2,120 words

That elusive last puzzle-piece

The jigsaw puzzle that is the United Kingdom of Britain and Northern Ireland has a piece missing. Of the puzzle’s four parts, as of this month the only non-white premier in Great Britain is Michelle O’Neill, a worryingly white-skinned blonde who obstinately stands in the way of an ethnic minority clean sweep of the UK’s top posts in government.

With the resignation of Welsh premier Mark Drakeford, a black man, Vaughan Gething, was duly elected in his place, and he wasted no time celebrating the fact that he is the first black premier in the European Union. There, you might be tempted to say, goes the neighborhood.

So, the British Prime Minister is a Hindu, the Welsh premier is black, and the Scottish First Minister is a Muslim (more of him below), as is the Mayor of London. Diversity had better be our strength, or those nations might find themselves in trouble. Oh, wait, this just in. They are in trouble.

What these three incumbents have in common, aside from their dusky skin color, is that none of them were elected by the voters of their respective countries. This democratic notion is becoming increasingly antiquated and quaint, like telephones with receivers and the video game Pong.

Geographically, of course, there is another puzzle-piece to these islands, but Ireland (or Éire) elected to hitch themselves to the EU. In fact, the Irish people enjoyed the whole referendum experience so much they did it twice until they got the right answer, having voted not to join the first time around. Those crazy Paddies! Don’t they know you can’t vote “No” to globalism?

Irish Taoiseach Leo Varadkar duly resigned last week, possibly not only because he had lost two referenda on the same day but because he felt he had let the British Isles down genetically, being only half-Indian and not a pureblood like his colleagues in the UK. The Irish deep state — I’m sure it’s there, everyone else seems to have one — is doubtless looking at its color swatches to pick out a hue for its next Premier that is acceptable. As the Irish government is already a laughing stock, they may as well give us all a giggle and elect a Chinaman who can’t pronounce “Ireland.”

Varadkar will doubtless fail upwards once more and be given some meaningless but handsomely-paid post in the EU. It must never be forgotten that the enthusiasm many British politicians have for Europe is that it represents their pension pot. As for the other darkies in charge of Britain, Sunak and Yousuf are on very shaky ground electorally speaking, while Welsh Premier Gething will simply get on with the job of destroying Wales for its overwhelmingly white population.

As for the United Colors of Benetton ad that a photoshoot of Britain’s premiers would resemble, the charge of racism seems a difficult one to make stick. But when has that ever stopped the Inquisition 2.0? They have decreed that racism — white racism being the only type available — is just there, like gravity. In the meantime, all three non-white leaders of the UK are in charge of very leaky ships, and we can only hope that sidelining white supremacy will help them steer a straight course. Without whites in the crew, of course.

A caliphate worse than death

Those of us who have been warning for many years of Britain’s coercive preparation for Islamization take little pleasure in still not being disproved on the available evidence. Within the space of two days, two separate incidents in England show the direction of travel. In Greenwich, London (home of Greenwich Mean Time), the owner of a fish and chip shop — about as British a retail outlet as you can get — was told to remove the mural on the wall outside his shop, as it showed a Union flag, and there had been at least one complaint. Two days later, at London’s King’s Cross railway station, passengers were surprised to see, in the center of the board displaying the circumstances of their train’s cancellation, a verse from the Hadith. This is the Islamic collection of Muhammad’s sayings, a sort of Little Red Book for people who favor curly slippers and the sort of hat organ-grinder’s monkeys used to wear. Passengers were then regaled by the Islamic call to prayer, an ugly warbling which sounds like bad karaoke.

Complaints were certainly made about this, the constant presence of Islam in their daily lives having become irksome to some Englishmen and women, although they had better keep that opinion very quiet indeed. Even at the dinner table, if they are in Scotland, as we shall see.

The railway company removed the religious edict, claiming they were acting in the interests of diversity and inclusion, and besides, they didn’t know how it got there. The only commonplace excuse they didn’t wheel out was that Muhammed was quoted out of context. There are Ramadan lights in major London streets, adverts on the sides of buses exhorting the unbeliever to convert, Islamic messages in underground stations, plenty of space in the parks for mass Islamic prayer, and a lot of “educational” school trips to mosques. In schools and prisons, halal food is often on the menu, whether those eating it like it or not. Speaking of eating, this gentleman was made to feel rather uncomfortable eating during Ramadan. Is there really nothing to see here?

Islam realizes that you don’t win a war by defeating a country, you defeat a country by taking its cities, and London is close to falling. Mosques spring up, often in the guise of “Islamic community centers,” which ostensibly have something for everyone regardless of faith, as pubs and churches close. In reality, they are intended as mosques in the same way as the “interfaith prayer rooms” now obligatory at British airports are wholly Islamic concerns. Ever mindful of optics, a mosque is planned in one of London’s most famous landmark areas.

Perhaps the political class in Britain believe they can ride this tiger, but it’s not really they who are in the cage with the beast. Politicians see Islam at its best and brightest, with lots of mosaics and community cohesion to admire while entertained at a Ramadan dinner by the public relations side of British Islam. As it always has been, literally or figuratively, it’s the British poor who have to deal with the crap.

The image of the cross

With Easter approaching, consider the sign of the cross. Where signs are concerned, semiotics has had a bit of a rough deal of late on the political Right (the political Left think it’s a breakfast cereal). Lumped in with postmodernism, it is assumed that the art of reading cultural signs is an invitation to the usual epistemological free-for-all associated with what we know as “woke.” But reading the signs is not looking at chicken gizzards (as Caesar used to do to decide on his military actions) or dealing out Tarot cards. In cultural terms, particularly as displayed and boosted by the media, the signs we see can give an accurate picture of what is happening, in this case to England. Ultimately, it is a picture of anti-whiteness.

The latest sign indicating the visual deplatforming of England has arrived in the form of a “playful update” of the St. George Cross which usually adorns the English national team’s football shirt. The cross is barely recognizable on the new kit, as the company responsible, the sartorially toxic Nike, have produced something subtly engineered to remind the viewer of the Pride flag now infesting public spaces. It is ugly, the colors clash, and most important of all, it is yet another dig in the ribs for white Englishmen, proud of their country’s flag as they are. White itself, the more prevalent color in the nation’s flag, is entirely absent from the new design. Signs and wonders.

The English flag has long been hated by the Left, just as Old Glory is the bane of their counterparts in the United States. Concomitantly, respect for the flag is now implicitly bracketed with the “far Right,” a mythical English creature said to live in a cave and devour passing maidens, but never actually sighted. Palestinian flags at the endless Gaza marches in London are not of concern to the police, but the cross of St. George will gain you the attention of the Metropolitan Police Force in a way that someone burgling your house will not.

The new England shirt costs £124.99. If a dad wants another for his son, that’s a further £119.99. So, if father and son want the latest in shirt design for their national team, that’s 250 quid before the game has kicked off. Football clubs have always ripped off their loyal fans — the bigger the club, the bigger the ripoff — but this decision has been sanctioned by the Football Association, who in theory are supposed to promote the country and the symbolic power of its flag. Fans don’t really want a “playful update” of their national symbol, nor do they wish to be reminded of the deviant sexual messages their children are being taught as the norm in school. There have been the inevitable “calls” (a few social media posts wrongly spelt) to boycott the shirt, and Nike are considering a redesign, but the optics are already in place. You just have to recognize the signs.

Braveheart cancelled

Hamza Yousuf, the Muslim Premier of Scotland already noted as one of the diverse tribal elders running the UK, seems only to have one political ambition, and that is to out-tyrant Canada’s ex-drama teacher turned Prime Minister, Justin Trudeau. When not trying to work out in the mirror whether he is the son of Fidel Castro or Bill Wyman (the notorious ladies’ man of The Rolling Stones), Trudeau is attempting to imprison and fine Canadians for misgendering others, and crimes equally heinous (including, in a nice Minority Report touch, crimes which have yet to committed).

Yousuf might think that to be a tyrannical gesture too far, but he has managed to extend his influence where Trudeau, as yet, has not: the home. His new hate-speech bill was actually passed three years ago, and is a pet project of Hamza’s which has just been made into law after amendments. The Hate Crime and Public Order (Scotland) Bill will make it possible for a comment made during a dinner-table conversation — if they still exist — to be reported to the police if one of those present at the symposium offends anyone else in such a way that the offense may be deemed “hate speech.”

This is, as always, completely unsupported by a working definition of “hate speech.” It is not even the giving of offense, but the supposed receipt of it. If someone, somewhere is either genuinely offended by an utterance on- or offline (so what if they are?), that is enough. It ignores the fact that those who wish to, either as a political stratagem or a pastime, can use offense as a powerful currency. Also, and more pressing, this bill now makes Scottish speech completely controlled by the government. “Freedom of speech” becomes an empty phrase, unattainable in the use, like the freedom to levitate.

The Scots under their Muslim commander are rolling their tartan sleeves up and getting on with the job, setting up 400 points at which people can report a hate crime as soon as dinner is finished. They have produced a video about the “Hate Monster,” and if you require an indication of how the Scottish political class views those it is supposed to serve, I strongly recommend watching it.

Have you met the Hate Monster?

The Scottish Parliament is introducing the bill on April 1, also known as April Fool’s Day — the traditional, carnivalesque day of the year on which the world is turned upside down. The Scottish government is now desperately trying to scotch (as it were) rumors that comedians are going to be specifically monitored for hate speech, requiring police presence at their gigs to check for offensive jokes. This is the only respect in which today’s comics have anything in common with Lennie Bruce.

Once again, Islam weaves its way through British legislation. As noted, Hamza is of the faith, and there is little doubt that the new Scottish bill will be a blasphemy law in heavy disguise, and one designed only to outlaw criticism of Islam. In effect, the new Scottish legislation will become a part of the ever-growing appendix to the British edition of the Koran.

Eyes right!
The Union Jackal