Cold Turkeys

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?