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Simon Lincoln Reader,
If you are one of these people still laboring under the pretense of English or British exceptionalism, Sunday’s newspapers will have shocked you. There, you’d have found all manner of “far-right” behavior, chiefly rioting and violent protest, including some looting, across much of England. But if you, like me, have watched the steady disintegration of the country since 2011 – the last time scenes of the kind we’re witnessing erupted – then nothing could surprise you. In fact, you would see these events with a nodding sequence, not that they are acceptable, just logical extensions to the inevitable form of decline, misery and loss.
On Monday last week the child of Rwandan immigrants butchered three girls below the age of 10 with a kitchen knife. Southport in Merseyside has not suffered decay to the extent a great many other northern towns have, and this possibly explains the shock. To many, Monday’s events were the convergence of multiple tragedies: the consequences to a useless and biased policing strategy, the continued dismissal of ethnic British concerns, particularly those of the white, working class, and raw socialist pandering to immigrant culture (“refugees are welcome here”).
This was a jarring tragedy, a jolt of indescribably sharp pain to the hearts of families and neighbors. It was senseless, panicked, confusing…then it was enraging, so cue Keir Starmer, the new Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.
As unlikeable goes, Keir’s up there. He wasn’t an especially popular leader of his party, (his only accomplishment was the destroying, with ease, of the Corbynista apparatus). He wasn’t a particularly compelling candidate. That he defenestrated the most useless opposition group in the “conservative” party history could not disguise his mediocrity; he was once an inept Crown Prosecutor – all pivot tables and formulas – he famously found no reason to prosecute the much loved monster Jimmy Savile, and is still a fixture within the “left”-wing lawyer industrial complex responsible for much of the country’s present anxiety.
My own view was always – naturally – panned. I saw him as a standard Fabian coward, privileged yet privately disgusted by his own country, whose greatest fear – like so many of his “labour” and “conservative” colleagues – was to be accused of “racism”. In 2020, he was one of the first British politicians to feign indignation at the death of an American career criminal in Minneapolis. He pranced into theatrical kneeling, then stood upright to claim he understand the roots of the violence that engulfed American cities during that dreadful summer. He has zero conviction and worse, the slightest veneer of it.
On Thursday evening he marched into press briefing surrounded by the uncurious cuckholds of Westminster’s establishment media. Before he spoke, you could tell that he had crossed a threshold, and was summoning the spirit of 2020 to address the anger prompted by the murder of three girls. But only in passing did he reference Monday’s savagery: the real problem was, of course, the “far right”. His police commissioners, he said, all agreed with him on the real problem, and a response – involving riot squads, invasive surveillance and 24-hour courts amongst other things – was being assembled.
If those of us who’ve flirted with “conservatism” still don’t know what the “far right” is or means, then Keir Starmer certainly doesn’t. Exercise? God? Family? Milk? Discipline? It sounds bad, and that’s the extent of it – nothing more to explore. It is supposed to capture the past – Oswald Mosley, the British National Party (BNP) and the English Defense League (EDL), but those things, along with their shadows, have vanished. Only in certified scams – as one example, the Marxist “charity” Hope Not Hate – does the term translate to anything substantial. Everywhere else it is meaningless, redundant: the most radical analysis of UK politics that exists today is the one that sees both establishment parties as different horns on the same beast.
But Keir Starmer’s remarks are worse than Hillary Clinton’s insults in 2016 (“basket of deplorables”). In the US, you have a sizeable number of coastal elites who’ve got skin in the division game. Not so here – the academic, legal and financial rearguard elite are considerably smaller, and getting increasingly jumpy about Europe’s undeniable shift to the right. They are also coming round earlier than their liberal counterparts in America did: all these imported pathologies involving race, culture, identity and other luxury beliefs are indiscriminate – they devour those who don’t believe in them as effortlessly as they devour those who do.
How could he be so stupid? Who does he surround himself with? The first answer is plain: like so many of his uni-party predecessors, he is one of the cleverest stupid people you’ll ever encounter – sneering, aloof and at the same, perpetually incredulous. Your second answer would be to glance at the IOC spokesperson defending that Algerian boxer as he pummels the shit of out every woman who enters the ring. So who is he – Mark Adams – when he’s in the shower? Only Keir Starmer’s best man at his wedding now that you ask.
So is this really “far-right” violence? Just as in the weekly pro-Palestine rallies you have jihadis, so to in these riots you have quarters of violent thuggery. Sure. But it’s impossible not to see the other things too. The Pakistani grooming gangs of England’s north, arguably the greatest recipients of the political fear of being accused of racism. The Manchester Arena bombings of 2017. The “conservative” party’s reluctance to address the social dynamics of black families – something they thought could be balanced by standing idly by whilst offshoring then austerity and finally DEI decimated the prospects of their historical bases. There too is the toxic punching-down media culture – the sheer classism evident in the rejection of anyone who doesn’t possess “progressive” values. Last week the winner of 2023 BBC Pedo of the Year retained his gold medal: the riots have saved Huw Edwards and his repulsive former employer from an overdue reckoning – as if we needed any more indicators of just how sick it is at the top.
But of all the weekend’s images – the burning hotels, the riot unit kicking the shit of bottle-blonde women wearing Christian Dior, the rampaging “Muslim Defense League” militias charging the hopeless filth – perhaps nothing captures our malaise quite as aptly as a sign belonging to a normal looking, middle-aged white man. “You knelt for BLM,” it starts, “You wore a rainbow for pride…but now you dress for war with concerned parents”. The sign speaks of the heart of every normal man: that the dream of England is over. Something twisted, wild, terminal is readying to assume the void.
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