need to be tearing up the last twenty years (at least) and going a bit USA about it all. It is time for Queen and Country to come to the fore and time for the noisy children to go back to school.
Friday, 14 June 2019
Fuck off and die. In the 1980s, that wee gem of coinage was common currency. And here’s the thing; nobody died. Boil yer head, fuck your mum, I’ll rip your head off and piss in your neck... I’ll fucking kill you! Words, people; mere words. And no they don’t incite violence, they don’t encourage others to act; if anything the extreme hyperbole of these wafer-thin threats merely makes the utterer look like a bigger knob than the insultee at which it was aimed.
So where did it all go wrong? When did sticks and stones fade into impotence against the far more hurtful impact of - gosh - words? The epithet ‘snowflake’ has perhaps been overused of late but how apt a metaphor to describe the way in which our upcoming generations have been rendered weak without a fist being raised? The Orwellian spectre of the language itself being policed has long been warned about, even by those now doing that policing.
‘Free speech does not permit hate speech’ goes the mantra of the millennial, but who gets to decide what that means? Currently ‘hate’ seems to consist of any opinion which isn’t in accord with the approved doctrine, but like the secret password, today’s hurty words compendium is administered by the select few who, alone, determine whose choice metaphor is the more likely to bring about the next holocaust.
Seriously, it is that bad. To those who would curtail your speech privileges there is nothing so urgent today as to cut off the fabled rise of the far right; but even those nasty, hard bastard Nazis are today reduced to whining about mean girls pulling their hair. Jo Brand, whatever personal grudges you may harbour, was no more encouraging people to engage in acid attacks on politicians than Nigel Farage was seriously suggesting he would take up arms to pursue Brexit.
And so the argument moves on, not to what people genuinely find offensive but to which side has shouldered the greater burden of hypocrisy. Come on, guys, you must be able to be better than this. When one side is making a complete horses-arse of themselves it is fair game to show them up for it, but when it descends to this tit-for-tat, my-gang-is-less-of-a-twat-than-your-gang malarkey, the tired old wit of Oscar Wilde begins to look like sparkling zeitgeist repartee.
...wearing an appropriate emblem...
How about: All speech is free speech and we judge you by your words? If you choose to be offended then poor you. If you choose to repeat the unwise words of your youth then so be it. Back in the day, back when the word ‘tolerance’ actually meant something, the idiots soon revealed their idiocy... and we avoided or agreed with them accordingly. But maybe, in these virtue-signalling days we should warn people before we open our mouths? Given that everything I say will be judged to be ‘far right’ before I even say it, I’m thinking of maybe wearing an appropriate emblem...
Wednesday, 12 June 2019
I read a tweet the other day. In a familiar theme it said: “...I object to contributing to so-called "Talent" fat cat salaries, a trained chimp could read from an auto cue for God’s sake...” These are the kind of things we all say from time to time – “I could do that. And I’d do a better job of it.” But could we? In theory, anybody could conduct an interview, but would it be watchable in the way a Frost or a Parkinson interview always was? And could there ever be an easy replacement for Andrew Neil and his unerring ability to take his prey to task and reveal the weakness of their ill-considered pronouncements?
No doubt some ‘talent’ does get paid way in excess of their worth by any objective analysis, but, in economic terms, how is ‘worth’ measured other than by the remuneration you can attract? Nurses and policemen, soldiers and ambulance drivers receive the apparent pittance they do in return for their vital and often harrowing work because at that salary it is usually possible to attract sufficient bodies to fill the spaces. Would paying more and being more rigorous in selection yield better results? Undoubtedly, but who pays for it?
At the extreme other end of the scale you get the abilities for which people rarely object to paying. World champions in every sporting arena don’t just spring from somebody saying “I could do that!” without then backing it up with gruelling training, perseverance and yes, ultimately, talent. Practice alone, supervised by the very best, is still not enough to quite literally go the extra mile if it just isn’t in you. Yet we all harbour an inner wannabe which manifests itself whenever we see somebody cack-handedly dealing a with a problem for which we think we have the answer. Oh yes, politics.
When it comes to running the country, balancing the national budget, bringing law and order to our streets, stabilising the climate and bringing peace and health and harmony to all we are all suddenly experts. And in fact, when it comes down to expertise we may just be right, because politics requires talents more akin to show business than to actual competence in the government roles our elected representatives find themselves. An interview with former Chancellor of the Exchequer, George Osborn was aired on yesterday’s PM, in which he freely confessed to not being much of an economist and argued that it just wasn't important for the job.
Similarly, Home Secretaries rarely grasp law and order and social justice and immigration and, er, people. Defence ministers have little understanding of the detail involved in going about the world killing our enemies and the diplomatic skills of most Foreign Secretaries would, well... see Boris Johnson. And having, finally, got to the point of this edition of the blog, what of Boris; Prime Minister elect? The pundits think so, the media seem pretty sure and the opposition (which includes most of the Tory Party, by all accounts) are driving themselves into a frenzy of envious fizz at the prospect.
What talents does he possess? Look at his appalling record of back-tracking, lying, committing public gaffes, adultery, rugby-club behaviour... hair! And of course, none of this is in the least bit relevant. It ought to be, but it’s not. Because all that matters here is his single, unique attribute – he is Boris Johnson. Love him or loathe him – and I wouldn’t trust him an inch – he is the one thoroughbred in the race and everybody who thinks otherwise is looking at the wrong form guide.
Har, phwa-fwafaar... wiff-waff!
The other names, the also-rans, are trying to pretend they have the talents to do the impossible job. But everybody knows that whoever gets to occupy the big chair will almost immediately face the challenge of a general election. And when it comes down to it, almost none of the other faces in the starting blocks have any traction with the voters. No matter what qualities you think you want in a Prime Minister, Boris has the only talent that matters right now. He is electable – gawd knows why; he just is. You couldn’t do it, I could never do it, the Rory Stewarts of the world can’t do it as long as their arses point downwards, but Boris can. Brace yourselves for a bumpy ride.
Thursday, 6 June 2019
Yesterday I heard for the first time about relational poverty. Relative poverty I get, I have been watching those shifting goalposts for years; relative poverty is when your mate has the latest iPhone and you do not. But ‘relational’? I Googled and I came up with this: “Relational poverty i) shifts from thinking about ‘the poor and poor others’ to relationships of power and privilege, ii) works across boundaries to foster a transnational, comparative and interdisciplinary approach to poverty research, iii) involves multidirectional theory building that incorporates marginalized voices to build innovative concepts for poverty research.”
Does it, by Jove? Blimey, much like racism, just when you thought you had a handle on the word, along comes a definition to place the blame fairly on your own, already overburdened white shoulders. Not content with being personally responsible for slavery, injustice, apartheid, coastal erosion, big pharma, antibiotic resistance, super bugs, cancer and climate change, not to mention actual poverty, it seems I must now carry the can for some people feeling a bit poor in the self-esteem department.
I researched a little bit more and came across The Relational Poverty Network, which august body: “convenes a community of scholars, working within and beyond academia, to develop conceptual frameworks, research methodologies, and pedagogies for the study of relational poverty. Launched at a historical moment of dramatic income inequality and enforced austerity in the global North, the RPN thinks across geographical boundaries to foster a transnational and comparative approach to poverty research.”
Still none the wiser, I sought some clarity and I may have discovered the source. One Bruce Perry wrote a book called ‘Born for Love’ described in this 2014 blog by Stephanie Heck PhD : Perry says we need to show more ‘emotional generosity’ and there we have it – daddy issues. Sigmund Freud has so much to answer for. Not content with inventing the pseudo-science of psychotherapy, he went on to spawn a whole industry in creating and then treating a panoply of almost entirely confected and self-inflicted neuroses.
Meanwhile the worthy members of the Relational Poverty Network come together, no doubt over fancy biscuits and posh coffee, in order to:
· expand thinking about the causes of poverty
· develop collaborative projects that cross disciplinary and geographical boundaries
· bring scholars, teachers, policy makers and activists into intentional collaboration
· build the next generation of scholars and scholarship on relational poverty
So, wow, poverty studies is an actual thing; who knew? And much as with all the other branches of identity politics – race, sex, gender, colour religion etc, etc, etc, it pivots about privilege and you can bet your bottom dollar who cops the blame...
Maybe this is actually the rationale behind the increasingly parlous state of state education? Maybe this is why Tony Blair wanted everybody to go to university? Ditch the apprenticeships, forego the drudge jobs traditionally offered school-leavers – others (the genuinely poor, perhaps?) can do all that menial stuff – let’s instead prepare the pampered first-world kids for the far richer pickings available in the funding harvest. The only trouble is– and this operates at more levels than just the financial – what will be the cost and who is going to pay?
Tuesday, 4 June 2019
Sell the sizzle, not the sausage, they say. And constantly sizzling on the griddle of grizzles are the assorted aromas of human rights, equality, racism and other associated bigotries. All fine fare with which to tempt those easily aroused to anger by inflammatory words, unsubstantiated ‘facts’ and exhortations to hate. Always with the hating, your malcontent. But right now the barbecue is overshadowed by the delicious hog roast of indignation that the leader of the most powerful country on Earth is being hosted in an entirely appropriate manner by the British state.
The outpouring of grief and rage is almost a joy to behold as the usual peddlers of lies and conspiracy and imagined injustice paint their faces, rend their garments and wail in public about how Donald Trump has, somehow, made their own lives poorer. It is all, of course, an utter crock. Most people on the planet will be affected not one jot by anything The Donald does or says, much as is the case with pretty much anybody with influence save for dictators and tyrants and bullies and – quite often – those who believe they are part of the solution. Donald Trump is none of these, however much anybody wants to believe otherwise.
Voltaire is credited with observing that if god did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him. Such is also the case with identity politics, the gateway drug to social justice jihadism of the kind being foisted on impressionable minds everywhere. To sell your brand of angry discontent you must first create a market and the packaging of little parcels of emotive appeals into handy baggies to offer at the school gates has been very successful. Your first taste of protest for free; after that you pay.
And the costs will escalate. Soon, to get a fix, young warriors will need to get their hands on placards, black masks, Palestinian flags, Molotov cocktails, bullhorns, bricks and other assorted weaponry. And they will need to invest in a keffiyeh or two, to show their solidarity with an ideology wholly at odds with all they profess to believe. As the urge to protest grows, addicts will turn to any cause, however spurious, to quell their cravings. When the sizzle becomes irresistible it matters not that the meat is not as advertised.
Peterbrough looms. And the usual suspects are out there, sowing the seeds of division and fertilising the fuckers until they grow into huge great knotty weeds of bile and face-twisted fury. But the Trump visit has them wrong-footed. How delicious will it be when, distracted by an imaginary foreign Nazi, they forget to focus on their own home-grown fascist fantasy? Donald Trump’s comments on Brexit may just have been a carefully planned diversionary tactic to take the pressure off Farage’s Fusiliers and help usher in the first – of many – Brexit Party MPs.
The cure is within your reach
It isn’t easy, weaning people off an addiction. When addicts mix only with other addicts they can’t see the harm they are doing to themselves and others. And when the supposedly responsible adults to whom they turn in times of trouble are also the dealers of their grievances of choice it can be an almost insurmountable slope back to level ground again. But if we can cut off their supply by unseating the cartel operatives and offer common sense alternatives instead, is it too much to hope we can cure some of their dependencies?
Tuesday, 28 May 2019
In the Alician wonderland of politics up is down, left is right and a rout can clearly be re-worded into a triumph. History can be Tippexed and typed over as if it never happened and the mere stroke of a pen can turn a surrender declaration into a heroic rallying cry to the troops. For what is the war in Westminster if it isn’t a war of words? It takes a special kind of reptile, of course, to perform these lexicological gymnastics, but in the search for the next political toad no stone ever goes unturned.
The full scale of the Europarl election destruction has yet to be realised, but as the smoke clears on the battlefield it is clear that the claims of victory by remainers is flimsy at best. To assert this they have to believe – actually believe – that everybody who didn’t vote for the Brexit Party definitely voted for remain... and by the usual convention this includes the non-votes of all who abstained. Even this morning, the BBC referred to Nigel Farage’s ‘strong performance’ as if the BP had come a brave second, instead of now being the biggest single party in the whole of the EU Parliament.
The losers are, of course, the two parties which have dominated UK politics for a century, but while Tories are beginning, slowly, to accept that their worst electoral defeat since the nineteenth century, some are still peddling the lies that brought them so low. Brandon Lewis, astonishingly, declared that their resounding thrashing signalled an electorate desperate for the Tories to come up with a deal. No, Brandon, they voted for Brexit because they want to leave the EU and nobody who has been paying attention expects any form of ‘deal’ to be palatable.
But on the Labour side it is possibly even worse. Adonis (to give him his full, earned title) even went so far as to feed his EU wet dream by tweeting that had Labour come out for remain it would have actually won overall because – and bear with me here on his tortuous logic – if you count Labour’s vote as a vote for remain, then remain won, so therefore if Labour managed this historic victory without even endorsing remain, imagine how many remainers would have abandoned the firm remain parties and lent their vote to the party which has yet to come out with any actual agreed policy on Brexit.
I think that what was what he was suggesting but then it is so hard to listen to Adonis without hearing the perpetual whine which accompanies all his utterances and the grinding of the gears as his towering intellect turns dross into gold; EU pension gold. If anything the very existence of a creature such as ‘Lord’ Adonis – conjured into life by the bizarre alchemy of Blair’s cronyism – shows us exactly why we should resist anti-democratic institutions wherever they raise their many heads. But at least, for now, there is small recompense to be found by remembering that Handy Andy remains an unelected squeaky gob on a stick.
Looks like a winner to me.
So what was the result, really, overall? Anna Soubry and Heidi Allen are claiming that zero MEPs elected for Change UK (or whatever their actual name is) is not a bad result for a party which didn’t exist a few months ago. People voted Green mostly because they have been in thrall to a hysterical Swedish child, not solely because of their EU stance. If you definitely wanted to remain in the EU, the Lib Dems were the only unequivocal vote for that position. They did well, but nowhere near the brand-new, single issue party which won, beyond any doubt outside the bubble. Whichever way you add all of this up you get the same number every time and the number is – we voted for Brexit, let’s get the fuck out of there.
Sunday, 26 May 2019
As the race hots up for the next sacrificial lamb to hop aboard the Conservative Party leadership altar, you would be forgiven if you considered that anybody running shows a monumental lack of judgment. Some of the participants are demonstrations of vainglorious ambition trumping competence, standing on records which are way short of exemplary; why, some of the candidates ought to be stuffed and exhibited as a warning to future generations. Whoever picks up the baton dropped by Tearful Theresa is unlikely to survive the next General Election.
But what of that next GE? Twitter lit up yesterday with gleeful prognostications under the hashtag #CorbynByChristmas. Seriously, there are still far too many deeply radicalised Corbynites out there, ready to bring a level of harm to life in the UK that would go far beyond anything Brexit might do. We could leave with no deal, have all pre-existing arrangements torn up, shut down trade and cooperation with Europe altogether and still manage to survive and recover far better than if we ever let in a Corbyn government.
The entire manifesto is a wish-list of proven malfeasance almost guaranteed to bring the country to its knees, but couched in the language of ‘caring’ and ‘kindness’ and equality. Pitched at people who feel aggrieved and disadvantaged in what used to be the most equitable and free society in the world, this is a devilishly tempting message, yet it involves curbing, at a whim, the freedoms of anybody who doesn’t toe the party line.
Make more money than we feel you should (regardless of how much tax you pay)? Then we will cut you down. Feel more comfortable among people more like yourself? Then we will force you to embrace traditions and cultures which you fear. Think that a traditional family unit best fits your vision of society? We will shame you in public and tell your employer that you are a bigot. Believe that Britain ought to hang onto its long tradition of Christian conservatism? Prepare to be ‘educated’ by the religious police. No cow will remain sacred, except those of Labour’s patron faith.
But it is economically – the most immediate and potentially most immediately devastating means of all – where the cult of Corbyn would do most harm. The Corbyn-McDonnell plan has a £Half-Trillion black hole at its heart and that is only at first glance. Labour would nationalise, regulate, restrict, control and condemn with a ruthlessness Mao himself would admire. Those who can would leave while they could; others would close down businesses and retire; criminality and the black market would thrive and corruption would pervade every public office, especially where the chosen people were invited to preside.
Comrade Corbyn is no joke
As our society crumbled and fell, we would be compelled to pledge allegiance to the party and sing the red flag on every public occasion. In the name of harmony difference would be legislated both for and against – some differences are more equal than others – and our history rewritten to demonise the very people who once made us the great nation we were. And as for that hashtag, sooner or later, Christmas itself would be abolished forever. Sleep peacefully tonight.
Saturday, 25 May 2019
So, ding-dong Theresa’s gone? But, as she made clear, her successor isn’t going to find it any form of picnic and rebuilding the Conservative Party is a task beyond Boris Johnson’s thus far unimpressive diplomatic talents. Yes he will draw the crowds and yes he will pick up the sort of voters Mrs May could never reach, but he will lose sufficient numbers of the sitting MPs to make it impossible to carry the government through to the next scheduled election. What, with May’s disastrous 2017 snap election and the inevitability that Boris will piss off the DUP it is almost as if the Fixed-Term Parliaments Act had never happened
But who would want the job anyway? As Groucho Marx said, “I wouldn’t want to be a member of any club that would have me as a member”. Why would you want to be the leader of only a half of a club while the other half loathe you and will plot against? So the undignified jostling for position that we are going to see in the next few weeks will just be a series of side events in the continued demise of our oldest political party.
Compromise, uniting both sides, finding consensus, bringing people together? Tosh; utter, unmitigated twaddle. If the Tories can’t themselves see that there are at least three parties in that unhappy marriage then they are doomed. Leavers, Remainers and fence-sitters seeking their next patronage make unhappy bedfellows. Maybe, in the past, Conservatism united patriotic people of many persuasions in the common good, a love of country has recently been decreed verboten.
Juncker called nationalists stupid. Verhofstadt regularly demands that national sovereignty be surrendered on the EU altar and metaphorical blood sacrifices are made to the holy edifice via the medium of political assassination... especially in the UK Tory Party. If anybody believes there is any form of settlement available at any time soon they are deluding themselves. And if anybody thinks that we can come to some form of amicable arrangement with the EU as long as we are part of it has obviously not been watching.
A Labour government is, of course, untenable. A disastrous combination of grievance politics, identity issues, perpetual class war and a bizarre belief that borrowing money to piss away is really investment, Labour doesn’t even have a cohesive vision, let alone a single realistic policy where it matters. Like Bill and Ted, all they have is ‘be excellent to one another’... ‘but not them’. If you want a party of division, the Labour amoeba is a natural home for you.
What of the Brexit Party, you ask? What indeed? From late tomorrow we will find out just how soundly they have scythed through the Conservative vote and when they take their seats in Europarl, they must surely become such a thorn in the EU’s side that the pressure to let us leave – and sod the ‘deal’ – will become irresistible. But then they will have achieved their only aim. But they could never become a cohesive party and Nigel Farage will surely never become an MP because, when it comes down to it, we still need a viable government and pretty much nobody will work with Mr Brexit.
At least there's no scandal...
So, where does all this leave us? Despite all the obvious evidence that the Tories ought to be finished, they are probably the only hope we have of ever getting out of the EU intact. And given that everybody has blotted their Latin grammar at some point during the interminable wrangling of the last three years they are going to have to be led by the least worst, rather than the best candidate. Somebody who doesn’t pose too much of a threat to the old guard but who can also appeal to the naifs. Somebody who the public can be persuaded is tolerable, for now; somebody they don’t all want to stab. For better or for worse, it’s going to have to be Boris, isn’t it?
Friday, 24 May 2019
Theresa May has at last resigned, but at least she has finally secured a lasting legacy - and one which will be celebrated for generations. By the Labour Party. The total breakdown of the Conservative and Unionists over the issue of Brexit has been spectacular, nail-biting and at times simply farcical stuff. But if Labour supporters are cheering this on they might also want to take time out to consider their own precarious legacy, for it is movements of the left, for whom Labour wants to fly all the flags, which have connived to altogether destroy the credibility of the press, Parliament and almost anybody in public life.
To say that leftists have double standards is to make hypocrisy sound as harmless as having a favourite flavour of milkshake. Of course, we all cry foul when our side is attacked and retaliation in kind is rarely the answer, but this past week has seen the ability to overcome cognitive dissonance being stretched to breaking point in some quarters. When Jeremy Corbyn was egged they were furious, yet when similar happened to Nigel Farage (or as the bien pensants now have it, just ‘Farage’) they cheered to the rafters.
Having spent the three years AC (After Cox) frenetically ranting about the rise of the right and politically motivated violence they barely flinch when charged with encouraging the same thing. In fact they openly mocked those who were conflating dairy-based assault with something worse, even as people like Tommy Robinson(NHRN) were facing down screaming, baying, brick-throwing mobs issuing death threats. What did police do? Not much; they have a right to counter protest, one silver commander opined.
While the left have reacted like hysterical children to every imaged slight, every slogan, every banner, every campaign talking point from those they label ‘the far right’, said far right has largely got on with the job and tried to peacefully make their point. And what has been the result? When a pensioner in Aldershot was milkshaked for supporting the Brexit Party they doubled down. Not only was this his just desserts[sic] it was obviously a fake.
Oh yes, Alastair Campbell, Emma Kennedy, Mike Stuchberry and others implied, suggested or downright insisted that this was staged by the ‘far right’ to stir up division and hate. It is only a couple of steps down Conspiracy Street and they will be imagining that we invented Nazism just so that a century later we could accuse the Labour Party of anti-Semitism. Talk about judging somebody by your own poor standards – if the right are as stupid as they insist we should barely be capable of spelling conspiracy, let alone plotting one.
But further, they insist that eligible voters have been turned away from polling stations. And no doubt, once the results are called, they will denounce every electoral official in the land for collusion with Russia. When you consider that they have been demanding a second referendum all along you would think they would have welcomed this, albeit accidental, opportunity to have their voice heard again. But the voice is week and wheezy, so they resort to what they do best – imagining that they really won, but were cheated.
When purple-faced, throbbing veined, distorted-featured, shrieking malcontents throw bottles and bricks and repeatedly close down debate, sabotage peaceful events, threaten physical violence and even death, yet imagine that it is not they who are the Nazis you know that all reason has been lost. One day, it is to be hoped, they may look at their badges, their masks, their paraphernalia, their slogans; they may take stock of the atrocities they have committed and the lies they have told; they might just wake up and see the illusions they constructed and ask themselves – were we the baddies?
Sunday, 19 May 2019
Once again the Eurovision Song Contest was political and once again the UK’s place in the political pecking order in Europe was established. Nul points; last again. Just as in realpolitik the substance doesn’t matter; we could have had the best act in the competition but still we would have been judged on our level of buy-in to the project. In truth we know that Eurovision is a camp little exercise in frivolity, vacuity and daftness and we have always been rather too earnest about it all.
But the timing could not have been better. As inconsequential as success in Eurovision is to the wider and rather more serious issue of the EU, coming last in the run-up to the real Euro elections will have done nothing to dampen enthusiasm for Nigel Farage’s insurgent Brexit Party. Hopes run high for the BP, come Thursday, but I have to caution that for many people their optimism runs a risk of tipping over into fantasy. Yes, the Faragistas have a real chance of dominating the poll this week, but beyond that I fear it will be somewhat less ‘earthquakey’ than many will wish for.
In short, Nigel Farage is not becoming Prime Minister in any decade of this century, if only because the forces he rightly rails against have far more power than we, the people, can possibly muster. Yes, he will make a dent – he will certainly, I feel, fatally damage the Conservative Party – and yes, people will begin to disbelieve what they are told when the evidence they see goes against it, but I fear we will have to endure the setback of a decade of Labour wrecking before sense prevails again. I wish it were otherwise; I truly do, but...
The first step for a bona fide non-violent full scale Political Revolution is trust. And whereas people no longer place much trust in the old party system, the establishment has inflicted deadly wounds on the corpus of Farage himself. Fake tweets, accusations of dark money, the Russians! But worse than that, for a movement that seeks to attract and mobilise the disenfranchised, the seedy notion that somehow Nigel is getting rich out of it. It is true that every attack piece increases the determination of supporters but it also damages the chance that the undecided will come on-board. This is exactly how the ‘Democrats’ in the USA go for Trump.
And it matters not how popular Farage is with the crowd; what matters is how that translates into power and influence; this is the real problem. We rejected an alternative to our first-past-the-post system in 2011 and the electoral game strongly favours entrenched, if outmoded parties, almost regardless of who they put up for office. Brexit will take a few Tory seats but they will almost certainly run second to Labour, even in places where the new party is gaining huge support for the EU elections. Most people simply don’t turn out to elect MEPs and come a general election old habits die hard.
At best the Brexit Party might – might – get to be potential king-makers to a minority Labour Party, a role they cannot possibly accept as it means certain death to Brexit. As a new party they have undoubtedly hooked into the zeitgeist and the appetite to fight the same old politics is clear. But they now have to settle into the long war, build a real party, unite hugely disparate ideologies among their candidates and future MPs and develop policy which has a chance of appealing across the board.
Propping up the same old dinosaurs...
As much as I want change and as much as I heartily endorse our withdrawal from the EU, this alone is not enough. We need to tackle the enormous departure of our society as a whole from what once made us the model for democracy the world over; but the forces that caused our current national distress are deeply entrenched and will take generations to overcome. Tony Blair may have accelerated the decline, but he didn’t start it. And the Brexit Party are going to have to be even more influential than he was before any tectonic shift will begin. I’m not investing in any earthquake defences just yet.
Thursday, 16 May 2019
They are coming for Tommy Robinson [NHRN] again. Of course they are; they are terrified that despite the serial no-platforming he still has purchase, he still has resonance and on a level playing field he has a real chance of being elected as an MEP. The reaction of the establishment, instinctively left-wing in structure, is to frantically ban, block, obstruct and smear. In fact hysteria is the constant feature of the loony left’s schtick; everything is portrayed in apocalyptic terms: last chance to: save the NHS, last chance to save the planet, last chance to resist the rise of the far-right..
The shrieking, keyboard-bashing, Guardianista-style commentators have it wrong – and they are so hostage to confirmation bias that they simply can’t see it - pursuing the far right fox as if it was real and not just a figment of their imagination. David Lammy, as a flag-bearer for the most extreme of wolf-criers, daily exceeds even his own propensity for hyperbole and regularly, if tacitly, urges direct action against the imaginary lupine hordes. John McDonnell is less subtle. Thuggish behaviour exists on both sides, but if you kill for animal rights you are a saint, while holding a Brexit banner makes you a Nazi, apparently. And Nazis deserve to be punched, right? When this is the narrative Tommy Robinson [NHRN] being ‘milkshaked’ becomes the act of a freedom fighter
The referendum was an act of direct democracy and certain people didn’t like it. Indeed the EU’s emptiest vessels have openly and loudly decried such blatant exercises of ‘populism’. “Let the people decide? Are you mad?” they cry. We have to decide if democracy is what we want because if we do want it we are inevitably going to get people voting in a way the elected heads disapprove. Trying to stifle the voices, shut down the debate, ban certain views, criminalise certain thoughts is expressly not democracy, it is totalitarianism and yes, this is exactly where socialism leads. If Tommy Robinson is the 'literally Hitler', then socialism is the direct road to full communism; a one-world open borders, ungovernable, chaotic, lowest common denominator planet, where a tiny minority rule over a vast human herd.
How about– and yes I’m going to say it – you just calm down dears. If somebody in a dead-end life in a boarded up street feels the local muslim community is taking over maybe they have a point? When four-year olds are being asked what gender they would like to be; when people think they are being abused and manipulated, marginalised and forgotten, maybe they have a point? When the British taxpayer, squeezed to buggery, wants to resist the too-rapid imposition of a fuel system which does not work for the majority and don’t want to pay yet more tax so that – once again – the better off benefit, maybe they have a point.
It's the same old question,
but neither side really has the answer.
And when we say that the far right is nothing of the sort; when we point out that raising the spectre of Nazism is a hysterical propaganda move; when we recognise that the millions of working people voting to leave the grand socialist project are peacefully using their vote to express their dissatisfaction and reject the perpetual whining and impositions of the establishment and its leftist institutions... maybe we, too, have a point?
Wednesday, 15 May 2019
While the great Brexit betrayal continues, with Theresa May apparently willing to collude with anybody who will help to avert Brexit while the toothless and very likely incontinent 1922 Committee look on impotent silence, I turn my thoughts to a parallel possible consequence of this whole sorry saga; a future Labour government. Never mind that they have yet to announce any coherent policy regarding the enacting of something called for by 17.4 million people, they still imagine they possess an ounce of credibility on economic matters.
Last week, for instance, they announced a policy to raise the minimum wage for the under 18s from £4.35 to £10. At a stroke, presumably, which is what employers will likely have. Given that the current minimum wage is £8.21 for over-25s, everybody will get the sugar. Oh, except for all those young people who will have become instantly unemployable. And all those slightly older but still less experienced workers who will be laid off.
How will Labour counteract this? I expect they will resort to their knee-jerk response of compulsion. After all, if their minimum wage plan is such a good idea, why not force employers to take on trainees regardless of the value they bring to the business and make it illegal to make people redundant. Then if the business starts to falter, will the red government also make it against the law to go bust? This is about as economically competent as Jeremy Corbyn’s assertion that getting money from a bank, then paying it back with interest isn’t borrowing.
And then just the week before, Labour were floating the Citizens Basic Income bollocks without any real clue as to what they were proposing. Of course we could have universal welfare; it still has to be paid for. But the CBI is fundamentally flawed on so many levels. Where is the socialist logic of paying rich people a basic income, out of the taxes they pay in order to give exactly the same basic income to poorer people? This is like those on the left who believe that taxes collected from those paid from the public purse is some form of income instead of a mere rebate on wages paid.
Welfare, workfare, charity, price-capping, job-guaranteeing, minimum standard of living, citizen’s basic income; these are all, on the surface, laudable societal corrections for those of low opportunity, aspiration or ability, but the principle objection remains - who pays for it? Oh, the rich? I see. And in Labour Land ‘the rich’ is anybody who pays more in tax already than they take out in a share of public services. I’m in that group; is there no end to our largesse? Is there no bottom to our pockets?
I want to like socialism – it should be likeable – but the opportunistic mammal that is man does not respond well to conformity. Yes, we are a herd animal and like leadership – man, we LOVE leadership – but we also have aspirations and ambitions of our own and are fiercely protective of our brood. So don’t pit my brood against yours; the natural winners will always win and the natural losers will rely on our charity. This may sound harsh but life isn’t fair and humans are not equal, no matter how much burden you place on the backs of the more able.
Forget Brexit and our frustrating battle against the pro-EU establishment. Forget the Remainer-Leaver antagonism. If you really want to pit half the population against the rest, all you will need to do is vote for Labour in the next general election; it will make Theresa May’s duplicitous, cack-handed premiership look like the good old days.